You know, when I was in highschool, everybody was terrified of AIDS. I mean, it’s almost hard to explain, because the entire end of the 80’s ramped up this fear of this disease (brought about by the shadow-cabal of the queers and the drug users no less) and then in the 90’s, right around the time when my dick was taking off its robe and getting ready to enter the ring, BOOM! Massive fear of sex rampantly distorted the entire social environment. Now, to be fair, AIDS is a terrible disease. I’m not in any way trying to belittle that. In fact, I have a very close family member who passed away in the 80’s (way before it was cool to die from AIDS too. There’s probably a really tasteless hipster joke that could be inserted here) and I was, like everyone, terrified of the disease, and that’s not weird. I mean, fuck. It kills people. That’s about the worst result that can come out of a night of wanton boning.
So yeah, I get why people were afraid, I guess I kind of don’t get why people aren’t afraid anymore. I mean, I know AIDS isn’t like having a black guy in the same bathroom as you (something that used to be terrifying but now is for the most part fine). I know people still don’t want any AIDS, but when I was a kid, I was so terrified of sex that it was all I could do to beat off feverishly and jump through any possible hoops available, no matter how high or awkward to desperately attempt to have sex with anyone who was possibly dumb enough to have sex with me. BUT that was followed by weeks and months of chronic terror. And it wasn’t just AIDS. I was worried about herpes and drippy dick and the warts and syphilis and the whole deal. I don’t really hear too much about that stuff anymore. Why is that?
Well, the obvious answer is that I’m married and I haven’t been out there dipping my wang around any dirty pools for a while and the whole thing becomes irrelevant pretty quick when that happens. Also, I don’t go to health class and I don’t have the kinds of friends who come up and say things like “I think I may have gotten crabs from that skanky waitress from the other night (ha! What kind of disease is crabs anyway? It’s like the Aquaman of STD’s. “Okay, I know a lot of the good ideas are already out there, but check THIS out: some bugs in your pubes! What do you think?” “Um, so what does it do?” “That’s the best part! It ITCHES! And it’s gross!” “um, okay…uh, how do you clear it up? Can’t you just shave your bush?” “well, um…probably. But you may need to buy a special shampoo! Huh? Huh? ” “uh, okay, I guess it works. Put it in the back by the Aquaman comics and the Matisyahu albums”)” which is good, because I don’t want friends telling me about their gross sores and pussy drainage. It’s not cool. The other thing, however, is I think there’s a new attitude about STD’s that just didn’t exist when I was a kid.
Thanks to scare tactics and misleading statistics and the wonderful adaptability of mankind (coupled with the new global transparency of the hyper-modern age [thank you interwebs!]) people now realize (a weird word, because so much of this stuff is, like I said, misleading) that everyone is infected with something or other, so it’s really not that big of a deal. This is, at the big top of the scale most obvious with the way that AIDS is no longer considered to be a death sentence (which is GREAT on a lot of levels, in terms of a reduction in the stigmatizing of victims and of course because uh…deadly disease=bad 100% of the time [and puh-lease don’t talk to me about doomsday population control clearcutting, space making diseases that save the earth by killing people either, I don’t want to hear it, dorks] and to a lesser, but vastly more accessible degree, all the statistics about HPV and herpes (over 50% and in lots of demographics up to 80% infected, often with strains that leave no symptoms!) have sort of made people feel a little less like a good old fashioned social disease is the end of the world than they used to. I mean, fuck, if there’s a disease with no symptoms and about 80% of my demographic has it, isn’t it, it’s a little bit like it’s more of a disease to NOT have it, right? Yeah, so uh…whatever.
The whole thing has convinced any teen or young person that’s sexually active that they’re infected with SOMETHING for sure, and you know what? If that’s the case, fuck it. That means anyone who’s gonna fuck me back is also infected with something and at this point it becomes like a reverse game of Gin Rummy where it’s just a matter of hedging your bets and determining who’s giving the worse disease to who.
I remember overhearing someone at a bar saying something to the effect of ‘yeah, she wanted to fuck without a rubber…but I figured she was more likely to get something from me than the other way around, so I just went for it” which is a HIGHLY fucked up thing to A) do and B) talk about C) in earshot of strangers but I kind of understand the mentality. There’s no way out. Everyone’s infected with SOMETHING and this dick isn’t gonna suck itself, so uh…let’s get out there and try to live a little. Hey, that’s what you get for implementing a fearmongering approach to sex education in this country. What’s the point of taking responsibility if no one else is? Why throw your garbage in the bin when you’re already standing in the dump, and so forth.
I dunno. I should state unequivocally that safe sex is very important and having STD’s is no joke AND that HPV while often symptomless can lead to cervical cancer and is nothing to fuck with and all that, but I’m curious…y’all ever get gonorrhea or anything? In the porn star blogs I read they talk about getting that shit all the time. I don’t know of anyone that I know ever getting that, but it seems pretty rampant.
Also, herpes? I know some herpers I think, but they seem pretty happy, at least most of the time. And I’ve got kids. And it COULD be argued that kids are a pretty permanent STD.
I do have a friend who got crabs. He apparently went into his local pharmacy at 2am and bought a mountain dew and crabs shampoo. The cashier was a dude that he knew. Heh.
Whatever. There’s a big storm a comin. Batten down your hatches, folks!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Oscar fever, anyone?
Okay, so yesterday, before we got into the segment that I’d like to unofficially call ‘why all parents are lame,’ we were discussing the Oscars. Now, in that entry, I mentioned that I haven’t so much as seen any of the best picture contenders, which is true. BUT, then I realized that I’m so incredibly pop culture savvy that it doesn’t matter. I’ve driven the information superhighway in and out of the global village for my whole life, bro, and as such I know enough to recognize the tropes and well-worn techniques that make something “Critically Acclaimed” right? Of course I do. It’s as easy as looking at the current crop of films through the lens of the past. And that’s what I’m gonna do for you all today.
Now, I’d like to preface this exercise by saying that I’m not looking any of these films up at all, so this is the culmination of what little I already know and/or what I can guess from what little I know. In the case of movies where I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, I’m just gonna blindly guess (this means don’t get all pissy if I get stuff wrong or if my guess differs from your opinion. People love to say that comparing opinions is like comparing apples and oranges [an asinine phrase, by the way], because opinions are fundamentally different if they come from different people, but comparing opinions to guesses is like the general life-philosophy of Tommy Lee, in that it’s just fucking stupid.)
So, without any further ado, I present to you a completely (COMPLETETLY) uninformed guide to this year’s best picture Oscar Contenders:
127 HOURS- The lovely heartwarming story of a handsome guy playing an ugly guy who gets stuck in a ravine and has to hack his own arm off using nothing but a swiss army knife. It’s kind of a Passion of the Christ meets Castaway story with a tiny bit of Cliffhanger outtakes thrown in for good measure. This one’s based on true events so that could help it out, and the one-armed guy in the crowd is gonna be hard for the voters to look at if this doesn’t win, AND it also sounds like it’s generally torturous to watch (in that it vacillates between being super gruesome and unbearably slow, two things the academy seems to revere for some dumb reason). James Franco also claimed in a recent interview that he beats off like seven times a day. That’s a philosophy I can fully relate to. What?
BLACK SWAN- What was missing from Single White Female? I’ll tell you: super fruity (and subsequently highly creepy) high art undertones, chicks that were actually good looking and overt muff diving (I’ve seen neither movie, by the way). If you’re the kind of person that obsesses about the passion of highly attractive people going crazy about their various desires and the way ambition can become creepy/terrifying, OR if you just want to see simulated pussy eating and your work firewall blocks Unratedperez.com, well, this is probably worth it. This is the kind of movie you go to with a date and afterwards you don’t fuck even though you’re both pretty horny. Like Shrek 2 but for different reasons.
INCEPTION- Shit that’s super weird is always a good time, especially if it’s full of good looking people. And this movie features the extremely handsome (Leo) and the button cute (Juno) teaming up to steal things from people’s dreams or something. This movie occupies the space where big budget crap like Avatar meets highly weird shit like that one backwards movie with the Australian guy where Trinity spits into his coffee…but the big selling point of Inception is that the end apparently bums everyone out. THAT’S oscar fodder, folks. Think about this: the end of Rocky=everyone’s bummed=Oscar winner, whereas the end of Rocky IV= people are standing up cheering and punching Russians in the face due to the spontaneous outpouring of patriotic joy=didn’t even get nominated.
THE FIGHTER-Combine the desperate family pathos of pretty much any movie set in Massachusetts with the ‘pookie’ character from New Jack City and add in a little Rocky just for flavor and you’ve got the winning tale of a former Funky Bunch Member brooding around while a cracked out Batman looks on and does his best impression of Mick from the aforementioned Rocky crossed with Steven Tyler or something. Oh, I’m guessing there’s a woman that cries a lot in this one. That’s the kind of thing that you just can’t leave out when you’re talking about disappointing men. Ask my wife/mom.
THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT-A sloppy, dumb, predictable movie that wouldn’t even be given the time of day if it didn’t feature middle aged (gasp!) lesbians (gasp!) living a fairly happy life (gasp!). Now, I think Juliette Moore and Annette Benning are both super hot, and I’d love to see a movie about their lesbian relationship, but this is not that film.
THE KING’S SPEECH- Essentially a historical Rain Man or My Left Foot for the stodgy Anglophile set, this movie features everything that makes academy turds get boners: Geoff Rush, characters based on historical figures, Fancy period mise-en-scene and of course a guy who’s got a disorder that requires “acting” to exemplify. You know what? If I want to watch a guy learn to get over a stutter, I’ll just wait a few years ‘til one of my kids develops one of their own due to my shoddy parenting. Fuck, what’s next? A movie about getting braces?
THE SOCIAL NETWORK- Now, this quaint little movie stars that weird, remarkably unlikable version of Michael Cera as a wealthy, privileged child who grew up with every advantage to beat no odds and finally claim his birthright as one of the richest people in the world and have the unique distinction of getting a movie made about him that features him getting laid all the time and hanging around with Justin Timberlake…all before he turns thirty. Who wrote this, Mark Zuckerberg? I mean, I dig, it’s the story of ambition realized and money and power. But people are saying it’s unfair to Zuckerberg? Um, no. It’s nothing of the sort. It’s like Blow without the sad ending. It’s also about facebook. There is no script and no performance and no statue that will ever alter that it’s about facebook, folks. It’s about facebook.
Facebook.
TOY STORY 3- This is kind of like Lord Of the Rings: Return of the King in that it’s the third of a highly entertaining series of movies and is probably far and away the most fun to watch of any of the nominees, BUT, it’s animated. And if an animated film wins best picture, then it’s just a matter of time before everything goes out the window and all Hollywood is just robots talking to other robots about their sex lives and committing robot-on-robot crimes and suddenly there’s no work for Jake Gyllenhall anymore and the whole thing goes topsy turvy. The academy is nothing if not deeply and fundamentally indebted to the status quo. Therefore, I’d say this has about as much chance of winning the oscar as Fuck My Tender Pink Pussy #27 (also a highly entertaining sequel).
TRUE GRIT- A western hosted by the Cohen Brothers and starring the Dude. It’s probably pretty good, even though that whole thing in the trailer with Matt Damon making fun of Jeff Bridges for only having one eye is downright retarded. Well, and my uncle said the end was pretty stupid, so there’s that. Still, gimme this over most of this crap.
WINTER’S BONE- All I know about this is that my mom knows the dude who wrote the book. It’s apparently about the meth life down in the Ozarks, (where my mom lives) and uh…aside from people high on meth being generally pretty entertaining (from a distance), the powers that be in the Ozarks let motherfuckers just keep tigers in their yards down there, so this movie is probably pretty good.
Okay, that’s my completely uninformed take on the best picture nominees. Without having read any other takes on this, I’d say my version is probably the best. Happy Oscar season, everyone!
I’m going to the zoo.
Bye.
Now, I’d like to preface this exercise by saying that I’m not looking any of these films up at all, so this is the culmination of what little I already know and/or what I can guess from what little I know. In the case of movies where I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, I’m just gonna blindly guess (this means don’t get all pissy if I get stuff wrong or if my guess differs from your opinion. People love to say that comparing opinions is like comparing apples and oranges [an asinine phrase, by the way], because opinions are fundamentally different if they come from different people, but comparing opinions to guesses is like the general life-philosophy of Tommy Lee, in that it’s just fucking stupid.)
So, without any further ado, I present to you a completely (COMPLETETLY) uninformed guide to this year’s best picture Oscar Contenders:
127 HOURS- The lovely heartwarming story of a handsome guy playing an ugly guy who gets stuck in a ravine and has to hack his own arm off using nothing but a swiss army knife. It’s kind of a Passion of the Christ meets Castaway story with a tiny bit of Cliffhanger outtakes thrown in for good measure. This one’s based on true events so that could help it out, and the one-armed guy in the crowd is gonna be hard for the voters to look at if this doesn’t win, AND it also sounds like it’s generally torturous to watch (in that it vacillates between being super gruesome and unbearably slow, two things the academy seems to revere for some dumb reason). James Franco also claimed in a recent interview that he beats off like seven times a day. That’s a philosophy I can fully relate to. What?
BLACK SWAN- What was missing from Single White Female? I’ll tell you: super fruity (and subsequently highly creepy) high art undertones, chicks that were actually good looking and overt muff diving (I’ve seen neither movie, by the way). If you’re the kind of person that obsesses about the passion of highly attractive people going crazy about their various desires and the way ambition can become creepy/terrifying, OR if you just want to see simulated pussy eating and your work firewall blocks Unratedperez.com, well, this is probably worth it. This is the kind of movie you go to with a date and afterwards you don’t fuck even though you’re both pretty horny. Like Shrek 2 but for different reasons.
INCEPTION- Shit that’s super weird is always a good time, especially if it’s full of good looking people. And this movie features the extremely handsome (Leo) and the button cute (Juno) teaming up to steal things from people’s dreams or something. This movie occupies the space where big budget crap like Avatar meets highly weird shit like that one backwards movie with the Australian guy where Trinity spits into his coffee…but the big selling point of Inception is that the end apparently bums everyone out. THAT’S oscar fodder, folks. Think about this: the end of Rocky=everyone’s bummed=Oscar winner, whereas the end of Rocky IV= people are standing up cheering and punching Russians in the face due to the spontaneous outpouring of patriotic joy=didn’t even get nominated.
THE FIGHTER-Combine the desperate family pathos of pretty much any movie set in Massachusetts with the ‘pookie’ character from New Jack City and add in a little Rocky just for flavor and you’ve got the winning tale of a former Funky Bunch Member brooding around while a cracked out Batman looks on and does his best impression of Mick from the aforementioned Rocky crossed with Steven Tyler or something. Oh, I’m guessing there’s a woman that cries a lot in this one. That’s the kind of thing that you just can’t leave out when you’re talking about disappointing men. Ask my wife/mom.
THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT-A sloppy, dumb, predictable movie that wouldn’t even be given the time of day if it didn’t feature middle aged (gasp!) lesbians (gasp!) living a fairly happy life (gasp!). Now, I think Juliette Moore and Annette Benning are both super hot, and I’d love to see a movie about their lesbian relationship, but this is not that film.
THE KING’S SPEECH- Essentially a historical Rain Man or My Left Foot for the stodgy Anglophile set, this movie features everything that makes academy turds get boners: Geoff Rush, characters based on historical figures, Fancy period mise-en-scene and of course a guy who’s got a disorder that requires “acting” to exemplify. You know what? If I want to watch a guy learn to get over a stutter, I’ll just wait a few years ‘til one of my kids develops one of their own due to my shoddy parenting. Fuck, what’s next? A movie about getting braces?
THE SOCIAL NETWORK- Now, this quaint little movie stars that weird, remarkably unlikable version of Michael Cera as a wealthy, privileged child who grew up with every advantage to beat no odds and finally claim his birthright as one of the richest people in the world and have the unique distinction of getting a movie made about him that features him getting laid all the time and hanging around with Justin Timberlake…all before he turns thirty. Who wrote this, Mark Zuckerberg? I mean, I dig, it’s the story of ambition realized and money and power. But people are saying it’s unfair to Zuckerberg? Um, no. It’s nothing of the sort. It’s like Blow without the sad ending. It’s also about facebook. There is no script and no performance and no statue that will ever alter that it’s about facebook, folks. It’s about facebook.
Facebook.
TOY STORY 3- This is kind of like Lord Of the Rings: Return of the King in that it’s the third of a highly entertaining series of movies and is probably far and away the most fun to watch of any of the nominees, BUT, it’s animated. And if an animated film wins best picture, then it’s just a matter of time before everything goes out the window and all Hollywood is just robots talking to other robots about their sex lives and committing robot-on-robot crimes and suddenly there’s no work for Jake Gyllenhall anymore and the whole thing goes topsy turvy. The academy is nothing if not deeply and fundamentally indebted to the status quo. Therefore, I’d say this has about as much chance of winning the oscar as Fuck My Tender Pink Pussy #27 (also a highly entertaining sequel).
TRUE GRIT- A western hosted by the Cohen Brothers and starring the Dude. It’s probably pretty good, even though that whole thing in the trailer with Matt Damon making fun of Jeff Bridges for only having one eye is downright retarded. Well, and my uncle said the end was pretty stupid, so there’s that. Still, gimme this over most of this crap.
WINTER’S BONE- All I know about this is that my mom knows the dude who wrote the book. It’s apparently about the meth life down in the Ozarks, (where my mom lives) and uh…aside from people high on meth being generally pretty entertaining (from a distance), the powers that be in the Ozarks let motherfuckers just keep tigers in their yards down there, so this movie is probably pretty good.
Okay, that’s my completely uninformed take on the best picture nominees. Without having read any other takes on this, I’d say my version is probably the best. Happy Oscar season, everyone!
I’m going to the zoo.
Bye.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Listen up!
Hey, did you assholes know that I write stuff? Yeah, okay. I know you know that I write great stories about my own and other dongs (I retroactively pissed myself in the Field Museum yesterday in a rush to put away my junk and get to the dinosaurs so my kid could bask in their glory before our parking meter expired…but that’s another tale for another time) and that every once in a while I wax philosophical about dying and seizing the day and that kind of crap, but did you know that I also do freelance copywriting for marketing agencies, publicity firms, various record labels, freelance design people and other companies that produce shit (like furniture or cool outfits or whatever)? Did you know that?
I figured that most of you didn’t. So I decided to tell you. Do YOU need to hire a copywriter to spruce up your dumb ad or make your bio sound like you’re not a dork? Then I’m your guy. Sure, I can be conversational and crass (see the four hundred plus page writing sample that you’re currently reading) BUT! I’ve also written copy for national print ads, scripts for internal company instructional videos, business proposals, company bios, press releases and light erotic fan fiction about Dinosaur Train and more. It’s true, folks. Mrs Pteranodon is a hot piece of tail, after all.
Now, I know most of you are seventeen year old pimply teens and huge breasted beautiful women who don’t really need to work, but for the other 3 or four of you that actually have jobs and function in society, I’m guessing that you’re thinking something along the lines of: Oh my god! Of course I’m gonna farm out some great projects to Beex. He’s the perfect voice of my new (pet store/vegetarian magazine/liquor brand/dildo concern/graphics company/etc) but that’s not all! Every bit of business that comes my way frees up my time, as the more money I make writing, the more I will need to make time for writing, which means the more I will need to hire a nanny which means (brace yourselves) the more time I will have to write and record more music for you turds. Now, I’ve got four songs demoed, but man, I could have a record out by now if it wasn’t for these meddling kids (shakes fist).
So yeah. There you go. All your copy needs: solved and in less than half the time it took you to take that morning dump. You can contact me via the email address on my profile, which is linked just to the right on this very page.
No. Thank YOU.
I figured that most of you didn’t. So I decided to tell you. Do YOU need to hire a copywriter to spruce up your dumb ad or make your bio sound like you’re not a dork? Then I’m your guy. Sure, I can be conversational and crass (see the four hundred plus page writing sample that you’re currently reading) BUT! I’ve also written copy for national print ads, scripts for internal company instructional videos, business proposals, company bios, press releases and light erotic fan fiction about Dinosaur Train and more. It’s true, folks. Mrs Pteranodon is a hot piece of tail, after all.
Now, I know most of you are seventeen year old pimply teens and huge breasted beautiful women who don’t really need to work, but for the other 3 or four of you that actually have jobs and function in society, I’m guessing that you’re thinking something along the lines of: Oh my god! Of course I’m gonna farm out some great projects to Beex. He’s the perfect voice of my new (pet store/vegetarian magazine/liquor brand/dildo concern/graphics company/etc) but that’s not all! Every bit of business that comes my way frees up my time, as the more money I make writing, the more I will need to make time for writing, which means the more I will need to hire a nanny which means (brace yourselves) the more time I will have to write and record more music for you turds. Now, I’ve got four songs demoed, but man, I could have a record out by now if it wasn’t for these meddling kids (shakes fist).
So yeah. There you go. All your copy needs: solved and in less than half the time it took you to take that morning dump. You can contact me via the email address on my profile, which is linked just to the right on this very page.
No. Thank YOU.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Which one of these means 'big wang?'
For the past day or so the dorkosphere and presumably the booths at the county fair that sell dream catchers and healing stones have been abuzz with the news that someone in Minnesota has figured something out and corrected the zodiac calendar. Not only does this mean there’s a whole new astrological symbol that many people have been unwittingly existing under since the days of the frost giants and titans, old, leathery women draped in scarves have been whispering to each other, BUT! It’s pretty much re-organized the whole fucking thing, and now everyone is just finding out for the first time that they’re a whole different zodiac sign! People are outraged! Former proud Leos are now nothing but pig dicked Cancers, and uh…so forth. I mean, first a little girl is senselessly killed in Arizona and now this! What kind of a fucking depraved shitscape are we out here dying in anyway? Up is down, day is night, cats and dogs are living together and out there on twitter and facebook, female humans are FURIOUS and confused about this new turn of events, or more accurately, this new attention to detail that repaints an ancient and highly respected calendar in totally different strokes. People don’t know who they are anymore, man!
Well, yeah. Okay. I was once a virgo. This made a ton of sense as I’m highly fastidious and organized, very clean, kind of anal retentive and sensible and above all, a virgin. Well, turns out I’m a leo now, which makes no sense because, well…see above. I’m a virgo, bro. These highly vague character traits that don’t apply to me at all are what I’ve been raised to believe are my uh…celestial ingredients and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna go changing that now. I’m like Tarzan, man. If my mom’s an ape and my dad’s an ape and all my friends are apes, you’re not just gonna come along when I’m in my thirties and tell me that suddenly I’m a man! I’m a virgo (ape) not a man (leo)! Get out of my jungle! AAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYAYYAAAAA!
‘But wait!’ Some of you may be saying, ‘you (and I’m [you’re] talking about ME here) actually DO posess more of the traits of a leo. You are, in fact a GREAT example of this thing finally righting itself and turning out to be more accurate. Besides, isn’t ANYTHING cooler than being a fucking virgin?’
Okay, firstly no. Being a virgin is really cool. According to my catechism teacher and my health teacher and my guidance counselor, being a virgin is about the coolest thing you can be, thank you very much and besides…um, it’s my identity. Was that shit about Tarzan lost on you folks? Come on! And finally, (and this final point can’t be overstated) there is absolutely NOTHING so stupid as the zodiac and putting any sort of stock in it. Sorry girls. It’s true. I’ve talked about this before, but I’ll happily go into it again, as it seems to be timely.
People obsessed with the zodiac bug the shit out of me. it’s pretty much set in stone that if I meet you and in the course of the first meeting you ask me what my sign is, I’m not gonna pay too much attention to you, nor am I gonna take anything you’ve got to say very seriously. It’s a little bit like if it came out right away that you were a scientologist or if you had to interrupt our conversation to take a call from your pet psychic. It’s just uh…it’s not by any means a HATABLE offense, but it’s kind of an eye roller for sure. If you, in trying to get to know me, want to plug in your data regarding my sign, our compatibility as friends and my potential character strengths and weaknesses well…I’ve got a pretty good notion of our compatibility already. I don’t tend to hang out with people that obsess over wack bullshit that’s the dominion of sixty something divorced women who can fake gypsy accents and have no marketable skills and who therefore operate businesses out of their living rooms while smoking and watching CSI. So yeah.
Now, to take this a step further, when you (and you are ALWAYS either a girl or a really femme gay dude in my experience [not that there’s not some big burly bearded dude with a thermos out there talking about this somewhere, but I just haven’t met him yet]) explain your own actions by way of your zodiac sign, well, I’m gonna dislike you. “Oh, yeah, again, I’m a Pisces so I’m really impulsive so I just went right up to her and….” is a great example of a way that one may express this and about when I stop listening entirely.
I mean, is there a more concise way to broadcast your wack ideas about what’s cool and your stupidity simultaneously? I guess a juggalo face tattoo does a pretty good job of that…and you almost certainly smell worse if you’re the kind of person who has a juggalo face tattoo…Huh. I guess I’m kind of stumped here…Listen, my point stands. If you’re the kind of person that feels very strongly that you’re guided by the stars (and that you can use that as an explanation as far as why you’re so impulsive/headstrong/stubborn whatever) then you’re a dork. Oh, and this is also true for people who say things like “yeah, Steve would rather sit home and stew than be out with us at this place because last month they wouldn’t put on the chargers game for him.”
“Oh my god! He’s such a Taurus!”
“That’s what I told him as I was leaving!”
Suck a dick, folks. Suck. A. Dick. That’s what I’ve got to say about that.
Now, finally, as I wind this whole thing down, I’d like to point out that since the entire celestial calendar is a bunch of pseudoscience bullshit akin to auras, female orgasms, talking dogs, dungeons and dragons and dentistry, that you need not really worry about the fact that the cusps have shifted. Hell, this is your big chance to just straight up seize the sign you’ve always wanted. Who cares if it’s half way around that dumb circle grid thing from where you were born? It’s all complete bullshit anyway, so get out there and become a Cancer if you want to (because, let’s face it…who doesn’t want to be called ‘cancer’? it’s a great way to identify yourself [n.b. there’s probably something to the notion [that I’m just coming up with right now] that while people that are ‘cool’ signs like aquarius and leos and shit are probably a little more likely to be into the zodiac, people who are cancers probably put a lot less stock in it. Just a theory.
Anyway, I’m a Leo now, which means I’m brash and I just stop doing things when I get bored. I’m on to the next thing like a motherfuckin
Well, yeah. Okay. I was once a virgo. This made a ton of sense as I’m highly fastidious and organized, very clean, kind of anal retentive and sensible and above all, a virgin. Well, turns out I’m a leo now, which makes no sense because, well…see above. I’m a virgo, bro. These highly vague character traits that don’t apply to me at all are what I’ve been raised to believe are my uh…celestial ingredients and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna go changing that now. I’m like Tarzan, man. If my mom’s an ape and my dad’s an ape and all my friends are apes, you’re not just gonna come along when I’m in my thirties and tell me that suddenly I’m a man! I’m a virgo (ape) not a man (leo)! Get out of my jungle! AAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYAYYAAAAA!
‘But wait!’ Some of you may be saying, ‘you (and I’m [you’re] talking about ME here) actually DO posess more of the traits of a leo. You are, in fact a GREAT example of this thing finally righting itself and turning out to be more accurate. Besides, isn’t ANYTHING cooler than being a fucking virgin?’
Okay, firstly no. Being a virgin is really cool. According to my catechism teacher and my health teacher and my guidance counselor, being a virgin is about the coolest thing you can be, thank you very much and besides…um, it’s my identity. Was that shit about Tarzan lost on you folks? Come on! And finally, (and this final point can’t be overstated) there is absolutely NOTHING so stupid as the zodiac and putting any sort of stock in it. Sorry girls. It’s true. I’ve talked about this before, but I’ll happily go into it again, as it seems to be timely.
People obsessed with the zodiac bug the shit out of me. it’s pretty much set in stone that if I meet you and in the course of the first meeting you ask me what my sign is, I’m not gonna pay too much attention to you, nor am I gonna take anything you’ve got to say very seriously. It’s a little bit like if it came out right away that you were a scientologist or if you had to interrupt our conversation to take a call from your pet psychic. It’s just uh…it’s not by any means a HATABLE offense, but it’s kind of an eye roller for sure. If you, in trying to get to know me, want to plug in your data regarding my sign, our compatibility as friends and my potential character strengths and weaknesses well…I’ve got a pretty good notion of our compatibility already. I don’t tend to hang out with people that obsess over wack bullshit that’s the dominion of sixty something divorced women who can fake gypsy accents and have no marketable skills and who therefore operate businesses out of their living rooms while smoking and watching CSI. So yeah.
Now, to take this a step further, when you (and you are ALWAYS either a girl or a really femme gay dude in my experience [not that there’s not some big burly bearded dude with a thermos out there talking about this somewhere, but I just haven’t met him yet]) explain your own actions by way of your zodiac sign, well, I’m gonna dislike you. “Oh, yeah, again, I’m a Pisces so I’m really impulsive so I just went right up to her and….” is a great example of a way that one may express this and about when I stop listening entirely.
I mean, is there a more concise way to broadcast your wack ideas about what’s cool and your stupidity simultaneously? I guess a juggalo face tattoo does a pretty good job of that…and you almost certainly smell worse if you’re the kind of person who has a juggalo face tattoo…Huh. I guess I’m kind of stumped here…Listen, my point stands. If you’re the kind of person that feels very strongly that you’re guided by the stars (and that you can use that as an explanation as far as why you’re so impulsive/headstrong/stubborn whatever) then you’re a dork. Oh, and this is also true for people who say things like “yeah, Steve would rather sit home and stew than be out with us at this place because last month they wouldn’t put on the chargers game for him.”
“Oh my god! He’s such a Taurus!”
“That’s what I told him as I was leaving!”
Suck a dick, folks. Suck. A. Dick. That’s what I’ve got to say about that.
Now, finally, as I wind this whole thing down, I’d like to point out that since the entire celestial calendar is a bunch of pseudoscience bullshit akin to auras, female orgasms, talking dogs, dungeons and dragons and dentistry, that you need not really worry about the fact that the cusps have shifted. Hell, this is your big chance to just straight up seize the sign you’ve always wanted. Who cares if it’s half way around that dumb circle grid thing from where you were born? It’s all complete bullshit anyway, so get out there and become a Cancer if you want to (because, let’s face it…who doesn’t want to be called ‘cancer’? it’s a great way to identify yourself [n.b. there’s probably something to the notion [that I’m just coming up with right now] that while people that are ‘cool’ signs like aquarius and leos and shit are probably a little more likely to be into the zodiac, people who are cancers probably put a lot less stock in it. Just a theory.
Anyway, I’m a Leo now, which means I’m brash and I just stop doing things when I get bored. I’m on to the next thing like a motherfuckin
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
more technical stuff
I want to write a song today. There’s something about hanging out with your kids all day that can make you feel kind of useless. Anyone that tells you otherwise is A) lying or B) hasn’t ever done it as a lifestyle thing. Spending one day with your kids is great. It’s highly rewarding. Spending every day with your kids with no sign of a break in sight is literally working at a 7 day a week job that starts the second you get out of bed and goes until about 830 or 9, where your bosses are never satisfied and often want you to do completely contradictory things, and then yell at you when you screw it up, as you inevitably do. Oh, and they follow you into the bathroom and are right there while you eat. It’s like that. AND, you don’t get paid, AND you feel like everyone has the following thoughts when they consider your ‘workday’: “eh, that dude’s not even working…loser” or “that shit’s easy” or “man, I wish I could just hang out with kids all day…I hate my fucking shitty job.”
Now, look, I know that taking care of kids isn’t working at a factory. Shit, there are several great moments with these monsters every day, and I feel really lucky to be able to hang with them all the time, especially when they’re small, but man, don’t go so far as to think that means that it’s not a little bit soul destroying in its own right. It is. Not all the time, not even most of the time, but when I start missing a lot of sleep, I start to feel helpless, and the desire to become a useful human being starts to overwhelm me (I know that raising kids is one of the most useful and important things I can do…this is what’s known in the business as ‘grapling with the irrational feelings’ bro) and in order to feel like a useful human being, I tend to write things, particularly songs. I thought I’d talk about that a little more today.
One thing I like to do when I’m writing songs is pick a band I’ve heard of but have never listened to, and try to write a song that approximates what I think they’d sound like. It’s a good exercise if you’re a songwriter, and it’ll send you down some interesting paths. Now, I don’t know about what you’ve listened to and what you haven’t, and this doesn’t even need to be an exercise where you pick obscure bands. Let’s say, for example (and this one’s probably pretty bad, but it should get you on the right track) that you’ve never really been a fan of the Clash. Sure, you like ‘em well enough. You’re familiar with London Calling and you’re familiar with Rock the Casbah, and maybe you know ‘lost in the Supermarket’ or something but otherwise, you’re not really a fan. You have nothing against the clash, you just don’t, you know, really know them.
Well, what would a b-side off the London Calling single sound like? How bout from the Sandanista/Rock the Casbah era? What if you’ve never heard At The Drive In, but you know Mars Volta and you know that they used to be in a spastic punk band. What would that sound like? OR, what if they’re your favorite band, and you know that a lot of people say that ATDI sounds like the listened to a lot of Rites Of Spring but you’ve never heard them…What would the band that influenced your favorite band sound like? What does Nomeansno sound like? All you’ve got to go on is the name and the weird picture of the cow on their record. Write a song that sounds like Nomeansno.
That’s one exercise I like to use, especially to switch shit up. Another thing I like to do is find songs that I really like, and take my own words, and without figuring out the chords, try to guess what the chords are and use my own words to approximate the same feel. This almost never winds up sounding even remotely like the song I’m trying to copy (as I don’t figure it out beforehand, leading to weird chord changes, and I’m using preexisting words, which lead to different melody rhythms). This is a good way to try out a groove or a feel that you’d normally not try. A variation on this is finding a melody in a great bridge, breakdown or outro, and basing your main verse or chorus melody on the single line of that non-repeating melody.
But again, we get stuck on words, eh? How do you get good words out? Last time I talked about really nuts n bolts shit re: lyrics, but this time, I’m just gonna throw out a few techniques for potentially shocking your brain into creating something. One thing I like to do is start with a single word and let stream of consciousness take over. For example when I was in the shower one day, I decided for some reason that I wanted to start a song with the word “leveling.” It’s not that interesting of a word, but I felt like it had lyrical potential because something that’s leveling is something that necessarily brings someone or something down to another plane where suddenly they’re equal to something they were once above. I thought about this word while I was in the shower and it came to sound pretty pathetic in my ears.
Leveling was something that really kind of kicked your dick into the dirt. So, in using the form of the word (the gerund) for stylistic purposes and the meaning that I’d latched onto, the next word when I sat down was ‘groveling’ (matched for its phonetic, formal and contextual similarities) and from there I went into ‘gravely’ and ‘groans’ because the alliteration appealed to me and the notion of pathetic whining implicating someone as an equal really seemed like an interesting twist on my initial take on ‘leveling.’ By that time, there was a mood that existed that enabled me to kind of bust out into more sentence-esque lyrics. But it all started as a very simple stream of consciousness exercise.
There’s nothing worse that you can do as a person that wants to be creative than wait until you’re feeling inspired. That’s when you find yourself in ruts. It’s when you have no fucking idea what to do, when you need to create from a wacky compulsion or because you’re on a strict regimen (both things that I’m under the yoke of, and not necessarily always happily, just BTW) and you’re forced to think about how to do things in a different way than you’re comfortable, that’s when shit gets cool and weird.
AND nothing motivates like success. When I finally crack through and do something interesting, usually after trying some desperate technique (I touched on this in another entry…switching up how and where you write is really productive. I used to always write with a pen when I wrote lyrics. For my newest record [4 demos soon to be done] I wrote a lot of the lyrics on the computer. This creates a whole different speed of working. With a pen, sometimes by the time I got to the end of a sentence, my mind will have thought of a different or better word to use than I was intending when I started the sentence. Sometimes, with a computer, I can more easily keep up with my racing thoughts and capture ideas that escape me when I’m using a pen. I do things as simple as switch from lined to unlined notebooks, or take my computer to the dining room table instead of my desk. These techniques are vastly more effective than they may sound) the results of being happy with my output (for a change) are so inspiring that another song almost certainly follows that’s similarly inspired. I wrote On With The Show and March of The Elephants on the same day. I wrote Cut It Up and Recovering the Opposable Thumb and Key to the City in a two day period (cut it up being the first. It was actually, to bring this full circle, my take on a song by some scumbag rocknroll band I’d never heard…I can’t remember who it was, but I remember that I wanted the song to sound like the kind of song that bikers listen to in their clubhouse while they bang prostitutes and do gross drugs….depraved. That’s not to say that’s how it ended up sounding…matching your intention and your results aren’t important AT ALL. What’s important is pushing yourself to do something interesting, and fuck, if it happens on accident, well, penicillin happened on accident. Booze happened on accident. Car tires happened on accident. There’s nothing wrong with fucking around until you stumble onto something. It’s the opposite that’s true. You’ll NEVER do anything worth a shit if you’re not doing something that you may very well fuck up terribly). If you write a song you like, that you really think is above and beyond, the worst thing you can do is stop. That momentum will very likely take you to bold new creative places.
Speaking of bold new places, I’m going to the gym.
Later. Fuckers.
Now, look, I know that taking care of kids isn’t working at a factory. Shit, there are several great moments with these monsters every day, and I feel really lucky to be able to hang with them all the time, especially when they’re small, but man, don’t go so far as to think that means that it’s not a little bit soul destroying in its own right. It is. Not all the time, not even most of the time, but when I start missing a lot of sleep, I start to feel helpless, and the desire to become a useful human being starts to overwhelm me (I know that raising kids is one of the most useful and important things I can do…this is what’s known in the business as ‘grapling with the irrational feelings’ bro) and in order to feel like a useful human being, I tend to write things, particularly songs. I thought I’d talk about that a little more today.
One thing I like to do when I’m writing songs is pick a band I’ve heard of but have never listened to, and try to write a song that approximates what I think they’d sound like. It’s a good exercise if you’re a songwriter, and it’ll send you down some interesting paths. Now, I don’t know about what you’ve listened to and what you haven’t, and this doesn’t even need to be an exercise where you pick obscure bands. Let’s say, for example (and this one’s probably pretty bad, but it should get you on the right track) that you’ve never really been a fan of the Clash. Sure, you like ‘em well enough. You’re familiar with London Calling and you’re familiar with Rock the Casbah, and maybe you know ‘lost in the Supermarket’ or something but otherwise, you’re not really a fan. You have nothing against the clash, you just don’t, you know, really know them.
Well, what would a b-side off the London Calling single sound like? How bout from the Sandanista/Rock the Casbah era? What if you’ve never heard At The Drive In, but you know Mars Volta and you know that they used to be in a spastic punk band. What would that sound like? OR, what if they’re your favorite band, and you know that a lot of people say that ATDI sounds like the listened to a lot of Rites Of Spring but you’ve never heard them…What would the band that influenced your favorite band sound like? What does Nomeansno sound like? All you’ve got to go on is the name and the weird picture of the cow on their record. Write a song that sounds like Nomeansno.
That’s one exercise I like to use, especially to switch shit up. Another thing I like to do is find songs that I really like, and take my own words, and without figuring out the chords, try to guess what the chords are and use my own words to approximate the same feel. This almost never winds up sounding even remotely like the song I’m trying to copy (as I don’t figure it out beforehand, leading to weird chord changes, and I’m using preexisting words, which lead to different melody rhythms). This is a good way to try out a groove or a feel that you’d normally not try. A variation on this is finding a melody in a great bridge, breakdown or outro, and basing your main verse or chorus melody on the single line of that non-repeating melody.
But again, we get stuck on words, eh? How do you get good words out? Last time I talked about really nuts n bolts shit re: lyrics, but this time, I’m just gonna throw out a few techniques for potentially shocking your brain into creating something. One thing I like to do is start with a single word and let stream of consciousness take over. For example when I was in the shower one day, I decided for some reason that I wanted to start a song with the word “leveling.” It’s not that interesting of a word, but I felt like it had lyrical potential because something that’s leveling is something that necessarily brings someone or something down to another plane where suddenly they’re equal to something they were once above. I thought about this word while I was in the shower and it came to sound pretty pathetic in my ears.
Leveling was something that really kind of kicked your dick into the dirt. So, in using the form of the word (the gerund) for stylistic purposes and the meaning that I’d latched onto, the next word when I sat down was ‘groveling’ (matched for its phonetic, formal and contextual similarities) and from there I went into ‘gravely’ and ‘groans’ because the alliteration appealed to me and the notion of pathetic whining implicating someone as an equal really seemed like an interesting twist on my initial take on ‘leveling.’ By that time, there was a mood that existed that enabled me to kind of bust out into more sentence-esque lyrics. But it all started as a very simple stream of consciousness exercise.
There’s nothing worse that you can do as a person that wants to be creative than wait until you’re feeling inspired. That’s when you find yourself in ruts. It’s when you have no fucking idea what to do, when you need to create from a wacky compulsion or because you’re on a strict regimen (both things that I’m under the yoke of, and not necessarily always happily, just BTW) and you’re forced to think about how to do things in a different way than you’re comfortable, that’s when shit gets cool and weird.
AND nothing motivates like success. When I finally crack through and do something interesting, usually after trying some desperate technique (I touched on this in another entry…switching up how and where you write is really productive. I used to always write with a pen when I wrote lyrics. For my newest record [4 demos soon to be done] I wrote a lot of the lyrics on the computer. This creates a whole different speed of working. With a pen, sometimes by the time I got to the end of a sentence, my mind will have thought of a different or better word to use than I was intending when I started the sentence. Sometimes, with a computer, I can more easily keep up with my racing thoughts and capture ideas that escape me when I’m using a pen. I do things as simple as switch from lined to unlined notebooks, or take my computer to the dining room table instead of my desk. These techniques are vastly more effective than they may sound) the results of being happy with my output (for a change) are so inspiring that another song almost certainly follows that’s similarly inspired. I wrote On With The Show and March of The Elephants on the same day. I wrote Cut It Up and Recovering the Opposable Thumb and Key to the City in a two day period (cut it up being the first. It was actually, to bring this full circle, my take on a song by some scumbag rocknroll band I’d never heard…I can’t remember who it was, but I remember that I wanted the song to sound like the kind of song that bikers listen to in their clubhouse while they bang prostitutes and do gross drugs….depraved. That’s not to say that’s how it ended up sounding…matching your intention and your results aren’t important AT ALL. What’s important is pushing yourself to do something interesting, and fuck, if it happens on accident, well, penicillin happened on accident. Booze happened on accident. Car tires happened on accident. There’s nothing wrong with fucking around until you stumble onto something. It’s the opposite that’s true. You’ll NEVER do anything worth a shit if you’re not doing something that you may very well fuck up terribly). If you write a song you like, that you really think is above and beyond, the worst thing you can do is stop. That momentum will very likely take you to bold new creative places.
Speaking of bold new places, I’m going to the gym.
Later. Fuckers.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
ah, fuck. Let's just get this out of the way right now.
I started to write a thing about that nut that shot up everyone in Arizona. It started out with me being sad and kind of generally really creeped out by his picture. Then it went into this whole thing about how he’s gonna spend a lot of time with dicks in him starting real soon, and then I was gonna segue into my real point which was about how all these people that are blaming the right, blaming the tea party and blaming Sarah Palin for inspiring violence with aggressive and divisive political rhetoric are complete fucking assholes.
There’s no doubt that political maneuvering is pretty ugly in this day and age, but there’s just no fucking way that a graphic with crosshairs, or someone making some statement about war or guns as a metaphor for a heated campaign inspired anyone to shoot anyone. That’s fucking nonsense. You know who kills people? I’ll tell you. There are two kinds of people that kill people: 1- people who are suddenly put in situations that they never thought they’d ever be in and react, and 2- complete fucking nutjobs. That’s pretty much it.
The first kind of person can be someone that comes home to find someone has broken into their house, or someone who’s walking down the street and gets mugged or someone who walks in and sees their wife blowing their best friend or something like that. The second one is pretty straightforward. Wacked out, crazy motherfuckers just want to kill. That’s how they come to be called ‘wacked out crazy motherfuckers.’ There’s really no way else to put it (now, sure there are people who are trained to kill, like people in the military, for example, but come on…that’s not exactly what I’m talking about, for one thing, and for another thing, soldiers fire something like 2000 rounds wildly for every single fatal bullet. Regular people, soldiers included, don’t tend to want to kill, even in war).
So, let’s take me as a perfect example of someone who’s not a nut. I’m not gonna go kill someone because someone tells me to. I’m definitely not gonna kill someone because someone says the word “gun” in a metaphorical context somewhere in my vicinity. I’m actually not gonna go kill someone, period. Now, let’s take this dude that ended up killing these people. He’s gonna kill. He’s gonna kill even though he’s not supposed to. He’s gonna kill even if no one ever EVER compares speaking your mind to shooting someone in earshot of him and even if no one ever refers to the people he winds up wanting to kill and/or killing as Hitler.
The evidence, besides the pile of bodies that he’s recently amassed, is in the interviews with everyone that knew him that are coming out now. Everyone knew this was a crazy sumbitch that was about to snap. BUT IT’S NO ONE’S FAULT THAT HE SNAPPED BUT HIS! To argue otherwise is completely retarded.
It’s that same rhetoric that implicates Judas Priest for those kids killing themselves. There’s nothing so fucking self important and shitty than saying “well, obviously, there are lots of stupid people out there just waiting to be told what to do by their heroes (be they Palin or Ice Cube or Danzig or Glen Beck) and well, we can’t have them saying this shit because people can get hurt.” THAT, folks is dangerous rhetoric. Not recapitulating an ideological disagreement as a war, not making up rhymes about ripping the heads off little girls or shooting a carful of dudes. Suggesting that regular people aren’t able to control their impulses and that if free speech is left to run unchecked, we’re all gonna be in grave danger, that’s fear mongering, man.
Now, I’m not gonna go calling anyone Hitler or anything, but…well, that’s a party line for dumbdumbs. And I don’t like Sarah Palin. I think she’s woefully unqualified to be telling anyone what to do or make policy, but you know what? I’m not gonna stoop to the level of blaming her for some crazy asshole’s behavior. She’s already enough of an asshole. I can blame her for the things she actually did and does and will do. This is a different thing. One guy’s at fault here, and he’s nothing but a fucking nut killing people. That’s all.
Okay, that’s that. Um…what else? The Holy Mess is a great band that you should all be listening to, and um felching is hilarious. Follow me on twitter @badsandwich and uh…what else? I dunno. This is exhausting. I’m gonna go shoot some speed into my nuts. You guys should do it too, unless you’re girls, in which case, shoot it into your tits. Okay, bye.
There’s no doubt that political maneuvering is pretty ugly in this day and age, but there’s just no fucking way that a graphic with crosshairs, or someone making some statement about war or guns as a metaphor for a heated campaign inspired anyone to shoot anyone. That’s fucking nonsense. You know who kills people? I’ll tell you. There are two kinds of people that kill people: 1- people who are suddenly put in situations that they never thought they’d ever be in and react, and 2- complete fucking nutjobs. That’s pretty much it.
The first kind of person can be someone that comes home to find someone has broken into their house, or someone who’s walking down the street and gets mugged or someone who walks in and sees their wife blowing their best friend or something like that. The second one is pretty straightforward. Wacked out, crazy motherfuckers just want to kill. That’s how they come to be called ‘wacked out crazy motherfuckers.’ There’s really no way else to put it (now, sure there are people who are trained to kill, like people in the military, for example, but come on…that’s not exactly what I’m talking about, for one thing, and for another thing, soldiers fire something like 2000 rounds wildly for every single fatal bullet. Regular people, soldiers included, don’t tend to want to kill, even in war).
So, let’s take me as a perfect example of someone who’s not a nut. I’m not gonna go kill someone because someone tells me to. I’m definitely not gonna kill someone because someone says the word “gun” in a metaphorical context somewhere in my vicinity. I’m actually not gonna go kill someone, period. Now, let’s take this dude that ended up killing these people. He’s gonna kill. He’s gonna kill even though he’s not supposed to. He’s gonna kill even if no one ever EVER compares speaking your mind to shooting someone in earshot of him and even if no one ever refers to the people he winds up wanting to kill and/or killing as Hitler.
The evidence, besides the pile of bodies that he’s recently amassed, is in the interviews with everyone that knew him that are coming out now. Everyone knew this was a crazy sumbitch that was about to snap. BUT IT’S NO ONE’S FAULT THAT HE SNAPPED BUT HIS! To argue otherwise is completely retarded.
It’s that same rhetoric that implicates Judas Priest for those kids killing themselves. There’s nothing so fucking self important and shitty than saying “well, obviously, there are lots of stupid people out there just waiting to be told what to do by their heroes (be they Palin or Ice Cube or Danzig or Glen Beck) and well, we can’t have them saying this shit because people can get hurt.” THAT, folks is dangerous rhetoric. Not recapitulating an ideological disagreement as a war, not making up rhymes about ripping the heads off little girls or shooting a carful of dudes. Suggesting that regular people aren’t able to control their impulses and that if free speech is left to run unchecked, we’re all gonna be in grave danger, that’s fear mongering, man.
Now, I’m not gonna go calling anyone Hitler or anything, but…well, that’s a party line for dumbdumbs. And I don’t like Sarah Palin. I think she’s woefully unqualified to be telling anyone what to do or make policy, but you know what? I’m not gonna stoop to the level of blaming her for some crazy asshole’s behavior. She’s already enough of an asshole. I can blame her for the things she actually did and does and will do. This is a different thing. One guy’s at fault here, and he’s nothing but a fucking nut killing people. That’s all.
Okay, that’s that. Um…what else? The Holy Mess is a great band that you should all be listening to, and um felching is hilarious. Follow me on twitter @badsandwich and uh…what else? I dunno. This is exhausting. I’m gonna go shoot some speed into my nuts. You guys should do it too, unless you’re girls, in which case, shoot it into your tits. Okay, bye.
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