my halfrican-american dream
Current mood: obamanadered
Category: obamanadered Dreams and the Supernatural

last thing i could remember upon waking:

mouse on motorcycle, ralph s. nader was bellowing, somewhere in the darkness outside the corrugated steel outhouse, not a port-a-potty but an elaborately downhome type thing, maybe the one the DeadRev. Jerry Falwell was conceived in, according to that movie with the white man who couldn't jump, member that one?  and there was a court case with diapers and painkillers and courtney hole died in the bathtub, member?  anyway... i didn't quite realise i was dreaming, at first, and the smell of burning hair seemed almost sweet, like an olfactory love letter from your long-dead Uncle Lester, member him?  good ol Mo, they called him... occasionally nader's oral ejaculations would form words, or half-words: guilty, white half-words that were probably half-hearted if full-throated.  wish i could remember them now, but for some reason all i get when i try to make sense of it is an image of that OtherRev, you know -- the Jackson that doesn't touch little boys in their Netherland Regions, allegedly... he's standing there under a spotlight sobbing and covered in blood, trying to apologise for something but i can't make it out, and he appears to be holding a tan and well-proportioned severed penis in his hands, out in front of him, and i'm thinking it's maybe Tiger Woods' lil woodsman he holds, cuz it's a smartly-mixed burnt-umber man-o-th'future sorta tan, but... that's not quite right either, maybe Bryant Gumbel?  no, that's not right, who'm i thinking of... no, not that guy either, forget it -- maybe i'm making it all up out of whole sackcloth of ash or something -- but he was weeping and calling out for some kind of mediated forgiveness for apparently cutting the thing off of that tall guy with the big-ass ears, or threatening to anyway, in some kind of "live-mic" situation which he would not, should not in a box and should not would not up on Fox, but he did and he's sorry.  and then i felt nader pushing the outhouse over and i woke up.

weird, huh?

then today i see THIS SHIT on the news... 

you tell me, man.

Currently listening : Public Castration Is a Good Idea By Swans Release date: 1999-07-20

5:03 PM - 46 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Frisbeetarianism

RIP Big Guy

Currently watching : George Carlin - What Am I Doing in New Jersey? Release date: 2003-02-25

6:08 PM - 41 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

Loaf In Peace : Utah Phillips, Anarcho-Hobo
Current mood: melancholy
Category: Life

Went to a memorial service  today, unlike any other I've attended.  Three or four hundred people there, at least -- hard to count, all spread out over the local Little League ballpark as we were -- and more laughs per minute than tears, possibly, though there were plenty of those. 

Buncha crybabies, the lot of 'em.  Me included. 

It was the recent passing of Bruce Duncan Phillips, aka "U. Utah", that occasioned this gathering, and if you don't know who he is/was, well... educate your damn self, will ya?   Renowned rail-ridin hobo, union agitator, lefty-variety anarchist and storyteller extraordinaire, a veritable fountain of mingled truth and bullshit like few before him, yet an absolutely American Tradition in one package, a one-of-a-kind thorn in the side of all things authoritative and authoritarian generally.  A badass muhfuckuh to be sure, though I'm not sure he'd call himself that.

time to unionize santa's elves, gentlemen

Lots of luminaries on hand, though you wouldn't be able to tell the "celebrities" from the "regular folks" at a glance:  cowboy hats and tie-dyed shirts, boots and flip-flops, and everywhere those mysterious rose tattoos... the crowd was us and we were all together, goo-goo-gatchoo yourself, seriously.  Lefty leading gadfly and community radio supporter Amy Goodman of "Democracy Now!" fame was there, but you wouldn't know unless you happened to bump into her, studiously taking down notes on her laptop for a piece that will most likely work its way into tomorrow morning's show, for those who care.  Ani DiFranco - who has recorded a few things with Utah over the years [see the "currently listening" blurb below] - was expected to show and maybe perform but apparently couldn't be there; her agent (and Utah's - yeah, he had an agent ferchrissakes) read a statement she emailed for the occasion instead.  Oh well, she's a Righteous Babe anyway, and probably had to get back to working on her crazy Lamaze-breathing / singing technique for some upcoming show (what is up with that, anyway?), and her words were terse and sincere, and i kinda choked up again on em, like the pussy i become whenever great people shuffle off this mortal coil for whatever it is that comes next, amen.

mz. difranco and the Man hisself, circa 1996

Cried a few other times as well, I admit, because it takes a big man to cry and a bigger man to blog about it, so I'm told.  But I laughed some too, and even sang along with some folky singer-songwriter stuff that I would normally avoid judiciously under different circumstances.  Gay, I know.   But the good kind of gay --  like Oscar Wilde meets Gertrude Stein kinda gay, with a side of Whitman and DeGeneris for garnish.  I am not ashamed of my dead gay son, like that guy said in that movie, and I'm not embarrassed that I cried like a prom queen more than once, because damn, man.  Utah's gone.

oh come on, lighten up, people.  everybody does it -- you will too, someday.

I had only a few occasions to hobnob with this sweet, smart, funny oldfartnik, and we never really got down to politics like we oughta, like I always thought we eventually would.  We talked poetry - Utah was the featured poet two years in a row at a "Wine, Chocolate and Poetry" fundraiser in my homeboytown of Colfax, California, and I was the "emcee" cracking progressively drunken jokes between poets and walking that fine line between offending and entertaining the all-ages (ie kids and codgers) audience - and on one occasion shot the shit about under-rated science-fiction writer Jack Vance and his "Dying Earth" series, Utah being the only other person I know who's read him (and vice-versa).  I told him I'd loan him my copies of Gene Wolfe's "Book of the New Sun" series - only the single greatest SF series ever written, ever - because Wolfe (no relation, other than mitakwe oyasin kinda relation) was greatly inspired by Vance's work in crafting the books, but alas... never got around to it.  Kinda like those political arguments - in the respectful, intellectual definition of the word - that he and I needed to have on the subject of left vs. right anarchism and libertarianism and socialism and all that happy crappy that I can't seem to get enough of for some reason. 

Shit, man.  That's the part that sucks the most, in my selfish opinion.

Readers of this blog - if there are any left after so long a hiatus - who bother to pay attention to my occasional political rantings will know that I take a lil umbrage (a cute lil umbrage, but umbrage nonethemore) with a lot of so-called "anarchists" on the left, the ones who want to simultaneously smash the state AND the free market, as if those goals weren't inherently contradictory, a case I'm too tired to make at the moment, but this guy does a fine job of it  should you care to click the link and take the time see what i mean.   I got into it a bit with my teen-years hero Jello Biafra last year and blogged about it (like i do, like i do) but not nearly as much as i hadda oughta, given how wrong he was / is.  Lost some respect for the guy in the process, see for yourself if i didn't, but never felt that way about Utah and his particular brand of anarcho-uniongoonery with its accompanying government-lobbying lawmaking opposite-of-anarchism baggage for several reasons.  They're complicated and have a lot to do with his unique take on what "anarchy" means - about outgrowing government instead of overthrowing it, that kind of thing - but mostly it boils down to what a simply good and funny and generous person Utah is/was, while Jello was just kind of...  well, a dick, frankly. 

I know - not a very convincing intellectual argument I'm making here, but fuck it.  I'm not in the mood.  One of my local, personal heroes is gone, and that list grows shorter every day.  So please forgive the sentimental idealogical surrender I might appear to be dishing here vis-a-vis this wise-hearted old mooseturd pieman who spent so much of his later years and his final moments in my other homeboytown of Nevada City, California.  Hell, if Utah's vision of a post-government, post-market world is even possible, then I wouldn't mind living there myself... in fact I'm on the wait-list to get in, right after all them other "anarchists" over there in the left bank of the cause.  Wherever that guy's doing his thing is a good goddamn place to be, I think.

Loaf in peace, Big Guy.   You've earned it.

-------------------------------------------

PS -- I'll be doing my storytime radio show tonight (as "t. e. wolfe" not the reverend; he's still incognito and incomunicado, thank whatever) with some pieces by another American treasure, Mark Twain, and the ghost of Mr. Twain will be joining me in the studio - in the form of actor Chris LeGate, whose one-man Twain show has been steadily rocking the northern california theater world.  Starts at 8pm PST and y'all can catch it on KVMR -- 89.5 FM or 101.5 FM locally (sacramento valley and sierra-nevada foothills) and EVERYWHERE ELSE IN THE WORLD at kvmr.org ... gonna work a little tribute or two in to Mr. Phillips along the way, as befits the day and the life.  Check it out.

Currently listening : Past Didn’t Go Anywhere By Utah Phillips & Ani DiFranco Release date: 1996-10-15

5:29 PM - 14 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

whothuh
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Well, this was supposed to be that afore-mentioned "theatuh blog" wherein i delve into all the doings and goings-off of my newfound non-career in baring my soul to strangers for pretty much no money and some vague references to something called "art".  But I have barely enough time and / or energy to take a shit with my pants down just now, so I will have to skimp on it, sorry.  I promise that at my very first opportunity, the very first goddamn moment that somebody somewhere is not demanding my time and attention and genetic material, I will sit down and blog that shit out, bitches, try and put it all into perspective, if not for you then for me, the Primary Audience of My Work.  Promise.

Let's see if I can get this damn poster to replicate, then, shall we?

------------------ weeks later  -----------------------

yeah i don't think so.

one more weekend of it, mixed feelings, mostly good -- totally uninteresting as blogfodder for me right now.  you?  yeah yeah tell your story walking.  can y'help an old altaboy, fodder?  i'm a catlick. 

10:02 PM - 31 Comments - 15 Kudos - Add Comment

JUDAS McCARTHY [a work in sporadic progress]
Current mood: OhBlogatory
Category: OhBlogatory Parties and Nightlife

this will be my theater blog, once i get around to writing it.  thanks for your kind attention.

----------

okay, until this very minute, that was the extent of this here "work in progress".  so, yeah.  not a lot of work and entirely no progress.  go figure.

so instead of drawing out the entire lack of suspense any further, i instead opt to update the date on this and post it as is, post-haste and post-dated, like that check I sent to the IRS, with some minor but very important edits.  Please accept my-- well, not really "apology" as I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG.  The gross misrepresentation of my record and character as a vetted, pedigreed sociobioblogger and marginal prophet has gone on long enough, just about.  I didn’t mean that this was an ACTUAL "work in progress" contrary to the snide asides of my Opponent, who hates America but hey whatever is cool with you is cool with me.  nothing against haters, you understand.  can i get an upstanding obamavation?  

Instead I take a page from the playbook of Senator Clinton’s Campaign Misspokesperson Howard Wolfson  who knows how to spin a story like a shitwig at a Dead concert.  Anyone who thinks differently is a Carvillian JUDAS! and no, i am not engaging in any Churlish-Charlie McCarthyism, chin-hook, so shut yer yap and let’s keep this thing civil, all right?  don’t make me answer that goddamn three ay-em ringin phone or there will be Hell Toupee.

And THAT is all I have to say about THAT.

oh, and also this:

God Damn America.

you got that wright, rev.

11:39 AM - 35 Comments - 15 Kudos - Add Comment

I elude Death one more year
Category: Games

So, yes, I have begun my fortieth year - o - life, thanks for asking.  Yesterday was my 39th birthday, and I’m a Big Kid now, in fact, I’m this many:

or... maybe not.  the closer i looks at that the more fingers there are, and i’m not quite that old yet.  just maybe one or two more than i should be.  like this guy:

[bastards.  bitchboys.  cocksores, the lot of em.  big thanks to  MORMON SANTA   for correcting this oversleight]

eeew.  bet this guy can really do that Spock thing.   live long and prosper, freakazoid.

It has been brought to my attention that I apparently share a birthday with-- well, probably literally dozens of people, I would guess, I mean if you’re going to count everyone throughout history, but among others

OSAMA BIN LADEN

was allegedly born on March 10, 1957, making him a Big Boy Fifty-One!  Isn’t he the cutest?  Runt of some creepy-rich Saudi family with a big ol’d chip on his shoulder, assuming the Official Version of the story is correct, and of course -- who am I to question the Official Version, right, boys and girls?  Google that shit and correct me, if you must, but I’m pretty sure it’s right.  And it gives me pause, but not for long, cuz I’m kinda in a hurry, here, can we move it along please?

So, here’s to my brothuh-from-anuthuh-mullah -- may you find whatever it is you’re looking for on the Other Side and learn to just kinda go with the flow a little bit, man, chill out, things aren’t all that bad...

yeah, more of that Spockiness for you Trekkie types.  and by that of course i mean "terrorists".

---=---=---

it’s definitely odd sharing a birthday with a fictitious CIA creation, you know?  oops.  forget i said that.

[thanks to Sher for pointing out this anomaly]

11:37 AM - 58 Comments - 23 Kudos - Add Comment

question mark of the beast
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

[sorry for the "private" setting on this since yesterday or whenever... i only had small bursts of time to write it, sneaking it in here at The Job, as my internet at home is in traction.  oh - and this one is a little bit different than what you're used to: the rev is on vacation, thank the godless gods, so i get to tell a little story myownself]

I try to be patient and understanding with people, I really do.  I don't think of myself as smug and / or judgmental, but who ever does, right?  I don't want to consider my fellow humans as cartoonish cliches, but they keep acting that way, so of course I can't help it.

Let me quickly recount a typical - and emblematic - exchange between myself and the Great Unwashed that come thru the, uh... place where I work.  With all the books and such.  None of your business where, specifically. 

Pinched-face tight-lipped middle-aged woman with wu-hey too much make-up and an eye-watering cloud of some specially-priced Essence d' Target has been looming over my station at the reference desk as I surreptitiously reply to an email, I mean as I studiously engage in work-related computer activities.  I'm sure she thinks she's being "patient" with me, as she doesn't speak for however long it is that she looms, until eventually my tired brain tells me that I should maybe investigate the source of that ungodly odeur. 

I take her in with one glance, minimize the-- uh... whatever Important Library Business I had been attending to, and squeeze up into Public Relations mode, complete with fake-ass smile of my own, though I'd like to believe a more believable version than the one she's wearing.  "Yes, can I help you?" Cuz I'm helpful like that.

"Well, I certainly hope so," she counters, with an extra crinkle around the eyes that simultaneously speaks of her irritation and stoic refusal to show it.  "That is:  if I'm not interrupting something... important?" Pursed lips even tighter than before, surprisingly.

"Not at all.  It's my job; what can I do for you?" you festering cancer clot --No, no, no; none of that.  Do not give in to hatred, young Jedi.  That is the way of the Dark Side, and it just makes the day all the longer and intolerable[r].

"Well.  I'm used to the Card Catalog system, and I see you folks don't have one of those--" [haven't since the early nineties, actually] "--and I'm a student teacher and I need to gather materials for a presentation to my kindergarten class, something fun yet educational, and appropriate for--" a small laugh-like ejaculation here "--soft young minds in their formative state."  Not kidding: that's how she says it.  "I'm thinking something about the Orientals, maybe?"

A moment of pregnant silence between us.  I opt to induce labor.  "Oriental ... ?"

I leave this hanging, hoping she'll fill in some blanks, and possibly disabuse me of the notion that she's some sort of passively racist dimbulb hoping to mold soft young minds in her own ignominious image.  She smiles and nods, as if I've answered my own question, which - I suppose, in a way - I have. 

"Uh..." I continue, in the absence of what I like to call "teamwork" in the conversation, "are you referring to um.. shipping routes?  Or clothing and rugs and food, things like that?  Or... uh..." [please no] "...did you mean... Asian people?"

She smiles even bigger and more condescendingly; apparently I finally Got It Right.  "Well, the people of course!  These are kindergarteners; they're not interested in-- rugs and and and trade  whatever-you-said."  She doesn't add "silly goose" but I hear it nonetheless.

"Okay, I can help you with that," I say, pleasant and accepting of whatver comes my way, in the way of wu-wei, cuz I'm down with Orientals and all.  "Is there a specific culture you're interested in?"

Miss Teacher-In-Training responds, vaguely:  "Oh, you know-- all the usuals.  Chinese... Japanese..."

I stifle my urge to provide the time-honored rejoinder, pointing out her "dirty knees" and - with both hands pinching out patches of my shirtfront - the obligatory admonition to "look at these".  Such things are sort of frowned upon in polite, adult society, or so I'm given to understand.  Instead I simply smile again, nod and begin entering vague terms into the computer.  We have begun the process known as the "reference interview" wherein the alleged professional seeks to zero in on what the hell the mouthbreather on the other side of the desk is actually asking for without verbally asking for it.  And tries not to call him/her "mouthbreather" or any similar epithet.

And so it goes.  Eventually we settle on a stack of books so large that she asks me to help her carry them out to her car, and of course I can't refuse.  We like to go the extra mile and "give the customer the pickle" like it said in that training video, as if library patron avarice were a quality to be rewarded.  I can't remember now if she thanked me or not, but it hardly matters I suppose.  Hours later I could still smell her chemical-olfactory weaponry on my clothes, the ghost of yet another small death of my self-esteem.  Whatever.

Of course, this interchange is nowhere near the worst of what my colleaguse and I endure in the semi-literate trenches on a daily basis, merely the impetus for a blog-ready bitch session, the kind you've come to expect from the Good Rev.  And as I mentioned in the caveat up there, the Good Rev isn't here, Mrs. Torrance, so I hope this little shruglet will do for the moment.  It may be a harbinger of patron tales to come, or it may not, so breathe a sigh of relief. 

[okay, so i'm not as entertaining and witty and friggin psycho as him, so what.  i'm an actual human being; he's a goddamn literary conceit.    and not a very nice one, at that.    oh forget it.  don't try to grasp what i'm saying, it'll just hurt both of us.  i'm sure he'll be back soon enough...]

Currently listening : Clerks: Music From The Motion Picture By Various Artists Release date: 11 October, 1994

9:58 AM - 38 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

mayhap i oughta put my shirt back on
Current mood: angsty
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

i mean, there's only so many hungry, grasping, desperate housewifey hands i can successfully elude between my house and the corner liquor store, am i right, guys?  eventually a couple of them get thru my petulant defenses and i don't have a whole lot of chesthairs as it is, so i can't really afford to have any more of them ripped out, third-term abortion style, just to help you finish off your collection and become the e-bay goddess you always knew you could be.  seriously, ladies -- they're just strands of dead skin cells after all; they won't bring you flowers or increase your stock portfolio or end campaign-finance law as we know it or any of the other wonderful things that you've been misdirected to believe, so just lay off, willya?  jeez febreze, already.

so there i was, massaging the bulge on john mccain's cheek just like i do every thursday, doctor's orders -- [i refer of course to the cheek on his face, mr. comedy guy, so ease up on your homophoberotic winknudges] -- and who should come prancing up in a drama queen sistergirlstyle head-weaving huff but that sad little also-ran cellbitch, Catcher's Mitt Romney, all pouty and pre-minstrel, talking about how "girlfriend think she all that" and "my manshake is better than yours" and pointing that big ol long momo finger in my face like i would have any idea what to do with it, as if.  and i'm like: yawn.  color me waterbored, seriously.  i would have invited Bishop Too-Too to talk to the hand but i know he would have just tried to slip me The Secret Handshake again, and i don't swing that way anymore, Brigham NotSoYoung.  why don't you go baptise some more posthumous post-its post-haste and leave me the flip alone?  oh my heck.

now, i don't want to get anyone's sacred garments in a bunch, but i am seriously tired of Lil Miss Romney's springerific trailertrashenanigans every time the old queen gets skipped over for this year's Belle of the Ballsack, you know what i'm sayin?  so i gave johnny one quick little goodbye squeeze on his lovely ladylump and without even glancing back to see if anything squirted out of it I was gone, baby, gonzo, outy five thousand, makin like a tree and laying down rubber, because i simply do not roll with these cloistered, closeted homo-momo himbos no matter how square-jawed and patri-autistic they act in public.  i refuse to live a lie any longer, you hear me?  little johnny can fight his own catfights from now on.  i've got bigger fish to fuck.

but all that is really beside the point, and now i forget what my point was, and that's my point.  if it's not the hausfraus grabbing my junk before i can scratch off my scratcher or even get a good huff on from the unfairly priced tube of paint thinner, it's these godforsaken Gee Oh Pee divas gettin all up in my chiseled mug tryin to "home teach" me and make me a "sunbeam" for some jewish carpenter with a beard and hispanic nickname, like that's really what the world needs now, Burt Bacharackoff.  i have had it up to here, and more times than i care to admit.

sorry i got off on such a tangent, boys and girls, but things have been kind of... trying for me of late.  my kneepads are worn thin from all the "praying" i've been doing for Our Boys in the Midwest or wherever it is they are, and my humor has worn even thinner.  so don't judge, okay?  and keep your hands to yourselves, ladies.  show some respect and decorum and let the Good Rev go about his business unmolested for once.  I'm only human, after all, and keeping the free world free is a thankless, mostly wankless job.  just because i have a scrotum doesn't mean i'm emotionally impervious, you know.

go ahead -- make a joke out of "impervious".  i expect nothing less (or more, for that matter).  thanks for listening; your check's in the mail and i promise not to do that thing in your piehole again, since you're so squeamish about it all a-sudden.  goodnight, my fierce whoriors.  now go touch yourselves chastely for me.

Currently listening : God Bless America By Mormon Tabernacle Choir Release date: 14 July, 1992

5:11 PM - 39 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

motion censor
Category: Quiz/Survey

open circuit stereotypo
old fangled newhart i huck rastabout
fourlegged surname, obligatory end game
two for flinchin


double your money back
no guarantee

the complex got a complex complex
momentarily pickled in a paradox
now in turnin inward, burnin
seeya late irradiator


wasn't that and then some

needs some work, lil pre-launch punch-up

but you get the gist.

and then they woke up



[oh. one of those.]


---




you never remember

whatever, go figure

fine, be that way

pick your own side

to be sequestered in perpetuity
with the local militia on a three-deal contract
perks and benefits across the community
that's my proposal; kidding aside.

tell the homeland securator
i'm just an exhibit

no need to process or profile or penetrate
nothing to see here

pardon our mess, we're remodeling, pardner
to better enslerve our devaluable customers
RFD mini-me tracking initiated
your input's appreciated; motion denied.

1:00 AM - 31 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Strange Goodfellas [let the should times roll]
Current mood: betrayed
Category: News and Politics

[i already sent the following out as a bulletin, but i thought i'd drop it here as well, since it's hot and i'm not.  please leave scathing and bitter upbraidings, you two-party media puppets, as i need a little fire under me today.  thanks]

so yes i have been out of the myspace loop for a spell, so what.  i still have my erstwhile and curmudgeonly opinions to spout and some part of you still longs to hear em, admit it.

the important thing to remember, what with Super-Duper-Pooper-Scooper Tuesday almost upon us (ONE WEEK FROM TODAY, for about half the states in the godforshaven Union), is that with the sad yet not totally unexpected skipout of Dennis Kucinich -- who, taking a cue from his other guru Kenny Rogers, knows when to hold em and when to fold em, when to walk away, and when to push for impeachment --  there is now only ONE REMAINING ANTI-WAR CANDIDATE RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT...

and he's a Republican, ferfucksake.  can't you just taste the bittersweetness of it all?  take a moment and enjoy the irony, because it does NOT come along this strong very often.

in my dreamworld, RON PAUL becomes the Rethug vs. Billary as the Democrack.  can you feature that shit?  suddenly the dove is on the other foot, so to mangle the metaphor.

can't you just picture Rash Lowbrow, Michael the Savage Weiner, Bill O'Really, Sean Banality and all the rest of the hawky-tawk lunkheads having to decide whether their hatred of "HER" is greater than their love for open-ended defense-contract-stroking permanent garrision "pray i don't alter our agreement any futher" neoconjob of a WAR...

"you have got to be shittin me, bro... it is d3finitely Colt-45-thirty up in here now."

i want to hear Flush Blubberjaw swallowing the very last of his threadbare pride long enough to endorse his decades-long enemy.  that would be a sweet sound indeed.

yeah, i know.  never happen.  and whose fault is that?  do i have to spell it out?  oh, but it seems i do. 

that would be YOURS, douchebags.  yeah, talkin to you.  every last "lesser-evil" voter too scared to throw your infinitesimal, essentially symbolic vote away on a sure-fire "loser" with more principles and ethics than all the "winners" combined.  fuckin pussies.  Whoever we get is on your head, not mine.

so please: God bless america.  we're gonna need it.

Currently listening : Blows Against the Empire By Paul Kantner & Jefferson Starship Release date: 29 July, 1997

11:39 AM - 36 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

missing
Category: Blogging

this, a little bit. 

not enough to really do anything about it, just yet.  but missing it a little, and sooner than i expected. 

the words, they won't do what i want em to, lately.  i'm in the mood, but they're not, you feelin that, sheepskin?  guess i gotta wine em and woo em a little first, the needy little pre-madonnas.  forcing it is never very satisfying, plus there's all that shame afterward, and sweet jihad am i tired of that.  mayhap i'll just go ahead and steal someone else's in lieu.  or on the lieu, whichever.  mr. jourgensen's, fer instants:

there's no runnin away.  this is the USA.  it's how we live in the world today.

watch yourself.

Currently listening : The Last Sucker By Ministry Release date: 18 September, 2007

3:40 AM - 41 Comments - 23 Kudos - Add Comment

until then
Category: Blogging

category: blogging

mood: self-referential and insufferable

porntype: girl-girl w/hellokitty-theme set dressings; mild furry undertones.  rated PG-38.

i'm taking a break from this bullshit for a spell, see if i don't. you probly saw that coming, what with the lengthier and lengthier gaps between entries ovah heah. i can't even think of a word that rhymes with "fastidious" - that's how bad it's gotten. i can't even think of a joke that fits with the last sentence, even. must be the goddamn writer's strike or something.

so this one isn't funny or interesting or even all that informative. please don't LOL or spray your coffee on your keyboard, as i will know you're just fakin it.   and while i appreciate the gesture and the limp attempt at empathy, please save the motions for the appellate judge.  my time is money and my forehead is huge.   and yeah i already know that ron paul is a pussy for not joining kucinich in the cheney impeachment charge, so please do not bring it up again, thank you.

someday i may even pump out part two of that "why do i smell so icky alla time" masterpiece, as i certainly still do. but that day is not today, shitlips. here - go suck on these aquadots, kids -- daddy's tryin to take a nap.

of course i kid, but not because i love you. don't ever think that. it's possible that i do, but i will never let on, so stop wiping your pleading meathooks all over me while i'm tryna eat. it's unbecoming, and i prefer to surround myself with things that become.

one day i shall return, and my wrath shalt be unleashed again as in days of yore... before the Dark Times... before the Phlegmpire. you're either with me or pressed up against me, like boobies at a carwash. you decide. i'm good either way.

flatch you later, Allah-baiter.

10:07 PM - 30 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

camper van halen
Category: Automotive

so much ado and yet so little hubbub, is what i was trying to say.  you know - before.  sorry if you missed it. 

i have been otherwise engaged for the better part of the current social trimester and therefore unable to answer your reticent queries and myriad theories re what up and/or gives.  there was that imaginary tour of duty in baghdad that i did for less than one full week, which nevertheless seems to have scarred me for life or thereabouts, and i seem to have grown a couple of cancerous appendages on my chin to compensate, but that is literally neither here nor there.  literally.  so don't try looking either place for it.  not in a box, not with a fox; not on a shelf, go fuck yourself.  downright soussian, innit.  or perhaps upright.

so i'm on tour with van halen again and it's a veritable twelve-step smorgasborg of self-denial, what with all that running with the devil and the jaimies cryin and so forth.  plus the beautiful gurls, of course.  talking old-school, here;  pre- hagar the handicapable.  asslesschaps lee roth in effect, see if i'm not.  i don't get an actual hotel room, of course, but they're kind enough to let me sleep in the camper van with morty the sound guy.  i have begun to think of him as morty the smell guy.  diamond dave told me i'd get "some leg tonight for sure" and admonished me to tell em how i do.  come on, dave, give me a break. 

'course they're all like AA soberbots these days, which i suppose is a hoot and a holler for someone somewhere but i've yet to come to terms with it.  i don't mean to complain, you understand.  they've been really great, really.  eddie even said it was cool with him if i "get it on" with valerie bertinelli like i have always dreamed of doing, but to leave mckenzie phillips out of it as she's working the program still, you know... one day at a time.  these recovery funsters really know how to party, is what i'm still saying, even after all this time.  i mean that i'm still saying it, not that they're still partying.  'sfine by me, frankly.  the mamas-papas offspring chick doesn't really do it for me anymore, anyway; she pretty much peaked in American Graffitti, ya feel that?  yeah i know you do, don't try and front.

many years ago, when i was an impressionable youngster of about thirteen or so, friend of mine had a tape player that would play tapes backwards. i don't know how he rigged it to do that, but he did and it worked.  we listened to all our lame early-80s cassettes to see if we could find the hidden secret satanic messages, and my favorite was VH's "Running With The Devil" (an obvious choice for such) whose titular chorus phrase, when played backwards, sounded exactly like:  "ooh - live to be a winner". 

i know, huh. 

how contemptibly lame.  like some kind of hidden secret self-help mantra for losers who didn't even wear Izod shirts, the nerds.  then it dawned on me -- what if that had been the title of the song and backwards had been "runnin with the devil..."?  fuh-reaky.  we'd've been junior high heroes for discovering that shit.  but alas it was the other way around: the quasi-satanic message was in the foreground and the healthy, well-adjusted positive spin for today's troubled teens the cryptic coded secret message.  what does it all mean?  your guess is as good as not.

so anyways, that's why i haven't been bloggin much lately.  see,  big bad bill is sweet william now and i'm the atomic punk, plus a veritable shitload of early sixties cover-tunes that i never even knew were cover tunes til i got older and wiser and the seconal wore off.   and i never did get the hang of that amp-cabinet splits-jump mr. lee roth perfected (til he broke his dumbass leg doin it, that is) and eventually i came to the realization that van halen is actually pretty fuckin retarded; i think it was "1984" that did it -- specifically "Jump".  possibly "hot for teacher", i don't know.  i mean, "i don't feel tard-y..."     but someone's gotta keep this show on the road and i needed a little extra meth money, so here i am, baby, lining up backstage viagrathons for these witless washups and telling myself it doesn't make me a ho, just a little ho-ish.

i'm yo ice cream man, stop me when i'm passin by, or if you've heard this one before, whichever comes first.  just don't claim i never done nothin for you, my bitches and my bastards.  all my flavors are guarantee-hee-hee-hee- hee-- hee-yud. uh...

to    satis uh fy.

Currently listening : Fair Warning By Van Halen Release date: 19 September, 2000

10:27 PM - 39 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

if i had a hammer

i'd hammer day and night.  also night and day.  in between commercials over scotch and perrier.

i'd hammer on the ceiling.  i'd hammer on the floor.  i'd hammer on your in-laws if they showed up at my door.  i'd hammer me some mormons, i'd hammer me some jews.  but no jay-hovah witlesses - their skin's too thick to bruise.

i would hammer everything i see, from ben folds 5 to timbuck 3.  i'd hammer in the 80s and in the 90s too.  i'd even try my hammerin hand on the ladies from The View.

i'd hammer aguilera, i'd hammer britney spears.  i'd hammer justin timberlake and some other mouseketeers.  i'd hammer the hermaphrodites who haunt my waking dreams.  and then i'd take a break and hammer down some krispy kremes.

i'd hammer on The Hammer and Abramoff as well.  then i'd hammer on the Clintons' lincoln bedroom clientele.  i'd hammer on hank aaron and that MC fella too, cuz competition's problematic and i'm too poor to sue. 

i'd hammer on kucinich. i'd hammer on ron paul.  edwards and obama and mccain -- i'd do em all.   i'd hammer giuliani but i'd wear protective gear, cuz that cretin's kinda greasy and a 9/11 queer.

i would hammer on the future.  i would hammer on the past.  i'd hammer me a wormhole out of chomsky and palast.  i'd hammer annie coulter with a relish and aplomb, and afterward i'd finish up with hannity and colmes.

i'd hammer on the bible and then on the koran.  i'd hammer on the thompson twins and then duran-duran.  see, equal opportunity's the tune my hammer sings and everlasting nevermore the gift my hammer brings.

-- traditional cornish drinking song

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