Incoherent thoughts

I've moved...

2006-03-08T12:41:00.000-05:00

Well, this blog has.

Effective immediately, Incoherent Thoughts will be located here.

That would be: http://blog.alienredrum.com.

Thank you for your continued patronage.

Routine, even...

2006-03-07T21:39:00.000-05:00

I took my parents out to eat this past Saturday and my father informed me he was going to the hospital Tuesday, today, for surgery.

He didn't seem too concerned, as the particular surgery was routine. Thus, I wasn't too concerned.

At the time.

Of course, later on that night as I was lying in bed, my imagination slipped out and started running rampant in my head. What if this, what if that.

By Sunday, the what ifs went back into hiding.

Today, my sister called me as I was leaving the house and started asking a bunch of silly questions, knowing that it would irritate me since I was in a hurry. "Why are you still home? Why did your schedule change? When are you leaving?"

I promptly hung up on her and went to work.

When I got to the office, I called her back and her first question (of course) was, "Why did you hang up on me?"

"What do you want?" I replied. The day was already starting off to be busy one, so I didn't have much time.

"Do you know where I'm at?"

"Where?" I asked.

"I'm at the hospital with daddy."

I had forgotten all about the surgery. It definitely wasn't intentional, I just have this knack of discarding things that worry me. I asked my sister to keep me updated throughout the day, and hung up.

And that's when the what ifs came back for a visit.

I left work about 3:30 and headed for the hospital.

When I arrived, my dad was just being admitted into his room.

Everything had gone smooth. Routine, even.

My dad was in good spirits, if a little worn.

I hung out for a couple of hours and headed home. The thoughts that went through my mind on the way home are irrelevant for this post, as, shockingly enough, I do keep most of my shit private. But they certainly centered around the fact that my parents aren't going to live forever as I had thought.

And that bothers the piss out of me.

Me and that there dog have issues...

2006-03-06T23:02:00.000-05:00

That there is my sister's boyfriend's dog. That there dog has tried to bite me on the ass numerous times and has succeeded once.

Me and that there dog have issues.

One night I went over my sister's place to hang out.

We were watching TV, having a grand time, when my sister said, "Stand up, Stewie, I want to show you something."

I stood up and she said, "Give me your hand."

I did.

She took my hand and hit her arm with it, making a big deal about it.

The dog, who had been laying peacefully beside her jumped up and went insane.

Then it lunged at me, trying to bite me.

Me, being the quick thinker, grabbed my sister and held her between me and the dog. If that little bastard was going to bite me, he would have to get through her. The downside of course was my sister continued to yell and scream like I was hurting her, making the dog more insane.

Finally, my sister, laughing, calmed the dog down. The dog gave me a look and laid back down.

My sister thinks she is funny.

IE users...

2006-03-06T19:55:00.000-05:00

Yeah, if you are viewing this in IE, it's all fucked up.

It seemingly just happened as I have not modded the template in weeks.

It works fine in firefox, though.

Changes to fix it are coming soon.

Much more than I anticipated...

2006-03-05T16:17:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago (or maybe a month, who knows), I was checking out the bands coming to The Rams Head Tavern (a local bar).

I've yet to go to a concert at the Ram's Head because, generally, I don't want to drop $40 on someone who I'm not a huge fan of. And a band that I really like has yet to come to Ram's Head (except for Billy Idol, which I missed, which is unfortunate because I heard he put on a helluva show).

As I was perusing the list of upcoming artists, I saw that KT Tunstall was only 12 bucks. It seemed like a damn good price, but I had not heard anything by her at all.

I brought it up to my friend, Rosie, and she said that I would probably like her, considering some of the stuff that I've listened to.

So I picked up Tunstall's CD, listened to it over a weekend, dug it a lot, went to get tickets the following Monday and, sure enough, they were sold out. Fuckity.

I checked Tunstall's website to see if she was playing anywhere else in the area, but I was out of luck.

A couple of days later, I was checking out the upcoming events for Barnes & Noble and Borders to see if there were any authors I wanted to hear read. Well, low and behold, KT Tunstall was doing a signing at the Borders near me the same day she was going to appear at The Ram's Head. I can dig that.

So I went up today and, in addition to the signing, she did a small acoustic set. It was only three songs, but it was much more than I anticipated.

She opened with "Miniature Disasters" (I think), then played "Other Side of the World" and finished with "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree."

Good times.

Yeah, that one of me and her pretty much sucks because the dude took the picture before I was ready. But I can pretty much live with it even though it looks like I'm a deer in damn headlights.

Oh, and a public plea: If you plan on going to a show where people are going to be standing close to you, for fuck's sake, where some deodorant. Someone standing next to me obviously didn't have good hygiene.

Dick.

I know I say this often...

2006-02-28T21:25:00.000-05:00

In my spare time, as I have most undoubtedly have mentioned in previous entries, I review movies for HorrorTalk.

I really love doing it, although I do get a little overwhelmed, sometimes, when a bunch of movies come in the mail at once. And, my editor, Ace, gets just as overwhelmed. But the sonovabitch gets it done, so (myspace) kudos to him.

One of the best things about reviewing movies -- aside from the free movies -- is sometimes you get some kickass recognition for something you have written. I've received some stellar emails from some stellar people. People like Mick Garris (director of Stephen King's "The Shining" and Sleepwalkers), Leslie Orr (Patty in The Manson Family--hawt) and various other kickass emails.

Hell, a few entries back, I met a person in 'real life' who has read some of my reviews.

Quite simply, that shit rocks. Sure, the average joe may not know who the hell Mick Garris is, but to me, that's what makes writing 'views worth it. I dig Garris' movies, he dug one of my reviews. Fuck yeah.

One of the things I most wanted when I started doing this gig was to get on a box cover. It wasn't something I strived for because, admittedly, I suck at writing the tagline. It's something I always work on, but, for some reason, it's just not my skill. I'm either too wordy or the fact that I refuse to write a dreaded cliche or whatever. I don't know.

But that doesn't matter. Because Fear of Clowns came out today.

I've been waiting for months for this movie to come out. Months. Because that "...frightening..." you see on the cover? That's from my review.

I don't give a shit that it's ellipsed. I don't give a shit that the whole line isn't on there.

Something I fucking wrote is on the box cover of a movie released by Lionsfuckinggate and is being sold nationfuckingwide.

I know I say this often...

But can I get a fuck yeah!

Much thanks to Aric, Ace and Fred for various reasons.

Rock on, gentlemen.

I don't even like Loverboy...

2006-02-24T16:14:00.000-05:00

Freakmagnet and I had an interesting email conversation, today.

FreakMagnet: They've been playing Loverboy songs on XM radio and I don't know why, but every time I hear one of their songs, I picture you singing and dancing to it.
Makes for interesting entainment.

Me: I DON'T EVEN LIKE LOVERBOY. >:(
Now, if it were Warrant, I'd understand.

FreakMagnet: I guess you wouldn't want to know that I picture you in the red leather pants, then, would you?

Me: Oh THAT i do every night. Sometimes I lose the pants, tuck it and dance Silence of the Lambs style.

FreakMagnet: I hope you know you've just ruined me for other men.

Me: I know. Now that you have that image, how can another man even compete?

I rule.

I spy with my little eye...

2006-02-20T17:47:00.000-05:00

Recently I just finished using crest white strips on my teeth. I'm a smoker and a coffee drinker and it was starting to show.

Holy hell, what a difference those strips made.

But, that's not really what this entry is about.

I told my sister about the wonders of the white strips (her being a smoker and coffee drinker as well). She agreed that they did work wonders.

She went on to tell me why she had picked them up.

One day a few years back, her and Cody, my nephew, were driving down the street and playing "I spy" (or is it "Eye spy?").

My sister said, "I spy with my little eye something red."

"The stop sign!" Cody exclaimed.

"That's good, honey." My sister drove on and saw something else.

"I spy with my little eye something yellow." She said.

Cody looked out the window a bit, searching for the yellow something.

Finally, he turned to my sister, smiled, pointed at her mouth and said, "Mama's teeth!"

She finished the story by telling me she stopped and picked up some white strips.

I laughed my ass off.

Aside from Saftey Dance, of course...

2006-02-17T23:22:00.000-05:00

I wasn't going to post this because I haven't put anything of substance lately.

But, fuck me, I love the song and it would be my first choice. Aside from Safety Dance, of course.

Your Stripper Song Is

I Touch Myself by The Divinyls

"I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself"

A total exhibitionist, you probably already are a stripper!

What Song Should You Strip To?

Ripped from Norman.

He lives off the land...

2006-02-13T21:49:00.000-05:00

I have an uncle, John, who hunts. He lives off the land half the year (or at least from what I remember). He is the quintessential "man's man."

The man works six months a year doing whatever he does, and the other six months he hunts. He has a half a mountain at his beckoning because he owns it. Literally. Bought and paid for.

One night, when I was about five or six, I was watching him pack for a hunting trip he was going on.

Having yet to see a gun packed, only a bow, I said, "What are you hunting for?"

"Bear."

"Where's your gun?" I asked.

He looked at the bow, then back at me. "What the hell do I need a gun for? I got my bow," he said simply.

I never gave that man a smart mouth.

Ever.

Google video...

2006-02-08T21:58:00.000-05:00

...I'm addicted to it.

I would beat his ass...

2006-02-08T21:52:00.000-05:00

This is a video of a kid playing XBox online and yelling at his mom for chocolate milk.

This is why corporal punishment is necessary.

On a side note, what game is that?

I just don't brag about it...

2006-02-08T14:35:00.000-05:00

Another online test I stole from someone's blog and, dammit, I can't remember whose it was. I usually give credit when ripping off too.

If I got it from yours, let me know. I'll own up to it.

Anyway, pretty damn accurate except for the "Romantic" part.

I'm a romantic fuck, I just don't brag about it.

Advanced Global Personality Test Results

Extraversion	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Stability	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Orderliness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Accommodation	\|\|	10%
Interdependence	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Intellectual	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Mystical	\|\|\|\|\|\|	30%
Artistic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Religious	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Hedonism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Materialism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Narcissism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Adventurousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	83%
Work ethic	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Self absorbed	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Conflict seeking	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Need to dominate	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%

Romantic	\|\|\|\|\|\|	30%
Avoidant	\|\|\|\|	16%
Anti-authority	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Wealth	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Dependency	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Change averse	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Cautiousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Individuality	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Sexuality	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	76%
Peter pan complex	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Physical security	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Physical Fitness	\|\|	10%
Histrionic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Paranoia	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Vanity	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Hypersensitivity	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Female cliche	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%

Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Wait.

What the fuck?

70% paranoid?? 63% Interdependence??

That test sucks.

Nothing much else has changed...

2006-02-03T14:06:00.000-05:00

I was tagged by freakmagnet to describe my perfect partner in eight requirements.

Since I already did this awhile back, this is just a slightly edited of what I posted before. I took out "Above average height" to meet the requirement. Nothing much else has changed.

Red hair - There is nothing finer than a gorgeous redhead. And, when I say red hair, I mean red hair. Not dyed. I want the whole red head package. Grrr baby.

No friends - Let's face it, guys don't like your single friends. None of them. None of those nosy women telling you how I should treat you. 9 times out of 10, your single friends are bitter and want you to go out and meet guys with them. So, they take every chance they get to tell you how wrong I am for you. Jealous, petty and childish, there is a reason why these friends are single. The ONLY exceptions to this rule is if the friend is my best friend's girlfriend. Then, if they break up, you stop talking to her. The other exception is if my best friend is single, you must find a friend for him. Then, if they break up, you stop speaking to your friend because she's such a bitch for leaving my buddy.

A smoker - I'm a smoker. I don't plan on stopping. I don't want to be nagged about stopping. My next girlfriend will either be a smoker or someone who doesn't care if she dates a smoker. Who am I kidding? She'll be a smoker.

Parents are either dead or live in another country - I have a hard enough time dealing with my mother. I don't need to deal with yours.

Deaf - Okay, maybe not deaf. But none of this selective hearing bullshit, either. You either hear me or you don't. Nothing in between.

Short-term memory - I don't need to hear about shit I said to you in 1986.

A sense of humor - I want you to laugh at my farts and call me a dumbass for being so crude.

A high self-esteem - I've had female friends long before I met you and I'll probably have them long after you leave. Deal with it. Also, I do not want to hear how fat or how skinny or how unattractive you think you are. Nothing is a bigger turn-off than a woman begging for attention. Hey, I'm a fat-ass, but I never once said "Golly, I need to lose weight." Why? Because I don't give a shit what other people think because I am better than them.

A need to be alone, sometimes - We don't need to be together 24/7.

Freak already tagged the people I would have. So no tags from me.

I used to question everything...

2006-02-02T23:39:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, I was an inquisitive little boy. Pain in the ass is probably more like it, if you were to believe my parents.

I used to question everything (still do on occasion), and my mother would pretty much answer everything within reason. Within reason because some of the stuff was not age appropriate. Those times she would just make something up.

Which brings me to today's entry.

My mother was watching a soap opera one day and I was waiting for the soap opera to be over so I could watch more important shows. Like Godzilla. No time for love, Dr. Jones.

Anyway, one of the characters on the show was proclaiming that another character had raped her. Not knowing what rape was, I asked my mother.

"Uh," she said, no doubt trying to figure out how you explain rape to a five year old. "It's, uh, when you hit someone over the head with a telephone."

That answer was good enough for me. I filed it away and continued to wait for Godzilla.

Later on that night, there was a knock on the door. My father opened it and found Skeeter, a neighbor from up the street, standing on the porch with a blood soaked handkerchief to his head.

"Oh my God, Skeeter! What happened?" My mom asked, rushing to help him inside.

Skeeter stumbled in the house. "Diane got drunk again and she hit me over the head with a telephone."

Being the knowledgeable young lad that I was, I blurted "YOU WERE RAPED!?!?"

My father looked at my mother. My mother looked at me. "Go. Upstairs. Now." She said. She seemed pissed.

I can't remember how old I was when I found out what rape really was, but I wasn't too surprised to find out it wasn't when you hit someone over the head with a telephone.

I particularly like the pink S&M room...

2006-01-29T13:53:00.000-05:00

Knitting done cool...

and...

There are more wonderful ideas here. I particularly like the pink S&M room. It manages to be fucked up, yet keep its femininity. That's always good.

I straight ripped this from Lesley's blog. Something I hate myself for doing, but, dammit, how could I not?

I'm not just a member...

2006-01-26T22:39:00.000-05:00

About 10:00 today, an email came in from one of my co-workers in another office looking for an Outlook fix.

Unfortunately, I was tied up helping some other users and I didn't get to him in a timely manner.

About 3:00 today, an email came in from the same co-worker that said, "What? No love for this office?"

My reply:

Co-worker,

I'm forwarding this to Trudy because we don't, in fact, like you. Much less love you.

Maybe Trudy likes you enough to help you out.

Thanks Trudy!!!

-Stewie

5 minutes later, I got his reply:

I'm not just a member, I'm the fucking President.

Just another day in the inbox...

2006-01-25T22:34:00.000-05:00

My roommate sent the following email to me and my friend, Jafo, yesterday.

I read online someone took their beta fish to the vet. I also saw where they’re asking the most humane way to kill a fish that’s sick. Am I cruel and heartless in that I’d look to the toilet for both situations? Am I not fit to be a fish owner?

Before I had read it, Jafo had replied with:

Wide open door for us to stroll through here in terms of what kind of things you aren't fit to own. Just a gaping hole for us to stream foul, evil comments through. Thanks for that.

As far as fish go, for most of your generic aquarium fish, if that stuff that pet stores have that you squeeze into their tanks when they are stressed doesn't work, the toilet is effective. For actually wanting to kill one, they could freeze it. Or do what one of my roommates did with one of his - chuck it in a plastic shopping bag and slam it into a wall and the ground.

Shit. I can't top that.

Sometimes it's better to just watch things unfold.

I want to be cool...

2006-01-24T21:35:00.000-05:00

I went and picked myself up a moleskin notebook today because I want to be cool like Renaldo and Lesley.

I had some reservations because Borders had these things so damn shrinkwrapped that I couldn't check them out before I dropped the $14.95 on the one I wanted.

So I stole it. I'll be damned if I'm going to drop coin on something I can't even check out.

Okay, okay. That's a lie. I bought it anyway because of the good word on it from, as said, Renaldo and Lesley, in addition to Renaldo's stellar review of them.

I mean when a seemingly normal guy goes nuts over a little notebook, how could I not buy one?

Anyway, I opened it up when I got home and I must admit that it's pretty nice. I can see myself buying many of these. Hell, Hemingway used one and he was a pretty popular guy from what I hear.

Maybe I'll write the Great American Novel in a few of them.

Or ideas for the next NaNoWriMo.

Either way, it was a solid purchase because it's the kind of notebook you want to fill up with words. Not just any words, either. Any words should be relegated to the likes of those spiral notebooks from the other side of town. The words one puts in a moleskin better be carefully chosen because the Moleskin Notebook has no time for any Tom Foolery.

I used to be this assclown...

2006-01-22T23:17:00.000-05:00

I have a new entry processing in my head for a future post, but right now here's an oldie but a goodie on Nice Guys.

Embarrassingly enough, I used to be this assclown.

Oh, and be sure to read the manifesto.

Rock on, ladies.

I'm cool with that, too...

2006-01-19T20:35:00.000-05:00

I'm finding a real hard time feeling sympathy for Jill Carroll, the reporter who was abducted in Iraq.

Let's go through a couple things.

She's a woman.
She's an American.
She's a freelance reporter for The Christian Science Monitor.

Oh yeah, IN IRAQ.

Can't imagine none of these things are good.

The Monitor reported:

"A few months after the US invasion, she left Jordan for Iraq, prompted by the desire to show to as vast an audience as possible the human tragedies caused by the war and the hardships of the Iraqi people."

"The kidnappers who abducted her could not have chosen a more wrong target."

Um, I'm thinking terrorists don't do a background check on the American reporters before they kidnap them.

And here's what gets me, it's possible that some soldiers may have to put their life on the line to save her. As if the soldiers don't have enough to worry about, they may have try to save the life of someone who shouldn't even be there.

If she is released, and she goes back over, and gets kidnapped again -- and that would be no surprise to me -- I hope the U.S. government does nothing to help.

As it looks right now, the government isn't getting involved, and I'm cool with that, too.

You put yourself in a volatile situation, you have no one to blame but yourself.

I got enough friends...

2006-01-15T14:37:00.000-05:00

I had to work today to test our disaster recovery process.

On Friday, my two co-workers and I were discussing the process. To put faces to the co-workers, refer to the last blog entry. As stated before, I'm the guy in blue.

"Who's going to let us in the building?" I asked. (The recovery center is off-site for obvious reasons).

"They got a guy coming in to let us in," answered Boombox.

"We don't have to fucking talk to him, do we?" I asked.

"What difference does it make?" Boombox said.

I said, "Cause I don't want anymore friends. I got enough friends."

"You don't have any friends," said White Shirt.

"Exactly," I replied. "And that's too damn many."

Just another day at the office...

2006-01-09T21:58:00.000-05:00

If anyone ever wondered what my day at the office is like, watch that nextel commercial with the two guys dancing to "push it."

I'm the guy in blue.

You can check out the commercial here or here.

I love my job.

Believe me, he's contributing...

2006-01-08T20:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Norman posted a blog about how she was frustrated with her husband not pulling his share when it comes to taking care of the kids. Read the blog, I think Norman had some valid points.

One of the things Norman was mad about was her husband didn't wake up when one of the kids tried to wake him to take care of the monster in the closet. Part of me didn't think he can be blamed entirely if he's a heavy sleeper and just didn't here the kid trying to wake him. I was going to post that thought in the comments, but fuck me, I didn't want to take a chance with all the man hating going on in the comment field.

One of the things I noticed is a few of the stay-at-home mom's were bitching that their husbands didn't do their share.

Well, goddammit, he shouldn't have to. His share is going to work and providing the money for the house, the food, the cars. Your share is taking care of the kids, keeping a clean house and having dinner ready.

And I feel the exact same way if it's a stay-at-home dad. It doesn't matter if the parent at home is the wife or the husband.

It amazed me that some of the commenters expected their husbands to work 40 plus (assuming it's full-time) a week, and then come home and do 50/50 of the taking care of the kids. Fuck. That. It's not like he's not contributing, I mean, hell, you do have a place to live, right? Food? Electricity? Medical insurance? Believe me, he's contributing.

Hell, and you have it lucky. He has to work with assholes all day. Granted, your kids may act like little assholes sometimes, but not every day. Not to mention the commute, the bosses, the customers, etc. Every job, be it the one at the home or the one away from home, has it's ups and downs. Deal with it.

Let me make something clear -- I side with Norman. She works full-time, as does her husband. The late night wakeups should be 50/50 and she should crack her hubby in the ass if she feels like he's not pulling his share.

But to the stay-at-home parents (be it moms or dads) who expect 50/50, you are out of your fucking mind. Completely. I realize raising a family and running a house is a full-time job, but it's your full-time job. If you don't think you can handle the responsibility without fucking bitching about it, talk to your significant other about making different arrangements.

Hail, baby, hail...

2006-01-07T20:38:00.000-05:00

Hail to the Redskins!
Hail Victory!
Braves on the Warpath!
Fight for old D.C.!
Run or pass and score--we want a lot more!
Beat 'em, Swamp 'em,
Touchdown!--Let the points soar!
Fight on, fight on 'Til you have won
Sons of Wash-ing-ton. Rah!, Rah!, Rah!

Hail to the Redskins!
Hail Victory!
Braves on the Warpath!
Fight for old D.C.!

In a nail-biting defensive battle, Redskins triumphed over the Bucs 17-10.

Seattle, here we come!

I honestly don't know...

2006-01-06T22:27:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, I used to work retail. I worked retail for ten years or so, about five of those ten on the management side.

Let me tell you something, I think everyone should work in the service industry for at least one year to see what it's like because customers, for the most part, are ignorant fucks.

It's true, I speak from experience.

For those who complain about the customer service industry going down hill, well, chances are you are part of the problem. It's come to a point where people expect something for nothing or, sometimes, don't know what the fuck they want.

Example...

I was working at the drug store I managed one Saturday night, about an hour before closing, last day of the current sale.

I get called up to the front register for customer assistance.

I arrive at the register where I see an eighty-year-old man and his wife. I nod my head to the customers and say, "What can I do for you?"

The cashier, Germaine, starts to say, "He was wondering if..."

"I can speak for myself, Goddammit," the man said, completely cutting Germaine off.

Oh oh. Here we go. I knew whatever it was, it wasn't about Germaine. He was a rock solid employee who never had any problems. Ever.

There was an ad open on the counter. Old Bastard thrust his gnarly old finger on a picture of razors and said, "I want these and you don't have any on the shelf!"

"I offered a rainche..." Germane started.

"I don't want a Goddamn raincheck! I want these razors. I can't shave with a raincheck!" Old Bastard said. And Bitty Old Bitch stood there, nodding in agreement.

I put a smile on my face, knowing nothing pisses off an irate customer more than someone smiling at them. "Well let's see what I can do," I said.

I looked at what the man wanted. It was a 12-pack of Gillette Mach razors on sale for like $11.49. I walked around the counter and headed down the razor aisle.

"I already looked down there and you don't have them!" He hollered after me.

I turned and smiled, "Well, sir, I'm seeing what I can do for you." And headed back down the aisle.

I reached the razors and saw that we had 4-packs of the Machs. I grabbed three of them and headed back up to the register.

"How about three 4-packs for the sale price?"

"No. I want the ones that are on sale." He said.

What the fuck? I'm quite sure my smile faltered. "But sir, these are the ones on sale."

He picked up the ad and pointed to the pictured razors again.

"Does it say three 4-packs? NO. It says a 12-pack. I want a 12-pack."

"They're the same razor," I said. I was fighting laughter. This guy was insane.

"It might very well be the same damn razor," he said. "But it's not. what's. on. sale." He said, emphasizing the last words with a finger tap to the ad.

"Uh. Okay. Germaine," I said, "can you hand me the calculator?" Germaine handed me the calculator kept behind the registers. I checked the ad price on the 12-pack and headed back down the razor aisle.

"Where are you going now?" Old Bastard asked.

"Checking something, sir. I'm trying to make you happy." I reached the razors and checked the regular price on the 12-pack. I threw the numbers in the calculator and saw the guy was saving 10% on the razors. I walked back to him and said, "Sir, the sale price is 10% off the regular price. How about I give you 20% off any pack of razors for your inconvenience?"

"Not good enough! I am not leaving without the razors that are in the ad?"

"Then I don't know what to tell you, sir," I cheerily replied. "You've been offered a raincheck, you won't take it. You've been offered the exact same razor count, exact same brand, you won't take it. You've been offered a better deal than what's in the ad, you won't take it."

"You can tell me you have the razors that are in the ad."

"No. I can't. Because I don't. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?" I said, smiling still.

"You can wipe that smart ass grin off your face."

"Oh no, sir, I can't. I love dealing with the public. I can't help but be happy when I help customers such as yourself." Behind the man, Germaine was staring at the ceiling, barely containing his laughter. It was always a party when I worked.

Old Bastard threw the ad on the ground in disgust and headed for the door.

"I'm calling your boss tomorrow! I'm going to have your job!" He said as he was leaving. I so loved it when they said that. I can assure you, they didn't want my job because then they'd have to deal with people like themselves.

"Fantastic, sir!" I called behind him. "And you have a wonderful evening and thank you for shopping at RiteAid!"

His finger shot up as he walked out the door. Not the pointy one, either.

The next day I got a call from the district manager's assistant, John. John was the guy that handled all of the complaints for Jerry, the DM.

"Hey Stewie," he said, "how's it going?"

"Good. Let's get to it."

John laughed, "Okay, so you know why I'm calling. Tell me what happened."

So I told him the whole story. By the time I was finished, he was laughing.

"Yeah, that's the story I heard. Did you really tell him to have a good night and thanks for shopping at RiteAid?" He said, still laughing.

"Actually, I believe it was 'have a wonderful evening' and not a good night." I said.

"You are such a prick, man," John laughed.

"So am I in trouble?"

"No. I can't really fault you for anything. You didn't do anything wrong."

"So why are you calling?" I asked, smiling.

"I honestly don't know. I think because I have to. But I don't know what to say to you if you didn't do anything wrong."

"You can say goodbye and let me go back to running my store."

"That I can do," John said, laughing. "Thanks, man, you made my day." And he hung up.

I headed to the salesfloor to see what else kind of trouble I couldn't get into.

Today the myspace kudos go to...

2005-12-31T16:25:00.000-05:00

I went to the mall today to get a pair of Doc Martens and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot, I was irritated.

The place was packed.

Usually I go to the mall during the week, when there's less people to piss me off, but I wanted to get these damn Docs today, so I parked and hurried my ass in.

What a cluster fuck.

Not to be discouraged, I headed to the store that I knew sold Docs so I could get them and get the hell out. Much to my displeasure, the shoe store only had three black Docs available, none of which were suitable.

Not to make the trip a complete waste, I headed to Hot Topic to pick up a belated Christmas gift I never got around to buying. I happen to like some of the clothes in Hot Topic, but I always feel like a poser when I go in there. Ironically, many of the clothes they sell are shirts with TV shows that were on when I grew up. So, in reality, they are the posers, not me dammit.

After I grabbed the gift, I headed to Suncoast 'cause they always have the best toys on clearance. Fuck this 'action figure' bullshit, they're toys. I call them like I see them and I have plenty of them. And, ZOMG, they are out of the package, on display, around the house. Collectors be damned.

So I grabbed one of McFarland's toys from "The Infernal Parade" series, and another "action figure" to be mailed out to a friend, and headed to the register.

Once at the register, I was stuck behind a "talker." Well, actually two talkers. The employee and the customer were just having a dandy conversation. Interesting as hell, too. Too bad you can't hear the dripping sarcasm.

Luckily, though, I was saved when another employee came behind the counter and waved me over. I could tell she had no time for the dandyness the other two were involved in.

As she was ringing me up, she mentioned that she had tried on a pair of pants, but they were too small and she was like "what the hell?" I noticed she was thin, but my mind was on other things, so I simply nodded.

Then, looking at my purchases, she said, "You going to go see Hostel?"

Yeah, now we're talking. I said, "I want to. I still need to see Wolf Creek. Have you seen that?"

"Yeah, it's really good. It really reminded me of The Last House on the Left. I'm a big fan of exploitation."

Rock on, sister.

I said, "Have you seen August Underground?"

She said, "Yeah, that was great."

"I got a copy of it for review, and it blew me away."

"Review? Who do you review for?"

"HorrorTalk.com."

"No shit? What's your name over there?"

"Alien Redrum."

"No shit? I've read your reviews. I just read that one, uh, shit. The J-Horror one."

"Scary True Stories?" I asked.

"Yeah."

Now that's what I'm talking about. I've received emails before on my reviews, but this was the first a "real live" person mentioned them. So today the myspace kudos go to Suncoast Girl because she made an otherwise shitty trip to the mall bearable.

The bar of the gods...

2005-12-30T08:56:00.000-05:00

I went to happy hour last night with a few friends and was having a good time drinking and carrying on when a hottie walks in with her male friend (because in Stewieland, all hot girls are single, waiting for him to talk to them).

The two sit at the bar just behind me, but I was sitting in such a way that I could just glance to my right and check her out. Until Walter Sobchak (John Goodman's character in The Big Lebowski) came up and started talking to the two. Completely blocking me out.

Okay, listen guys, if you are hanging out with a hot girl, even if she's your girlfriend, you need to position yourself in such a way that other people can check her out.

Don't be so damn selfish.

On a somewhat related note, we planned the locale for next week's happy hour.

The bar we are going to next week has a rockabilly motif, hardcore on tap and a lesbian clientele.

That's right. Lesbians. Lipstick ones, at that.

That, friends, is the bar of the gods.

Can I get a fuck yeah?

Dork, redux...

2005-12-26T16:38:00.000-05:00

A while back, Ace had shot me a pretty damn cool pic of some of his F. Paul Wilson LE collection.

I thought it was pretty cool (all the spines lined up to form one picture when the series was complete), so I decided to take a picture of my collection of autographed books (and spoken word CDs).

Sadly, my spines don't form a picture.

Oh, and that red box in the first pic? That, kiddos, contains an original ViewMaster and hundreds of those circle things. I've had that damn thing for probably over 20 years. And I know it's mine because I labeled it with one of those old label makers you had to squeeze with about 36 pounds of pressure to make a letter.

I rule.

For those who celebrate Christmas on 12/25...

2005-12-25T12:14:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas!

Right on pops...

2005-12-24T18:11:00.000-05:00

I went to the liquor store tonight to pick up some lottery tickets as my mother's holiday gift. (The "dreaming of a white trash Christmas" joke has already been used by myself, so you are going to think of something else).

As I was walking through the parking lot, I heard a father yelling at his kids because they were running through the parking lot acting like the little bastards most kids are.

He finally yelled, "Knock it off! I don't want you getting hit by a car on Christmas Eve!"

Right on pops! Any other time is fine, just not Christmas Eve. I can dig that. You spend all that money on gifts, only to either have them go to waste, or deal with the pain in the ass of returning them. I hear you!

And don't think for a second that was sarcasm.

Happy holidays, everybody!

Wonderful...

2005-12-17T16:40:00.000-05:00

Chris Meloni is a great actor. He does a great job on "Law & Order: SVU" as Det. Stabler, and I think the show would suffer without him.

However, as I was telling Lesley last night, watching him on SVU gets damn distracting sometimes because I keep expecting him to strip naked as he was so fond of doing when he played Chris Keller on "OZ." Not something I particularly want to see.

Of course I wouldn't have any problems if Kathryn Erbe from "Law & Order: Criminal Intent" stripped naked like she did on "OZ," but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, I went to grab some lunch today from the awesome Red Hot & Blue and while I was waiting to be seated, I noticed the plaque that had the franchise owner's name.

Chris Keller.

Wonderful.

So if it wasn't bad enough that I'm expecting Keller to get naked on Law & Order, I have to worry about him putting his manhood all over my ribs when I go out to eat.

Don't expect me to order extra sauce anytime soon.

I didn't splurge on the $3500 edition...

2005-12-16T21:42:00.000-05:00

I'm a sucker for limited edition books. I've probably dropped at least $500 on limiteds this year.

Now, five hundred over the course of a year may not sound like much, but considering that five hundred got me about eight to ten books, well, there you go.

Now, since I'm a sucker for limited editions AND a sucker for Stephen King, how could I resist an exclusive King title from Cemetery Dance?

I didn't splurge on the $3500 edition, nor did I grab the $750 one.

But I thought the $75 edition was right up my alley.

If you read, support Cemetery Dance. Best deals and best customer service I've ever had.

I'm a man of my word...

2005-12-15T15:35:00.000-05:00

On occasion, I am fortunate enough to get a Nigerian looking for money.

When I am patient, I can make them say some pretty stupid things.

The other night, though, I had no patience.

I have not made any spelling corrections as that would be too much work.

For the record, and contrary to what Fnordboy says, I am not an aryan. I just play one on Yahoo.

And, fuck, this thing is long. I may edit it later. Or I may just forget about it.

[22:30] bakkiy_luv_care: hello are u there?

[22:31] Alien_Redrum1947: NEED A PIC BEFORE I CAN TALK TO YOU.
[22:31] Alien_Redrum1947: BLOND HAIR BLUE EYE ONLY
[22:31] Alien_Redrum1947: SIG HEIL

[22:31] bakkiy_luv_care: okay
[22:31] bakkiy_luv_care: so what ur name?

[22:31] Alien_Redrum1947: NEED A PIC
[22:31] Alien_Redrum1947: NEED A PIC
[22:32] Alien_Redrum1947: YOU BETTER BE VANILLA

[22:32] bakkiy_luv_care: are u m or f?
[22:32] bakkiy_luv_care: where are u from ?
[22:32] bakkiy_luv_care: im comeig i let you see me pic

[22:32] Alien_Redrum1947: I AM A SUPERMAN

[22:32] bakkiy_luv_care: ok
[22:32] bakkiy_luv_care: ok
[22:33] bakkiy_luv_care: nice to have u here
[22:33] bakkiy_luv_care: so what ur name?

[22:33] Alien_Redrum1947: I NEED A PIC
[22:33] Alien_Redrum1947: I NEED TO KEEP THE BLOOD CLEAN
[22:33] Alien_Redrum1947: I CAN'T TAINT THE BLOOD
[22:33] Alien_Redrum1947: CAN'T TALK TO YOU UNLESS YOU ARE A SUPERWOMAN

[22:33] bakkiy_luv_care: yse i ima
[22:33] bakkiy_luv_care: okay
[22:33] bakkiy_luv_care: soon u will see me pic
[22:34] bakkiy_luv_care: aoky

[22:34] Alien_Redrum1947: brb
[22:34] bakkiy_luv_care: babe what state are u there?

[22:34] Alien_Redrum1947: gonna go burn a cross in shiki's yard
[22:34] Alien_Redrum1947: he's tainting the blood

[22:34] bakkiy_luv_care: really
[22:35] bakkiy_luv_care: whta about me herte babe i mnost tell you that im here be/cos og u okay
[22:36] bakkiy_luv_care: im here bacos u of u here okay

[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm here
[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: let's get down to it
[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: you want money
[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: i want cyber sex
[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: talk dirty to me
[22:37] Alien_Redrum1947: bonus points if you can spell correctly

[22:38] bakkiy_luv_care: lkove why are u saying this im just here to know 4 the frist time okas

[22:38] Alien_Redrum1947: you want to have cyber sex?
[22:38] Alien_Redrum1947: wait
[22:38] Alien_Redrum1947: ARE YOU 18 OR OLDER?

[22:39] bakkiy_luv_care: im 22 here and u?

[22:39] Alien_Redrum1947: 33
[22:39] Alien_Redrum1947: i don't need a picture
[22:39] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm going to pretend you are bea arthur
[22:39] Alien_Redrum1947: let's have cyber sex now

[22:40] bakkiy_luv_care: ooy oy is that why u are here with me?

[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: yes
[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: i want teh sex
[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: talk dirty to me, baby

[22:40] bakkiy_luv_care: babe in de frist plice where are u from ?
[22:40] bakkiy_luv_care: and what is ur name?

[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm from USA
[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: where we cyber on first meeting

[22:40] bakkiy_luv_care: ok

[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: my name is Tom

[22:40] bakkiy_luv_care: what sate are u dare

[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: New Jersey
[22:40] Alien_Redrum1947: enough with this small talk!

[22:41] bakkiy_luv_care: Tom u hvae a nice name there

[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: i take off your shirt
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: hmmmmm
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: your boobies sag to your knees
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: i like that

[22:41] bakkiy_luv_care: really

[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: yes
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: will you take off my pants?

[22:41] bakkiy_luv_care: babe u havce to let me be frist okay

[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: no baby
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: i have money
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm a rich man
[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: i need a woman

[22:41] bakkiy_luv_care: ok

[22:41] Alien_Redrum1947: but i need to know if she can please me
[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: now take off my pants

[22:42] bakkiy_luv_care: so what do u 4 aliveing?

[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: i don't work. i inherited money
[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: my parents died in the amazon

[22:42] bakkiy_luv_care: stop that babe im not here 4 that

[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: they were wealthy

[22:42] bakkiy_luv_care: okay

[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: can we please have sex now?
[22:42] Alien_Redrum1947: i want you
[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: you're saggy boobs get me teh hot
[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: take off my pants

[22:43] bakkiy_luv_care: i need some oe that iwll be a rosupble for not one that willl take has u do okay

[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: i don't know what that means
[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: i don't speak retard. :(

[22:43] bakkiy_luv_care: so

[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: so, are you taking off my pants now
[22:43] Alien_Redrum1947: ?

[22:44] bakkiy_luv_care: why are u saying all this don/t you now that my mom is here with me?

[22:44] Alien_Redrum1947: AWESOME

[22:44] bakkiy_luv_care: don;t you kanow that

[22:44] Alien_Redrum1947: A THREESOME
[22:44] Alien_Redrum1947: can she take off my pants, then?

[22:44] bakkiy_luv_care: yse with me

[22:44] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm gonna suck on your pancake nipples while your mom takes off my pants okay?
[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: has your mom taken off my pants yet?

[22:45] bakkiy_luv_care: well do u hvae cam?

[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: my fat cock is bulging because i'm so hard

[22:45] bakkiy_luv_care: can i seee u on ur cam?

[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: but they are trapped in my pants

[22:45] bakkiy_luv_care: nopw

[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: do you have one?

[22:45] bakkiy_luv_care: now

[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: you show me your cam.
[22:45] Alien_Redrum1947: you first
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: c'mon baby
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: i have another person waiting for cbyer
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: but you are first
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: so you want to do this with me and your mom or what.

[22:46] bakkiy_luv_care: ok

[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: awesome

[22:46] bakkiy_luv_care: so u hvae to let me be okay

[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: and i'll send you some money
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: you want some money?
[22:46] Alien_Redrum1947: i have lots

[22:47] bakkiy_luv_care: so u wanna send me money
[22:47] bakkiy_luv_care: ?

[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: yes
[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: but i need to know if you are good at teh sex first
[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: that's how we do it in the states

[22:47] bakkiy_luv_care: how much are u goanna send to me here?

[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: how much you need, baby
[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: plus it depends on how good you and your mom are
[22:47] Alien_Redrum1947: i'll send you both money

[22:48] bakkiy_luv_care: u just tell me how much u are going send to me here

[22:48] Alien_Redrum1947: how's 50K to start?

[22:48] bakkiy_luv_care: cos if u do that i ill like to come over to meeet you there this week

[22:48] Alien_Redrum1947: really?
[22:48] Alien_Redrum1947: but we have to have the cyber now, though

[22:48] bakkiy_luv_care: yes

[22:48] Alien_Redrum1947: i need to know what i'm getting, first

[22:49] bakkiy_luv_care: that is what i want you to do if u really wanna hvae everything doing with me okay

[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: OKAY
[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: OKAY
[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: hurry up.
[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: my cock is still hard
[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: how old is your mom?

[22:49] bakkiy_luv_care: because if im there with u i will do all u want to you opkay

[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: YES!
[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: what about your mom

[22:49] bakkiy_luv_care: cos i will not want you to hvae anyotherr woman

[22:49] Alien_Redrum1947: will she do what i want, too?

[22:50] bakkiy_luv_care: like what plz?

[22:50] Alien_Redrum1947: like sex
[22:50] Alien_Redrum1947: i want sex
[22:50] Alien_Redrum1947: i want it now

[22:50] bakkiy_luv_care: u mean my mom?

[22:50] Alien_Redrum1947: BOTH OF YOU
[22:50] Alien_Redrum1947: if you don't have sex with me now, though, i'm gonna leave and give the money to someone else

[22:50] bakkiy_luv_care: how she do mthat why u hvae me alredy/?

[22:51] Alien_Redrum1947: because you aren't experienced like your mom is
[22:51] Alien_Redrum1947: let's fuck
[22:51] Alien_Redrum1947: c'mon
[22:51] Alien_Redrum1947: will you be bea arthur?

[22:51] bakkiy_luv_care: babe dont u klnow that u are insout my momhere cos im talking to you and u are make that statement to my mom why

[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: because i like your mom
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: i want her, too
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: tell your mom to leave the room
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: we need to have sex
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: because i'm leaving otherwise
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: i don't have time for games

[22:52] bakkiy_luv_care: well if u dont want me you can go instate that satte ment to my mom

[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: PUT HER ON
[22:52] Alien_Redrum1947: I'LL TELL HER

[22:53] bakkiy_luv_care: that why i told u if u really want me send de ,money so that ican come ovewr to you soon

[22:53] Alien_Redrum1947: is your mom there
[22:53] Alien_Redrum1947: YES OR NO

[22:53] bakkiy_luv_care: so that we bprth can betother
[22:53] bakkiy_luv_care: has one okay
[22:53] bakkiy_luv_care: that is what i want from you now

[22:53] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm not going to be with someone who won't have sex with me
[22:53] Alien_Redrum1947: I WANT SEX NOW

[22:54] bakkiy_luv_care: ok

[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: MONEY AFTER SEX
[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: i can get the money out tonight

[22:54] bakkiy_luv_care: so if u wnatr do this howmuch are u give me for now?

[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: but before money comes, i do
[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: 50K
[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: that's 50,000

[22:54] bakkiy_luv_care: 50,000 what?

[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: dollars
[22:54] Alien_Redrum1947: US
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: dollars

[22:55] bakkiy_luv_care: really

[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: that's a drop of what i have
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: i have millions

[22:55] bakkiy_luv_care: so where didi u get that from ?

[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: what are you wearing
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: MY PARENTS DIED
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: LETS SEX NOW

[22:55] bakkiy_luv_care: ok
[22:55] bakkiy_luv_care: send de money to me now?

[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: NO
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: SEX FIRST

[22:55] bakkiy_luv_care: how are u going do that now?

[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: i have connections
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: look
[22:55] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm tired

[22:56] bakkiy_luv_care: i will do that to you here okay

[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: you going to sex or what
[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: let's sex now
[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: because i'm going to sign off if you don't
[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: what are you wearing

[22:56] bakkiy_luv_care: just end de money and i will like make de love to you opkay

[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: nope
[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: last chance
[22:56] Alien_Redrum1947: are you going to suck on my wizard stick?

[22:57] bakkiy_luv_care: well if uwnat that

[22:57] Alien_Redrum1947: you put your mouth on my stick?

[22:57] bakkiy_luv_care: but just send de money for to know that u are really with money and then i will make de love to you here has long ahs u want okay

[22:57] Alien_Redrum1947: you know what
[22:57] Alien_Redrum1947: put your mom on

[22:58] bakkiy_luv_care: what dare?

[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: 'i want to talk to your mom
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: I WANT TO TALK TO YOUR MOM

[22:58] bakkiy_luv_care: know
[22:58] bakkiy_luv_care: npo no non nonon

[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: no
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: you are no fun
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: put your mom on
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: i'm bringing her over
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: you can't have sex
[22:58] Alien_Redrum1947: put your mom on
[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: PUT YOUR MOM ON
[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: I WANT TO TALK TO HER!

[22:59] bakkiy_luv_care: imm here 4 you give my mom out thsi take me are do one okay

[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: bullshit
[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: you won't give me the sex
[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: i bet your mom will

[22:59] bakkiy_luv_care: brb
[22:59] bakkiy_luv_care: but du add me to ur list?

[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: no
[22:59] Alien_Redrum1947: not unless you give me the sex or give me your mom

[23:00] bakkiy_luv_care: look here mom cal my now so u can add me to ur list okay
[23:00] bakkiy_luv_care: now?

[23:00] Alien_Redrum1947: NO
[23:00] Alien_Redrum1947: SEX
[23:00] Alien_Redrum1947: suck on me
[23:00] Alien_Redrum1947: NOW
[23:00] Alien_Redrum1947: or you don't get the list

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[23:00] *** You have denied access to bakkiy_luv_care.

[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: DENIED
[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: NO SEX
[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: NO LIST
[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: what's it gonna be
[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: you have 3 minutes

[23:01] bakkiy_luv_care: brb

[23:01] Alien_Redrum1947: 3 MINUTES
[23:02] Alien_Redrum1947: 2 minutes

She came back, but I blocked her.

I'm a man of my word.

And if she ain't there, you're wasting my time...

2005-12-13T19:51:00.000-05:00

My buddy told me about a month ago that he's going to be a father. Twins even.

My first response (after the congrats, of course) was:

"Dude, don't email me any fucking pictures. I don't want daily updates. I don't want weekly updates. I don't want monthly updates. I'll see the kids when I see them. Don't clutter up my email box."

He laughed. He's a guy. He understood.

Let me tell you parents something, single guys don't give a shit about the baby pictures. We put up a good face. We act like we care. We don't.

Just so we are keeping score, and there is no confusion:

Single guys do not want their email boxes filled up of baby's first Christmas.

Or baby's first steps.

Or baby's first, well, first any fucking thing.

Don't email pictures of the kid. We don't want to see them.

Now I know that sounds harsh, but we aren't women. We don't do the "awwwwwww" when we see the little rugrats on Santa's lap. The only thing we look for in the "baby's first pic with Santa" is the hot little Santa's helper. And if she ain't there, you're wasting my time.

Contrary to popular belief, I like kids. I want to have them. But that doesn't mean I want to look at them.

Email those pics to your girlfriends.

And don't get me started on the family photo albums.

Mahna Mahna...

2005-12-12T20:26:00.000-05:00

I popped over to Quirky Muse's blog and he had an interesting post. Seemingly too good to be true, I had to investigate.

Muse tells us that "Mahna Mahna" the song from the Muppets, was originally written for a 1960's soft-core fuck-u-mentary about Swedish couples.

First, if you don't know what "Mahna Mahna" is, then shame on you. It's only one of the best songs EVER. However, since there are some people out there raised in a cave, the video can be downloaded here. It was most recently used in that cool ass Dr. Pepper commercial (which you can see on Dr. Pepper's site here - click on "media"). Thanks to this site for doing the work on the videos.

Now, I then found the soundtrack to the movie in question, where "Mah-na, Mah-na" is indeed listed on the soundtrack. The soundtrack for this sexploitation film that was banned in Sweden. SWEDEN!

Isn't Sweden famous for Swedish erotica?

That is simply awesome.

No wonder I like that damn song so much.

Mahna Mahna.

I'm working on it....

2005-12-11T12:37:00.000-05:00

For those that liked the new look of the blog yesterday, and mentioned it, much thanks.

It will get back to that, but there were too many problems with the template I was using.

Thanks to shiki for helping me with what has turned out to be a big pain in the ass.

I just wasn't what she was looking for...

2005-12-10T15:25:00.000-05:00

I was a late bloomer in life. Hell I didn't lose my virginity until I was 30.

Okay, that's a lie. But it was definitely later than these crazy kids are doing it today.

I don't think I went out on my first real "date" until I was 16. It wasn't the fact that I was turned down, it was the fact that I never asked anybody out. At all. I was excruciatingly shy around the ladies when I was a young buck. I'm still shy to a degree, but at least now I talk to them.

Like I said, I was 16 or so and I met this girl, Tori. I balled up and asked her out and, to my shock and amazement, she said yes. Looking back, though, she would have been a fool to say no. It was, after all, ME asking her out. But I'm digressing.

Anyway, we went out a few times, long enough to mess around, but not long enough to be considered dating.

One night she called and asked me to come over to her house and hang out. I said sure, and headed on over. When I got there she sat me down at the kitchen table and told me I just wasn't what she was looking for and we wouldn't be going out again.

I played a tough guy, said no problem, and left.

I got into my truck--well, my dad's truck as I didn't have a car yet--and started it up. The radio was already on.

And Love Bites by Def Leppard was playing.

I cried like a bitch on the way home.

The best part of the story, though, is a couple months later, Tori was on the front page of the local rag. I can't remember the headline, but it was one 16-year-old's story of being addicted to crack.

I just have that effect on the ladies.

On a side note, you can blame Lesley for these two back-to-back Def Leppard posts. Her latest '80s referencing blogs got me remembering my youth.

You were cooking and you know it...

2005-12-09T19:52:00.000-05:00

A fellow reviewer of mine got into a car accident today. Fortunately he wasn't hurt, and there wasn't much damage to the car. Lucky guy.

Reminded me of the time I hit that deer. Wait, scratch that.

It reminded me of the time that deer hit me.

It was my 20th birthday. My friend--the only friend that didn't live with his folks (at the time)--lived in a small apartment about forty minutes from where I lived with my parents and he told me to come up for my party. Cool beans.

I grabbed a movie that was already a couple days overdue on the way out the door. Figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Or two deer with one car. Whichever came first.

I left my house in a hurry, wanting to get my drink on and everything, and headed to the video store. Part of the trip involved taking Middletown Road, which was notorious for accidents. Parts of it were twisty and turny, but I had no fear. I had driven that road so many times, I could probably do it blindfolded. Hell, I think I actually did drive it one night without the lights on.

Anyway, I was hitting about 65 on that road. Honestly, it was no big deal because it's a back road, and if you know it, you know it. The posted speed limit for what I like to think as for those who didn't know it was 35.

So I'm cruising along, when suddenly I see a deer step out in my lane and do what a deer does in that situation. It froze. Being the rock-solid-tough-as-nails driver I am, I didn't even panic. Knowing that slowing down wasn't going to do dick, I cut the wheel to the left lane. Joy hit me for a split second when I (thought I had) made it around the deer, then, BAM!

My car spun out of control.

The weird thing is, I remember every moment. But I don't remember it in "normal" speed, I remember it in slow motion. The car did a 450 (that's a 360 + 90), hit the ditch and went up and over. And barely a scratch on me.

I swear, if I knew I was going to get through it, more or less, scratch free, I would have sat back and enjoyed the ride. Instead, I took a final pull on my cigarette (which, somehow, I had held on to--a man has to hold onto the important things, you know), climbed out of my car through the busted passenger's side window and waved a car down. Fortunately, the person had a cell phone (and this was way before everyone had one like they do now) and they called the police for me.

Soon, a cop showed up and started taking the accident report (after verifying that I was okay, of course).

"How fast were you going?" Was his first question.

"Uh, 35, 40. Something like that." I wasn't quite sure what the speed limit was at the time.

"Uh huh. And what happened?" He asked. I don't think he bought my 35 or 40.

"A deer hit me."

"You hit a deer?"

"No. A deer hit ME." I said. My story. I'm sticking to it.

"Okay. Let's take a look." He took out his maglight and turned it on. "Where did this deer hit you?"

I pointed down the street, and his flashlight followed my finger. No sign of the deer. I was beginning to think I was fucked.

"Let's take a walk," he said. And I led the way to where I was hoping the deer would be.

We walked for a little bit (and by little bit, I mean little bit. This wasn't a hike. It was maybe 40 yards) and we came up to the deer. It wasn't moving.

The cop nudged the deer with his foot. "It's dead," he said. He then turned around and shined his flashlight to the general direction where my car was (neatly parked upside down between two trees) and he busted out laughing.

"Son," he said, "you were cooking and you know it."

I didn't say anything. No need to argue.

"But I'm not going to write you a ticket. You know why?"

"Why?" I asked.

"It's your birthday. Consider it a gift. Plus your car is totaled."

I smiled. I had to admit, the guy was pretty cool. "I don't think it's totaled," I said.

He laughed again. "Let's go take a look."

We headed back to my car and he gave it the once over with the flashlight. "See," I said," it doesn't look too bad. Just the passenger window was knocked out." And it didn't look too bad. There was virtually no damage to the sides.

"Son," he said, "you ever hear a car scream?"

What kind of question is that? "No," I said.

"You will tonight."

I didn't know what he meant until the tow truck came. In order to flip the car right side up, they had to drag the car onto the street for friction.

Metal dragged on pavement. I heard my car scream.

Once the car was flipped right side up, the cop walked around it again with his flashlight. I stood off to the side, smoking.

"Well I'll be damned, you were right." he said. "Son, come here."

I walked over and looked at the spot above the rear passenger wheel well his flashlight was centered on. There was a small dent, some hair and some blood.

"You know what that is?" He asked.

"Where the deer hit my car." I said.

"You're damn right. And that's how it's going into my report. Two more feet, you would have cleared it."

They towed the car back to my house where I called one of my friends to pick me up. He lived right up the street and, on the way, he picked up the deer, too.

That night we drank, the next night we had deer steak. Come to find out, the deer was a doe. And pregnant. My buddy couldn't get a lot of meat from it due to the bruising and such, but he got enough to give me some redemption.

Oh, and one of the weirder things I remember from that accident?

During the whole incident, Def Leppard's Let's Get Rocked was playing in the car, and the song ended right as I killed the engine and right before I climbed out of the car. It's as if I had my accident had a soundtrack.

Rock on.

I am not a Nazi...

2005-12-02T23:23:00.000-05:00

The Expatriate
Achtung! You are 23% brainwashworthy, 18% antitolerant, and 38% blindly patriotic

Congratulations! You are not susceptible to brainwashing, your values and cares extend beyond the borders of your own country, and your Blind Patriotism does not reach unhealthy levels. If you had been German in the 30s, you would've left the country.

One bad scenario -- as I hypothetically project you back in time -- is that you just wouldn't have cared one way or the other about Nazism. Maybe politics don't interest you enough. But the fact that you took this test means they probably do. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt.

Did you know that many of the smartest Germans departed prior to the beginning of World War II, because they knew some evil shit was brewing? Brain Drain. Many of them were scientists. It is very possible you could have been one of them.

Conclusion: born and raised in Germany in the early 1930's, you would not have been a Nazi.

The Would You Have Been A Nazi? Test

- it rules -

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 16% on brainwashworthy
You scored higher than 15% on antitolerant
You scored higher than 53% on patriotic

Link: The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

This shit is insane...

2005-11-30T21:32:00.000-05:00

So over the Thanksgiving holiday, I was hanging out with a good friend of mine, and we were talking about relationships.

In particular, we were talking about how my last two girlfriends broke up with me, then got upset with me because I didn't "fight for them."

In my defense, the first girlfriend I didn't want to fight for. She broke up with me, I let her go. It was over. Plus she was cheating on me--I had a good idea at the time she was doing it, I just chose to ignore it. It was confirmed by a friend of hers after our break up. No biggie.

The second girlfriend, though, made her own choices. She broke up with me over the phone and said she was going to look for someplace else to live (we were living together). I asked her not to move out until I got home and we could talk about it (I was away on business at the time). She said she'd think about it.

Long story short, I asked if she wanted to talk about it. She said no, there was nothing to talk about. I asked if she wanted me to move out for some time. She said no, that wouldn't help. I asked her not to sign a short term lease, she said no, it was over. I asked numerous times what the issues were, she said numerous times there was nothing to talk about, it was over.

Finally, I said fuck it, bye. There are way too many women in this world for me to try to make one happy when they won't even tell me what the problem is.

But here's the pisser, about a month after the break up, she comes to my house to pick up the remainder of things and she starts an argument. I told her she could leave because I didn't have to argue with her anymore.

She said, "You know what gets me?"

"What?" I said, sighing. I was so tired.

"You didn't even fight for me." She replied, and left.

What the fuck? She broke up with me. She told me numerous times there was nothing I could do because it was over. She took a year lease when a six month was available (something she told my sister, who told me).

So I told this to Staci (my friend).

Her reply?

"Did you send her flowers?"

"What? No. I mean I used too. But not after she said she wanted to end the relationship."

"Why not?"

"Because she acted like there was nothing I could do. She didn't want to talk about it. Fuck it. I'm not going to beg someone to stay with me."

"You didn't fight for her," Staci said, laughing.

"What the fuck? I asked her at least three times to work it out. She told me at least three times there was nothing to work out. What is wrong with you women?"

"Sometimes we like to test you guys." Staci said.

"Test? How fucking old are you?" I wasn't mad, this was fascinating.

"Test you. To make sure you love us. We want to make sure you mean what you say."

"Oh fuck that," I said. "That's fucking insecure. If someone finds the need to test my sincerity, fuck them. I'll find someone else."

"Maybe, that's why you're single," she said.

"Maybe," I replied.

Fuck, man. I may be single, but at least I don't have drama in my life.

Christ. The first secure woman I find that I'm attracted to, likes to travel, digs horror movies, won't make fun of my pussy-ass cider drink of choice and trusts me without testing me, I'm going to marry.

This shit is insane.

Maybe it's y'alls fault it sucks...

2005-11-29T15:29:00.000-05:00

In the last entry, I said I needed to thank some people. So here it is:

First and foremost, a big thanks to Ron goes out. I would have never been aware of NaNoWriMo if he didn't bring it to my attention. I would have never have done it if he hadn't had been such a damn nagging Nancy. I'm glad I succumbed to the peer pressure.

Before I go into the other thanks, it should be mentioned that in the book (novella) I wrote, all of the characters were based on people I knew.

I'd also give a shout out to Tom and Tressa.

Tom because he answered a bunch of stupid questions without mockery. I was going to do something cool with the "Tom" character, but I ran out of words. And I'm not going back to it. Maybe next year.

Tressa because her character pretty much carried the first half to 3/4 of the book (novella). What was originally supposed to be a character that worked at a coffee shop, it developed into something completely different, someone I loved to write. I don't know what Tressa had to do with that, but she gets credit nonetheless.

Ron, Tom and Tressa are the only cats that knew I was doing this, and they kept it to themselves. I appreciate that. I wanted very few people to know what I was doing and they found out by accident (with the exception of Ron). The reason being is the more people that knew, the more support I would get. I didn't want support, though. I wanted to do this on my own, or as much on my own as I could. Plus I didn't want to talk about it too much while I did it.

Lastly, but not leastly, are the people who are in the book (novella) in one way or another. You guys obviously influenced me enough to write about in some way. In no order other than alphabetical:

Dan (DJ)
Eric (Hitman)
Matt (squ1d)
Milos (Mairosu) - I went with Chow Yun Fat.
Nicki (freakmagnet)
Ron (neon)
Rosie (GG) - thanks for trusting me.
Tom (shiki)
Tressa (uh, Tressa)

With special appearances/mentions by:

Chris (sham)
Andy (Blonde)
Fred (West)
Krystal (uh, Krystal)

And, just to be a complete ass, no, you can't read it. This, like most things in my life, was just done for me.

That said, thanks for the motivation, guys and gals. The book (novella) pretty much sucks and I shall keep the sucktitude to myself, thanks. But credit should still go where credit is do.

Wait.

Maybe it's y'alls fault it sucks.

Something to think about.

I still don't consider myself a writer...

2005-11-28T20:44:00.000-05:00

Sometime in September, my buddy Ron emailed me and told me to do this.

I told him maybe.

He said "DO IT!"

I told him maybe.

About two weeks before the start of November, Ron emailed me again telling me to buy some book by the creator of NaNoWriMo. I did.

I didn't read past the first two chapters, but those first chapters were very well written. I just put it down and forgot about it.

About a week before the start of November, Ron emailed me again and told me to do Nano.

I told him no.

He said "Do it!"

November first rolled around. I started doing Nano.

Here's how it goes (for those who didn't click the links up there):

Write 50,000 words in one month.

That's about 1667 words a day.

That's a lot of writing.

A fuck of a lot of writing.

I went in with high expectations. I had a half ass story in my head that I figured I could develop into something more. It was about vampires and werewolves and ESP and all kinds of crazy shit. But the funny thing is, I never really got to the werewolves. Or the vampires. Or the ESP. My characters did a whole lot of running around doing nothing but eating and drinking and carrying on.

It became obvious that I should have had some sort of outline, because that damn novel (novella?) was all over the place.

But, in the end, I did it and I'm happy I did. I learned a lot.

I still don't consider myself a writer, and this whole exercise reinforced my belief about the poemboi.

I also have a new found respect for the authors out there. I never thought writing was easy (hell, my three page reviews get very tough at times), but, damn, I never realized how tough it was.

There are people to thank and people to mention, but I wrote 5,000 words today, under pressure from Ron, just so I could finish that damn project.

I'll get to those people tomorrow. I'm done writing for today.

I'm the hot one...

2005-11-27T01:08:00.000-05:00

Which Golden Girl Are You?

We tried...

2005-11-24T23:31:00.000-05:00

My family is so fucked up.

Back when I was ten or so, I remember getting into an argument with my sister at the dinner table.

We were going back and forth until my sister said, "God, mom. Why didn't you put him up for adoption!"

"We tried," my mom said.

"But nobody would take him," my dad finished.

"Great," my sister said. "So we're stuck with him."

I ran to my room in tears.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

No way. That's insane...

2005-11-20T22:28:00.000-05:00

So I today I got some great news regarding the film I worked on last winter. Great news, indeed.

As coincidence would have it, when I was reading the email, it was the last email I checked before I head out to Michaels to get the poster from said movie framed.

I was in a rush because my pops was with me and I wanted to get the frame set up before we went to the bar to watch the Redskin game (which they lost even though it looked like that fucking runningback for Oakland fumbled, but such is life).

Anywho, we get to Michaels (and I had a 40% off coupon, which I couldn't use) and I throw the poster on the counter, pick out a frame, pic out some matting and wait for the total.

$375

Read that again.

Three hundred. Seventy-five dollars.

I looked at my father and we both started laughing. Hell, the girl who was helping me laughed too.

I said, "No way. That's insane."

She agreed, so she suggested I go buy a frame off the rack and she'll re-run the price. She told me what size frame I needed and off I went.

I came back with a frame and she did the figures again.

$98

MUCH more like what I had expected to spend. But today Michaels was having a sale. Spend a hundred bucks on custom framing, get fifty off!

I had $98.

FUCK.

I asked the girl behind the counter what I could do. She said she was already on it. (and on a side note, she completely rocked. Patient and out for me. Kudos to Michaels).

She finally suggested that I get another mat for the poster (bringing the total mat count to three). I thought it would be too much, but after it was thrown on, it looked great.

Final cost?

$80

It won't be ready for three weeks, but that's cool. I'm sure it will be worth the wait.

I swear I was adopted...

2005-11-19T18:45:00.000-05:00

So my sister calls me last night and asks me if I remember when my mother used dress me up like a girl.

Then I would do cartwheels.

Without any underwear.

What the fuck?

I swear I was adopted.

That's what friends are for...

2005-11-14T20:29:00.000-05:00

Thanks fnord.

You are wonderful.

Prick.

What a princess...

2005-11-10T21:25:00.000-05:00

Yeah, the blogs aren't so frequent as of late, but I've been swamped with work and other stuff. But this story my dad told me Sunday was too good not to post.

My father and my niece, who's 9, were having a conversation the other day.

My niece turns to my father and says, "I don't like Cody."

Cody is her brother--my nephew.

"You don't? Why?" Asked my father.

"Because he's 90% jackass, which he gets from you. And he's 10% gay, which he gets from Uncle Stewie."

What a princess.

I am looking forward to the day when she gets her first boyfriend. Oh, the stories I will tell.

I'm surprised I'm still here to write about it...

2005-11-06T01:06:00.000-05:00

Every Christmas, when I was a kid, my mom and dad would drag me and my sister over to my mother's best friend's house for Christmas dinner.

It sucked.

Because, apparently, "Christmas dinner" meant as soon as I opened all of my presents, got a quick glance at them, then we were loaded into the car to spend the whole day over there.

Think about that.

Think about being a kid on the most anticipated day of the year when you get tons of toys, only to look at what you could be playing with. Just not today.

I remember one year, it had to be 1980 or '81, when I got one of the best presents ever.

The coveted Atari 2600.

I remember the joy of opening it up and seeing what I had waited all of my life for.

The coveted Atari 2600.

With Space Invaders. With Combat. With Asteroids. With Missile Command.

It was heaven in one big box and happiness in three smaller ones.

I immediately looked to my father, master of all things electronic, and said, "Can we hook it up, now?"

"We can hook it up when we get back from Mary's," my father replied.

The pouting, crying and yelling immediately ensued, but was squashed quickly with one statement from my mother.

"If you don't stop right now, I'll take it back and you won't play it at all. Ever."

Game over. I lost.

One thing my parents did let us do when we went to Mary's was take one of our gifts with us, so we could play with it over at Mary's house. So when we got ready to leave, I picked up box the Atari was in and headed for the car.

My father stopped me at the door and marched my little ass back upstairs to pick something else out.

God I hated going to Mary's.

So instead of heaven, I grabbed the next best thing, my mattel (or coleco) handheld football game, and we headed out.

We got to Mary's house and, while my parents said their hellos and such, I headed downstairs to see what Mary's sons got for Christmas.

Imagine my very pleasant surprise when I saw that they got an Intellivision. Yes! The day was not going to suck after all.

But it did. Oh, I was so naive.

See, Mary's boys were 15 and 14. I was 10. Guess how many games I got to play? Two.

And the only reason I got to play those two games is because the boys' father came down and made them let me play. Of course, immediately after he left, I got the rabbit punches until I cried.

So, with my Atari at home and the Intellivision out of the picture, I turned to the gift I had brought with me. I could still have some fun. Not as much as I could have if I were at home, but maybe I could get through the day.

I opened the package up, took out the football game, turned it on and...

Nothing.

There was no battery.

I took it upstairs to my father and he told me what I already knew. It needed a battery.

A 9 volt battery.

A 9 volt battery that was not to be found in Mary's house.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.

To be honest, I'm surprised I'm still here to write about it. A weaker boy would have simply died.

I was going to post something completely different...

2005-11-01T22:18:00.000-05:00

I was going to post something completely different tonight, until my buddy, Blonde, posted a news article over at HorrorTalk.

(AP) BENTONVILLE, Arkansas It looked like a crime scene, but no charges will be filed after Wayne Goldsberry killed a buck with his bare hands in his daughter's bedroom.

The engagement lasted an exhausting 40 minutes, but Goldsberry finally subdued the five-point whitetail deer that crashed through a bedroom window at his daughter's home Friday.

When it was over, blood splattered the walls and the deer lay on the bedroom floor, its neck broken.

Goldsberry was at his daughter's home when he heard glass breaking. He went back to check on the noise and found the deer.

"I was standing about like this peeking around the corner when the deer came out of the bedroom," said Goldsberry, demonstrating while peering around his kitchen wall. The deer ran down the hall and into the master bedroom - "jumping back and forth across the bed."

"I could tell he was really tearing up the place back there," Goldsberry said.

Goldsberry entered the bedroom to confront the deer and, after a brief struggle, emerged to tell his wife to call police. After returning to the bedroom, the fight continued. Goldsberry finally was able to grip the animal and twist its neck, killing it.

"He was trying to get up a corner wall and I just came in behind him and grabbed him by the horns and just started pushing down," said Goldsberry.

Goldsberry, sore from the struggle, dragged the dead animal out of the house.

Benton County Sheriff Keith Ferguson said that when he arrived he found the deer dead in the front yard. Goldsberry intended to have the deer processed for its meat.

Holy shit.

That dude is a stud.

I would never fuck with that guy. Ever.

Are you sure...

2005-10-29T01:40:00.000-04:00

During the filming of Dead Hunt I'd like to think I busted my ass in doing whatever I could to help out.

At the end of the shoot, it turned out the ending needed to be changed for some sound reasons, and it ended up a couple of parts needed to be filled because of this new ending.

So we are at Joe's house (the director) and he says to me, "Stewie, you want to be in this?"

"In what?" I asked.

"The movie, wise ass." He said.

"No. But thanks."

The thing is, I never got into this to be in the movie. I just wanted to see what the film process was. I wanted to see how the stuff behind the scenes went, and I was even happier when I got to participate as much as I did during the filming.

"Are you sure?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I mean if you got something where I can be in the background, like drinking a beer or something, that would be cool, but I'm good not being in it."

"Are you sure." He repeated.

"Yeah, but seriously, thanks."

"No, dumbass, that's your line. 'Are. You. Sure.'" He broke down the scene to me and told me when I needed to say the line.

So they filmed it.

I figured I was pretty bad, even with that one line, but what the hell, it was two seconds and, as Don (the producer/director of photography) jokingly said, "It doesn't matter what he says, anyway. I'm going to cut it out anyway." We all had a laugh at that one.

Well, I found out today the ending has been changed again and my part has indeed been cut.

You know, I'm relieved. Part of me was pretty cool about being in the movie, but at the end of the day, I'm happy about it because I don't want to be that guy. You know, the guy that comes onscreen and acts so bad with his 3 word line that everyone says, "Who the fuck is that guy? God he sucks. He must be one of the producers or something."

On a side note, from what I heard my scene will be on the DVD as an alternate ending, so my friends can still see me in all my "Cindy Brady on the game show" sucktitude.

Rock the fuck on.

Hell yeah...

2005-10-24T23:00:00.000-04:00

I just saw the trailer for Dead Hunt.

Dead Hunt is the movie I worked on last winter. I helped do setups, I did some (very little) sound, I got my cool ideas shot down by Joe (the director) and I get a bit part (until it's cut).

And I learned a fuck of a lot about low-budget movie making.

My buddy Ace wrote it, Timewarp filmed it and I just saw the trailer for it.

I can't wait until this damn thing comes out.

Hell yeah.

Oh so approprate...

2005-10-21T22:52:00.000-04:00

I got this from Norman's blog.

If you know me, this is oh so appropriate.

You Are a Mai Tai

You aren't a big drinker, but you'll drink if the atmosphere is festive.
And when you're drunk, watch out! You're easily carried away.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

I should have left it at no...

2005-10-14T19:38:00.000-04:00

Why is it that women are compelled to "remain friends" after a relationship is oh-so-obviously over?

About a month or so ago, my phone rang. My house phone. Now, 99% of the time I don't even bother getting up to answer that one because 99% of the time it's someone I don't want to talk to. My friends have my cell number. They know that's the one to call. But, honestly, I don't answer that one 99% of the time, either. I just hate talking on the phone. Case in point, my friend left the following message:

"Why in the fuck do you bother to have a cell phone if you never answer it, or even make phone calls from it?"

I honestly don't know because she's right.

Anyway, back on track, the phone happened to be right next to me, so I glanced at the caller id (that is something I do 100% of the time, regardless of which phone it is).

It was my ex-girlfriend.

I threw the phone across the couch and quickly stood up to make a break for the door. Yeah, that doesn't make much sense. I kind of realized that when my hand gripped the doorknob.

I haven't talked to my ex in well over a year and a half. We broke up over three years ago. And the only reason I talked to her after we broke up was I had co-signed a car for her. dumb. dumb. DUMB. After the car was finally in her name, I was free and clear of both.

To make it clear, very clear, I have no bad feelings to the ex. She easily treated me better than anyone I dated. The breakup was a little, no, a lot fucked up (on her end), but in the big picture, she was a good girlfriend. I won't ever date her again, I've moved way the hell on, but seeing the number on the ID freaked me the hell out. What the hell did she want?

The answering machine kicked in...

"Hey Stewie, it's your ex (she said her name). Just wanted to see how you were doing. Give me a call!"

What the fuck?

It's been almost two years. What the hell are we going to talk about? The Redskins? My job? Her first victim? Hell, in my mind, there's nothing to say.

So I did what I usually do in these situations. I turned to the females I knew for a translation, and they all, more or less, said the same thing--the ex wants to see how I was doing.

Goddammit.

Listen ladies, when you break up with a man, he doesn't want to be your friend. He doesn't want to be your confidant. He doesn't want to talk to you about your job, your problems, your new boyfriends or basically anything. He wants you to go away. There's nothing more to say.

And you women don't get it. We don't WANT to be your friend. You took away teh sex. When asked to have teh sex, you tell us it will complicate things now that there is no more relationship. Well maybe for YOU. So, if you take away teh sex, what's left for us? Hell, speaking for myself, I have enough female friends that aren't having sex with me. I don't want one more.

I remember once, during our relationship, the ex asked me if we broke up, would I still be friends with her.

"No," I immediately replied. Hell, I didn't even think about it. I just said it.

"What?!? Why not?!?" She said, exasperated.

"Why? What's the point? I don't want to be friends with someone I dated."

"Not ever? Not even after a year?"

I was already done with the conversation because I knew it wouldn't get better. "Okay," I conceded, "maybe I'd talk to you again after a year."

I should have left it at no.

*on a somewhat related note, freak, no negative comments about the ex. I know you don't like her, and I know why. I don't bad mouth her and, as my friend, you shouldn't either. At least not around me. You are free to do it wherever else you please.*

What the hell would we talk about...

2005-10-10T17:35:00.000-04:00

I just finished watching that BTK Killer TV movie and it never dawned on me that this dude was a father.

It got me to thinking, how would I react if my father was a serial killer. I honestly don't know.

My first thought would be to completely disown him. I mean, hell, that would be easy for me. It's not like I haven't shut out people before (and for a lot less).

But, man, I don't know if I could do that.

And, seriously, what the hell would we talk about when I went to visit him in the pokey? The Redskins? My job? His first victim?

I think that's the part that bothers me the most. Not the fact that my dad killed a bunch of people, but the fact that I wouldn't know what to talk about with him.

Odd.

Tag this...

2005-09-30T15:46:00.000-04:00

I was tagged by Norman (no, sadly, not that type of tagged).

The Rules:

1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

My fifth sentence of my 23rd post?

Duran Duran.

Rock on.

Superman...

2005-09-23T19:42:00.000-04:00

The inspiration for this post can be found on Aric's blog.

There are times in your life when your impression of someone completely changes. It may be something they say, they do, or just from your own experience.

It may take years for your impression of them to change, you know, suddenly you just realize one day "hey, they aren't how I thought they were." Or, it may be sudden and instant.

For me, when I was 14, my impression of my father changed instantaneously. A blink of the eye, so to speak.

I'm pretty sure it was a November day, because it was hunting season. I don't hunt. Nor does my father. But the neighbor kids who lived across the street did, and they always cut through our yard to get to the woods beyond our house.

As always, before I get to the nugget, here's some history...

First, my father. I am my father, there is no denying it. While I get my love for reading and being stubborn sonuvabitch from my mother's genes, the rest of it is my dad. Laid back, good looking (damn skippy), easy going and patient. Loads of patience. It may not seem that way, but I am a very patient person. Just like the old man. But it is important not to confuse patience and easy going with weakness, as some do.

Now, the neighbor kids were two brothers who, for the most part, I used to get along with. But one day, they pretty much kicked my ass. I can't remember the reason, and it may have been my mouth or it may not have. Either way, two against one is a shitty fight either way you look at it. So, as one could imagine, our family wasn't on too good of terms with their family.

So, back to the grill, it was November, I was 14, I had loaded up my bike in the back of my dad's truck because he was going to take me to a friends house and Ralph, the older of the brothers, was cutting across our property to hit the woods for some hunting. Gun in hand and dog at side.

My dad noticed him and said (more to himself), "That bastard. I've told them to stay off my property."

"HEY!" My dad yelled to Ralph, "Wait a minute!"

Ralph looked at him, smirked, and kept walking.

My dad looked at me and said, "You wait right here," and briskly walked over to Ralph, cutting him off.

It's weird how your body works sometimes. I shouldn't have heard what they were saying, as they were probably 30 feet away from me, but I did. I heard every word and nothing else, just their words. It was as if I were in a vacuum.

My dad was directly in front of Ralph and said, "I told you before to stay off my property. Now turn around and get the hell off it."

Ralph, who was about 16, said, "This isn't your property."

"See that fence," my dad said, pointing. "That's my neighbor's fence. His property starts on the other side of that fence. Everything on this side of the fence is mine. That's how it works." To say he said it in a condescending tone would be an understatement.

"Whatever," Ralph said, and took a step.

My dad put his hand on Ralph's shoulder. "No. Turn your ass around and get off my property."

Ralph took a step back and looked at my father. Then he looked down at his dog and back at my father. He took another step back and pointed at my father. "GET HIM, GRIZ!"

The dog looked at Ralph, then at my father, back at Ralph. Then he wagged his tail.

My dad burst out laughing. "Smart dog."

I was loving every minute of this. Then I wasn't. One second it was funny, the next I saw something that scared me more than anything else in my life.

Ralph swung the gun he was carrying up to my dad's chest.

"I'll shoot you where you stand, you son of a bitch," he said.

My dad didn't even look at the gun. He kept his eyes on Ralph. Then he took his left arm and knocked the gun to the side.

"Get off my property." He said. He didn't yell it. He didn't shout it. He just said it.

Ralph gave him one more glance and turned around and walked home.

At that moment...

At that instant my dad became Superman. There was no two ways about it. My dad was the fucking man.

My dad watched him walk off and came back to where I was standing by the truck.

"You ready?"

I just looked at him. "Uh huh."

He looked down at me. "What's wrong with you?"

Huh? What's wrong with me? I just watched this guy stand down a fucking gun and he asks me what's wrong with me. I didn't have the words.

"Uh...

Nothing."

"Well get in the truck and let's go." He said, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Uh...

Okay."

What can you say when you don't have the words?

For me, anyway...

2005-09-21T21:16:00.000-04:00

Nickelback's got a new CD coming out (yeah, yeah all their songs sound the same blahblahblahgetyblah).

Anyway, the've been playing Photograph on XM radio a lot and, like most Nickelback's songs, I dig it.

There's one line in it that cracks me up...

Kim's the first girl I kissed
I was so nervous that I nearly missed

It cracks me up because it's so true. For me, anyway.

That's how I felt when I went in for my first kiss.

But her name wasn't Kim.

What's up, Chester...

2005-09-14T18:54:00.000-04:00

Again, if you are just tuning in, start here.

When the day finally ended, and I finally got home, I was pleasantly surprised to see my mom's car in the driveway. Heads were going to roll.

I ran in the house, threw my bag on the table and charged upstairs to my mom's room. Her bedroom door was open and I ran in.

She looked up from the bills she was writing out, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I have to talk to you about something." I said.

"What? Did you get in trouble in school?" She was already getting irritated. Good.

"Not really, but there was a problem."

"What? What the hell happened?"

So I told her. I told her everything, even what could potentially get me in trouble. I told her about pushing David, I told her about me offering the cigarette, about yelling at Stup. Everything. I left nothing out that I could remember because I knew if I did, and she found out, there would be hell to pay and she would be the collector.

After I finished up, she was looking at me in what best could be described as stunned disbelief. She said, "Go downstairs and get me a pen, a notebook and the phonebook."

I did.

When I handed her the items, she opened up the notebook, took the cap off the pen and said, "Tell me again."

I did. And this time, she took notes.

After I went through the whole deal again (with her telling me to slow down at times), my mom asked me, "Do you know what time Mr. Stup leaves for the day?"

"I have no idea. I think he leaves at five, though." I had no idea. I don't even know why I said five. I probably said five because it was before five at the time, and I was just hoping he didn't leave until five.

My mom opened up the phonebook, flipped through it, found the number of the school and wrote it down. I just stood there watching, not breathing a word. I was planning on staying for the show.

My mom reached for the phone and stopped. She looked up at me. "Leave. And shut the door."

I turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me. I knew from my mother's tone that she was in the zone. There was no way I was going to question anything she asked of me. There was also no way I was going to miss what she said.

I walked across the hallway to my room, opened the door, waited a beat, then shut it. I then crept back across the hallway, praying the floorboards wouldn't creek. The didn't.

I pressed my ear against my mother's door. As I only heard the one side, it was all of my mother talking. But, then again, I don't think Stup got too many words in...

"Is Mr. Stup still there?

Yes. I'll hold..."

Yes. He was still there. I silently thanked God.

"Mr. Stup? Yes, my name is Nancy Redrum, I'm Stewie's mother. He told me something today that, well, if I didn't know my son, I would think he was lying..."

Mr. Stup must have started saying something at this point, but my mom cut him off.

"Wait. Wait a damn minute. I wasn't finished. As I saying, if he wasn't my son, I'd think he was lying. He told me that you accused him of 'touching' a mentally disabled kid on the bus. Is that true?"

Stup only had time for a yes.

"He also said that not only did you accuse him of this, but you did it with your door open. And you yelled at him, saying you knew he did it. Is this also true?"

Again, Stup got in his yes.

"So tell me, Mr. Stup, is it a policy of the school to take the word of a mentally retarded child over the word of an honor roll student? I need to know. Is that what the school's policy is? To yell at a student with nothing but the word of a mentally disabled child? Is it? Is that your policy?"

I have no idea what Stup was saying to this, but whatever it was, it wasn't for long.

"Let me tell you something. Because of your incompetence, the whole damn school knows what you accused my son of. Can you possibly fathom how embarassing that is? Can you fathom how unprofessional what you did was?"

Again, Stup spoke here, but he didn't say much.

"Oh don't give me that bullshit. There's always one who will believe anything. So, right now, there is at least one student in that school who thinks my son touched that boy because of you. Because of you. What in the hell were you thinking yelling at him with the door open? Were you thinking at all? Apparently you weren't.

"And you still haven't told me why you just accused my son of touching that boy without even asking him first. You still haven't explained that one. My son has never been in trouble in your school, and you just took the word of that boy without even checking your facts."

Stup must have said something about my mouth at this point.

"Oh, is that what you are saying? You are saying because he has a smart mouth he is a molester? He doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt? Especially in a case like this? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you retarded? It's fine if you are, I just need to know if that's why you are biased."

Stup told her he wasn't retarded.

"Well that's good to know because I was beginning to wonder..." She started to say something else, but I think her sixth sense kicked in.

"Hold on," she said. It wasn't a request, it wasn't a demand, it was just how it was. Stup was to hold on.

I didn't even hear her get off the bed and come to the door, I just remember almost falling when she opened the door up on me.

She didn't say a word, she just glared at me.

I went downstairs, went outside and rode my bike around for awhile.

When I got home, my mom was just putting dinner on the table. My dad and my sister were already sitting down.

"What's up, Chester?" My sister said.

"Kelli!" My parents yelled in unison. She shutup, but I could tell that wasn't it from her.

My mom looked at me and said, "Tomorrow Mr. Stup wants to see you before you go to homeroom. Don't be an ass."

"Thanks, mom." I said.

"No, no problem. I enjoyed it." And I knew she did.

The next day at school I headed straight to the office when I arrived and asked to speak to Mr. Stup.

"He's waiting for you, just head on back."

I went back to his office and saw him filling out some papers.

"Come on in, Stewie!" He said. He was smiling the fakest smile I have ever seen in my life.

"Look, about yesterday," he continued. "I apologize. I was way out of line. I have no excuse for acting the way I did and I just want to let you know I'm sorry and it won't happen again."

He was still smiling as he said that, but I could tell it was absolutely killing him. The smile didn't reach his eyes. The only thing I saw in his eyes was anger and embarrassment.

My smile, however, was genuine. Not only did it reach my eyes, I'm willing to bet it reached my eyebrows and forehead, too.

"Sounds good," I said. I wasn't going to push it. I got him good. Well, my mom did, but she did because of me, so that rocked.

He put his hand out to me. "Still friends?"

I looked at his hand.

"Uh, no. I've never liked you Mr. Stup. I was never your friend. But we can put yesterday behind us."

I think I danced dangerously close to what my mom was talking about when she said "don't be an ass," but the way I look at it is I wasn't going to shake some asshole's hand just because they throw it out to me.

He pulled his hand back and his smile disappeared.

"You can go to homeroom, now."

"Thanks," I said, smiling again, "you have a great day."

I know I did.

This is no laughing matter...

2005-09-12T18:42:00.000-04:00

Obligatory start here and work your way forward. I shall warn you ahead of time, this is not the end of the story, there's one more part.

Let me tell you something: From the moment I made it back to class to fourth period, it sucked. It sucked in class with everyone looking at me and smiling, but it sucked more in the halls with people coming up to me and busting my balls. But the worst part is, judging from some of the looks I got, some people actually believed that I touched the kid. These, of course, were people who had no idea who I was, but fuck me, I didn't need this shit. So I was running from class to class just to avoid the hallways, but part of my fourth period was lunch, and I was not looking forward to that. (In our school, fourth period was an extended period and they had lunches mixed in. I would go to class for 20 minutes, go to lunch for a 1/2 hour or whatever, then go back to the same class for another 25).

On the bright side, I did run into Stewie in the hallway and he assured me that he didn't breath a word about what happened to anyone. I believed him. He was as embarrassed about the whole thing as I was. He had also told me that it was definitely David who said I touched him, and no one else, because Mr. Gibson never brought up any witnesses. All he had asked Stewie was where was he sitting on the bus the day before and if he saw anything. I guess they had pulled us both because we were both named Stewie. It wasn't rocket science.

Anyway, I was hoping that this shit would be settled before lunch, but you know how that goes.

So lunch comes around and, of course, my friends bust my balls with shit like wondering whether or not they could set next to a molester and all. The then came to a consensus that since they weren't retarded, they were safe, but the first sign of wandering hands, they were outta there.

And it was also nice that people stopped by the table to show their support by making fun of me. That's always good. Yeah, it's pretty funny now, and there is no doubt I would have done the same, but man, it was pretty fucking humiliating at the time.

About midway through lunch, I get called to the office. Over the loudspeaker. Laughter and taunts ensued as I got up and walked out of the lunch room, so I could walk the ten feet to the office. I mean, was it too much to fucking ask that they sent someone for me? It wasn't like they didn't have my schedule.

I went to the office and I was told by one of the student aids to have a seat, Stup would be with me.

Soon enough, Stup pokes his head out of the office. "You can come back now, Stewie."

I went back to his office and stepped inside.

"Shut the door, please." He said.

Oh, it was a little to fucking late for that, I wanted to tell him. What's that saying about the horse and the barn door? But I bit my tongue. No need to make things worse.

"Well, David has admitted to lying and he told us everything that happened. Lucky for you, his story matches yours." He started.

"Lucky how? I told you from the beginning I didn't touch him. You were the one that believed him. The whole school knows that I was accused of touching a retarded kid. How am I lucky?" I replied. For the first time my emotions changed. I was no longer scared. I was fucking furious. Fur. i. ous. And this cocksucker was telling me I was lucky.

"We'll get to that. We still have to deal with the cigarettes." He said.

"What? What's there to deal with?"

"Did you offer David one?" He asked.

"What?" For God's sake, this guy was unbelievable.

"Did. You. Offer. David. A. Cigarette?" Each word was enunciated with the tapping of his pen.

"What? Yeah. I guess. He wouldn't leave me alone, he kept going on about me having cigarettes, so I offered him one, just to shut him up. I wasn't going to let him take it though."

"So you offered a mentally disabled kid a cigarette?"

"Well, yeah, but no. I mean, I wasn't actually going to give it to him."

"You sure about that? I don't know if I believe you" He said, leaning into me.

"About as sure as knowing I didn't touch him. And you didn't believe that. I don't care what you believe."

He lost and he knew it. He lost the moment David admitted that he was lying. I don't know what he was trying to do now, but whatever it was, he was done.

"Well, let me tell you why you are lucky. You could be in a lot of trouble for admitting to smoking at the bus stop. You're lucky because we decided not to call your parents about this incident." He leaned back in his chair.

I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. Hard. It came out. I could not believe this guy.

"This is no laughing matter, Stewie. You could be suspended, or expelled! What's so funny?"

"You decided not to call my parents over this 'incident'? And I'm lucky for that? Let me tell you something, Mr. Stup, I can assure you that my parents will be calling you." I said.

"We'll see." He said.

"Yeah," I said, standing up, "we will."

I left. And I felt good. I stood up to him in the end. I kept waiting for him to call me back in his office, but it never happened. I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous when I left without him dismissing me. Because I was. But I couldn't take being in the same room with him anymore and he and I both knew I had the upper hand.

School was school for the rest of the day. I don't remember how bad it was because all I can remember is how badly I wanted to get home to tell my mom everything that happened.

See, my mother has always been a bitch. A self-admitted bitch at that. The woman has never put up with any bullshit for as long as I remember and I've seen her make people cry. And part of me believes she enjoyed it. I love her for that.

The thing is, when my mom has all of the facts, and it's something she believes in, she will not let up. She's a pitbull going after an open thigh. She'll latch in and won't let up until there is blood. I knew it. My sister knew it. My friends knew it. The people who crossed her knew it.

And Mr. Stup was soon going to find out.

We have witnesses...

2005-09-10T20:56:00.000-04:00

Read the previous two blogs if you are just joining in.

continuing on...

The next day seemed started out as usual. I got up 10 minutes before the bus was to pick me up, was out of the house in seven, hotboxed a smoke in three and hit the bus stop just as it rolled up.

When the bus pulled up in front of the school, I noticed Mr. Gibson, one of the assistant vice-principals, waiting at the curb. That was odd. It was even odder when he got on the bus, before anyone got off, spoke quietly to the bus driver, looked at me and another kid named Stewie, nodded to the bus driver, and got back off the bus.

What the hell?

I grabbed my shit and proceeded to exit the bus. By the time I hit the bottom step, Mr. Gibson was right there to greet me. Standing just behind him was Stewie.

"Come with me, Stewie," he said.

His tone said don't even bother questioning him. And I didn't. I just went.

Mr. Gibson led us to the office, where he directed me to one of the chairs. "Have a seat and wait for Mr. Stup to call you in his office," he said. He then turned to Stewie, "You. Come with me."

They headed back in the office, and from the look on Stewie's face, he was just as confused as I was. Neither one of us had any idea what was going on. Well, it wasn't long before I found out.

Mr. Stup poked his head out of his office. "Get in here."

I got up and went in the office. I was trying to think of any reason on why the hell I was there, but couldn't. I wasn't really friends with Stewie, we just lived in the same neighborhood. There was nothing we could have done together that would have got us in trouble. I obviously wasn't on the right track.

As soon as I sat down in Stup's office, he started with the questions.

"Want to tell me what happened yesterday?" He asked.

"Nothing?" I replied. I was clueless.

"Nothing? Try again. What happened on the bus yesterday?"

"Uh... Nothing?" My mind was working overdrive. I thought maybe this was about pushing David, but he seemed way to upset for it to be that.

"Nothing? Nothing!?! Nothing happened with David?"

"He wouldn't move when I got off the bus, so I gave him a push. It's not like I knocked him down." I guess it was about the push.

"So you touched him?"

"Huh? Well I guess. I pushed him. But not hard." Something was bubbling to the top of my head, but I was ignoring it. I started to see where this was going, but I couldn't believe it.

"So you touched him." He repeated. "Where did you touch him?"

"Wait," I said. This was about to get ugly. "I pushed him. I gave him a push on his shoulder or arm or something." I didn't like that word "touch." No sir.

"Just in his arm? You didn't touch him anywhere else? I heard different."

"From who? Yes, just in his arm. And it was a push. Not a touch."

Suddenly, Stup just started yelling. I'm not talking about the yelling your girlfriend accuses you of when she doesn't like the tone of your voice. He was yelling. Voice raised and all.

"IT WAS A TOUCH! WE HAVE WITNESSES THAT SAID YOU TOUCHED HIM! YOU TOUCHED DAVID!"

"What?!?!" I knew then. I knew what this was about. And I was scared. I didn't know how to defend myself. "I didn't 'touch' him! I just pushed him."

"I heard different. There are witnesses!"

I turned my head to the outside office, and for the first time the door was open. This was going from bad to worse. I knew anyone and everyone in the outer office was hearing everything going on. And I also knew that anyone and everyone in the outer office consisted of 90% students. I was fucked.

"Bring them in." I said.

"Who?"

"The witnesses. Because I DID NOT TOUCH HIM!"

"DON'T YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME!" He yelled. This guy was such a fuck.

"I WILL! I DID NOT TOUCH HIM! AND YOU ARE YELLING AT ME FOR NO REASON. AND EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMN OFFICE CAN HEAR US!" Yes, I dropped a curse on the VP. At this point I didn't care.

"You watch your mouth. You are in deep, here."

"No, I'm not. I didn't do anything wrong. I pushed him, but that was it. I did not touch him and you aren't showing me anyone that said I did."

"We have witnesses."

"No you don't."

"What makes you think we don't?"

"Because I didn't touch him. And you are trying to scare me. If you had witnesses, they'd be here."

His face changed. I can't describe it, but his look changed. I was right. At that point I knew his only "witness" was David. He confirmed it when he asked his next question.

"Do you smoke?"

"Huh? What? Yes." The question came out of the blue.

"Do you have cigarettes on you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I smoke." This guy was dense.

"Let me have them." He said, holding his hand out.

"No."

"What? Give them to me."

"No. Nowhere in school policy does it say I can't have cigarettes. You can't have them." When you are 15 and smoke in school, you know the rules.

"Do you smoke in school?"

"Of course not. That would get me suspended or expelled." What a dumb fuck. Of course I smoked in school. But I wasn't going to admit to it.

"Then why do you have cigarettes."

"Because I smoke at the bus stop."

"Well, you can get suspended for that."

"No I can't."

"Yes, you can. From the moment you leave the house until you get home, you are on the school's property."

"Okay." For the first time I laughed. "My parents would be interested in knowing that their land now belongs to the school."

His face turned red. "You know what I meant, stop getting smart. It's your smart mouth that gets you in trouble."

"Whatever. Now what?"

"Go to class. This is far from over. We have witnesses."

"Can I get a note?" I needed one to get to class without getting in trouble.

"No. Get out of my office."

I went to class. I had walked into first period 20 minutes late. The teacher just nodded to me. She knew.

As I walked back to my desk, my friends where smiling at me. They knew.

The word was already out.

I had been accused of touching a mentally retarded kid.

It wouldn't be until fourth period until things started to really go my way.

There'll be more...

2005-09-07T19:38:00.000-04:00

There was this kid in my neighborhood, David, that was slow. I don't remember how slow he was, but I knew he was in the special ed classes and he was not as emotionally mature as the other kids his age. I don't think he was retarded in the downs syndrome sense, but he wasn't "normal" in the "normal" sense.

*Note* If that description seems insensitive, it's not intended to be. It's just the best way I can describe what I remember. I make fun of a lot of people. Hell, I make fun of most people. But I try not to make fun of people who don't deserve it. I'm an asshole, but I'm an asshole with limits.

Anyway, one day on the bus ride home from school, David was asking me questions. Non-stop. I was around 15 at the time, and he was driving me damn crazy. I was probably a lot more tolerant than most kids my age as I had already worked two summers--and numerous weekends--at an organization that prepared folks with mental disabilities for the "real world." In addition, my mother worked for this organization full time, so I knew David couldn't help himself. But I was also 15, with much less patience then I have now. And I have very little now.

So, David had been asking me questions since he had gotten on the bus. I was getting more and more irritated and my answers were getting more and more clipped. Hell, I don't even remember what most of the questions were, they were just questions about this and that. Finally, the bus was coming up to my neighborhood, so I pulled a cigarette out of the pack in my bag so I could have it ready to light when my feet hit pavement.

"What's that?" David asked.

"What's it look like?" I replied.

"A cigarette."

"Well, there you go."

"Don't you know smoking's bad for you?"

"Yes."

"Why do you do it?"

"Don't know." I was willing the bus to go faster, but it wasn't working.

"You think it makes you look cool? You trying to be cool? You smoke, you're cool?" David was being real snide at this point. And I was done.

"Yes, David. Smoking is cool. That's why I do it. You want one?" I pulled out another smoke and waved it in front of him.

"What?!? NO!! SMOKING GIVES YOU CANCER!!!" And, with that, he turned and stared straight ahead. Hell, if I had known that's all it would have taken, I would have done it earlier.

Look, I knew he wouldn't take it. I wouldn't have offered if I thought he would. I don't even know why I offered the smoke. The things you do when you are young and stupid sometimes have no explanation.

Finally, the bus stopped at my corner. I grabbed my bag and stood up to get off, but David, who was sitting in the aisle seat, wasn't moving.

"Move." I said.

"No."

"Move."

"No."

Goddammit, move your ass." With that, I pushed him. Not enough to knock him out of the seat, but enough to get his ass moving. He moved.

I got off, lit up, took in some cancer and walked home.

Just another day--or so I thought.

I wonder if had I known about the shit storm that hit the next day if I would have done anything differently.

Probably not.

What an assclown...

2005-09-03T00:00:00.000-04:00

This blog was originally going to be about the time I was accused of touching someone inappropriately on the school bus when I was in high school.

But then I realized that there needed to be a back story to the fuckwad Vice Principle who accused me of doing said touching.

So that’s what this blog is going to be about.  Said fuckwad.

I’ve always had a smart mouth.

Back when I was in school, my mouth was always getting me in trouble with both teachers and students alike.  I was either getting my ass kicked for smarting off to someone I shouldn’t have, or in the office for smarting off to a teacher.  And because of the latter, the Principle was quite familiar with me.

In 7th grade (which is middle school down my way), I had an English teacher named Mr. Stup.  This guy was a cocksucker.  I can’t tell you all the reasons I didn’t like him as it’s been over 20 years, but I distinctly remember not only did I not like him in middle school, I didn’t like him in high school, either, when he was the Vice Principle (but, like I said, that’s part of a future story).

Anyway, if I remember correctly, Stup was a Star Trek fan.  And after recently reading The Trouble With Tribbles, he told us we would be lucky to watch the Star Trek version of it later on that week.

Yay.

I hate Star Trek.  Always have (no offense Mero, I know there are fans, but I am not one of them).

So the day came, the TV was rolled in, the lights were dimmed and the Enterprise was launched.

And I broke out a book and started reading during the show—which, ironically enough, was a Dr. Who book.  I have no idea why I remember that.

I was pretty into the book when I gradually noticed someone standing by my desk.  It was Stup.

“What do you think you are doing?”  He asked.  He sounded a little pissed.

I looked at the book, looked back at him and said, “Reading.”

“Why aren’t you watching the movie?”

“Because Star Trek sucks.”

Oh my.  His face twisted and contorted.  I believe I struck a nerve.

“Well,” he said, apparently barely containing his anger, “you can just read that out in the hallway.”

“Fine with me,” I said.  “More light out there anyway.”  And I gathered up my shit.

“Leave your books and get out.”

By my books, I guess he meant my school books because he didn’t say anything when I took my Dr. Who vs. The Loch Ness Monster with me and left.

The shitter about sitting in the hall is the Principal always wandered it, on the look out for kids who got kicked out of class.  Like me.  And sure as shit, he showed up not 10 minutes after my exiting the class.

“Stewie!  What a surprise!  And how is it that you are sitting out here today?”  He asked.  He was always happy.  I liked him.

“I got kicked out of class.”  I told him.

“Why?”

“For reading.”

“Why were you kicked out of class for reading?”

“Because they are watching a stupid Star Trek show and I was reading and Mr. Stup asked me why I wasn’t watching Star Trek and I told him because Star Trek sucks and he told me to get out of his class.”

The principal smiled.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t really know if you did anything wrong.  I think I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see you out here today.”

“Thanks, Mr. Leonard.”

And he walked off.

Stup got me after the movie was over.  I can’t remember if he said anything to me about reading or not.  Like I gave a shit.

Think about it:  An English teacher kicks me out of class for reading a book instead of watching TV.

What an assclown.

Shoot the looters...

2005-08-30T20:05:00.000-04:00

I read a news article today that looting has already started in Louisiana.

Unfuckingbelievable.

And it's not (just) food, water, medicine -- you know, the necessities.

It's tvs, vcrs, clothes.

Fucking animals.

I remember when a bad tornado ripped throw the town where my sister lives and she called and told me people were looting within the hour after the tornado hit.

Again. Unfuckingbelievable. Here is this small town utterly destroyed by a tornado and the first thing some people want to do is rip someone off.

What kind of person looks at a tragedy like this and thinks, "Hey, since everyone is gone, I can act like an animal."

And that's what these looters are. Animals.

I hope the police and the national guard start taking shots at these pieces of trash. Not to kill, mind you (if an accident happens, so be it), but enough to take out a knee or something.

It would be fitting.

I am Ash...

2005-08-28T00:00:00.000-04:00

You are Ash, from the "Evil Dead"
trilogy. My hero.

Which Horror Movie Character Are You? (Many Options)
brought to you by Quizilla

Yeah, dammit, I get lazy.

I'm still Ash, though.

For those of you over 25...

2005-08-27T01:55:00.000-04:00

Get the fuck off myspace.

You all look like pedos.

Yeah, I have a profile up there. I admit it.

But it's only to laugh at you assclowns.

Wait.

Nevermind.

Keep those profiles updated.

They make me laugh.

Take off those damn ribbons...

2005-08-25T22:09:00.000-04:00

For those of you with ribbons on your vehicle, take them off.

Please.

No one cares.

I was driving down the road today and every other car had one of those damn ribbons on the back.

Pink ribbons, yellow ribbons, black ribbons, ribbons with paw prints, red ribbons, white ribbons, blue ribbons, red, white and blue ribbons.

For fuck's sake.

Not only do people not know what half of them mean anymore, but no one cares that you have a ribbon on your car. Of course you support the troops/battle for breast cancer/America/whatever today's fucking cause is. If you didn't, you're a moron. I don't have any ribbons on my car, does that mean I support common sense causes less? Doubtful (except for that animal one. I'm all for the slaughtering of cats if it leads to a better, tastier chocolate bar).

The point is, once again, a fad has been run into the ground and has become pointless. Like the baby-on-board signs of the late 80s, they've been played out.

If you want show your support for the troops, do what my roommate does, mail them books or phonecards or whatever. I'm sure they'll dig that a helluva lot more than you toting around in your Volvo with 27 ribbons on the back.

It's all about the sign...

2005-08-22T18:19:00.000-04:00

This past weekend was the Horrorfind convention, or keeping the tradition, Dorkfest 2005.

For the n00bs, Horrorfind is, well, a Horror convention consisting of vendors, authors, movie stars and seminars and book readings from the horror genre.

But, while the stars and the readings and the shit to buy is cool, Dorkfest has evolved into a reason to get together with friends and spend all weekend not only making fun of the geeks at the conventions, but each other as well--and this year was no exception.

Since there were going to be quite a few of us drinking, I went up to the hotel early and arranged to have two patio rooms right next to each other, so we would have two patios to drink on. For me, I hate drinking in a hotel room. It feels like I'm in highschool. But if you throw down on a patio, there is an air of adulthood with that. Don't ask me why.

Anyway, one of our concerns was if there were going to be a bunch of drinking in view, losers would come up and invite themselves to our party. We needed to keep out the rifraf from just wandering up. I hate people by nature, and I hate drunk people I don't know trying to hang out with me even more. So a solution had to be found. And it was.

Ron noticed there were some poles on the side of the pool area (think of the type of poles that you put a velvet rope on) and suggested we put them around the patio to keep out the drunkards. So, once night hit, we snagged the poles and placed them around the patio. And we one step further, we added a sign.

"Private party for HorrorTalk guests only."

Handwritten and all.

I guess it must have worked because nobody bothered us all weekend. Wait. Scratch that. We were approached once.

On Thursday night, about 12ish, this guy came up to our blockage (but did not cross it, he had to respect the sign). "Excuse me guys, sorry to bother you, but would you guys mind if we splashed around in the pool?"

We kind of looked at each other in disbelief. "No problem, go ahead."

Yeah.

It's all about the sign.

No doubt...

2005-08-15T20:13:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was interviewed for a documentary about legendary filmmaker Don Dohler.

Quick backstory...

A couple years ago, The Hitman reviewed Harvesters for HorrorTalk.

In turn, I reviewed Stakes. Both of which are Timewarp films, which Dohler co-owns with Joe Ripple.

From there, we met Don and Joe at HorrorFind the next year, and the year after that, The Hitman wrote a script for which ended up becoming Timewarp's next movie (it is now in post-production.

Since I have faith in Timewarp's movie, as well as The Hitman's script, I invested in the movie. And since I invested in the movie, I got full access to the set (except for the nude scene--I knew I should have invested more).

On the set, I met John, Dan and Sarah, who were making the aforementioned documentary on Dohler. After some talking, John found out I reviewed movies (with a penchant for low/no-budget) and was interested in interviewing me for the doc. I was down. Anything to get on the screen--except for acting, fuck that.

Which brings me to yesterday.

So the lights are set up, the mic is checked and we are ready to roll. John was the interviewer, Dan was on camera and sound and Sarah was on makeup--yes, I am a creamy beige.

"What's you favorite Don Dohler movie?" He asked.

"Blood Massacre."

"Why?"

"It's brutal, it's gritty and it's so different from the other Dohler movies I have seen. Plus, George Stover just rocks in his role."

"So, what is the movie about?" John asked.

"Um. Uh. You see, this guy, this Vietnam vet, he, uh, he's crazy and, uh..."

"Have you even seen Blood Massacre?"

"Well, yeah! I just suck at explaining what a movie is about."

"Are you sure you review movies?"

Man.

Thankfully, the rest of the interview went much, much better.

But I have no doubt which part of the interview he's going to use.

There are things you expect from your friends...

2005-08-11T18:51:00.000-04:00

Yeah. No updates lately. It's summer. Sometimes I pretend to have a life.

Back in 1989 or 1990, my buddy had a party. I distinctly remember this party because I know I was still in school and I know I was a senior.

I remember this party because I got so drunk that I went to the bathroom, well, to use the bathroom and it turned into something somewhat memorable.

I pulled my pants down and almost started my business, when the urge to throwup hit me. So I got knelt to pray before the porcelan god, when I realized how cool the tile was on my knees.

Oh, did I say I pulled my pants down? When I said I pulled them down, I meant I took them completely off.

So there I was, with the coolness of the tile beckoning. And every damn one of you know how cool and comforting tile is when you are drunk. Suddenly, I felt like laying down for a little bit. So I did.

Yep. What started out as a simple trip to the bathroom turned into me getting naked--halfway, at least--and taking a nap.

Thankfully, it was a party. And, thankfully, my friends were there for me. Yeah, those "thankfullys" are sarcastic.

I vaguely remember someone opening the door and yelling out "There's a naked guy in here!" Then the door closing. Then opening. Then some questioning about who had a camera. Then closing. Opening. Closing. Opening. Giggling. Closing.

I don't know when I left the bathroom. Or when I put my pants back on. I just know I woke up the next day on my buddy's couch, feeling like ass, but at least wearing clothes. I also remember everyone who crashed there looking at my strangely, and smiling, like there was a secret. Which, of course, there was.

The following Monday, I found out the secret.

People who weren't at the party were coming up to me and laughing. Asking me about my pants and why I didn't lock the door.

Yeah. Apparently someone found a camera.

You know, looking back, I don't even think I was mad at my friends. I probably would have been mad at them if they didn't take a picture.

There are things you expect from your friends. And taking pictures of your dumb ass when you are passed out naked in the bathroom is one of them.

Every time I get gas...

2005-08-04T19:16:00.000-04:00

I'm reminded on how fucked up our leadership in this country is.

And I have never seen that dress you're wearing...

2005-07-29T19:40:00.000-04:00

One night many years ago, my good friend Mike and I decided to go to Trax. Well, Mike decided to go and I decided to tag along. From what I heard, Trax was a great place to go cut a rug as it had four dance floors. One for techno, for trance, industrial and 80s. It was also a popular gay bar. Not that that matters, it just matters for the story.

Anyway, we got to Trax about 10:30 and proceeded to drink, dance and watch women. One interesting thing about gay bars; women are always at them. And, no, not lesbians--straight women. Lesbians don't tend to go to gay bars. Well, not male gay bars. I guess women feel safe as most straight guys stay out of gay bars for fear of catching teh ghey. Me, I'm a firm believer of it's not where you are, it's who you are with and the time you are having. If that means going to a gay bar, then so be it. Let's party.

At one point or another during the evening, my buddy and I were out on the dance floor, cutting it up. Generally, if I'm into the cut, I am oblivious to everything else. So when the song ended, and the next one started, I suddenly realized three things.

My buddy was gone, the women were clearing the dance floor and the men were rushing to it.

Before I realized what was going on, I noticed my friend at the bar, a HUGE grin on his face. He tipped his beer to me and started laughing. I had no idea why.

Then it dawned on me.

The song.

It was the song.

It's Raining Men. Halleluja..

By the time it hit me, it was too late to run off the dance floor without looking like a complete and utter ass.

Understand, this was my first time being surrounded by a swarm of gay men. I didn't know what to do.

So I did what I thought was best.

I said fuck it, I'm in their house.

So I started to dance.

I was doing my thing when I suddenly realized someone was behind me. All up on me. Hands on my hips and having a time.

I turned around--or danced around, as I didn't want to make a scene. After all, I was the one on the dance floor at a gay bar when it was raining men (halleluja).

The hands never left me as I made my way around, and by the time I got a look at whose hands they were, I didn't mind at all. No sir. Not one bit.

The person who was dancing with me was a smoking hot brunette in a red dress. A clingy red dress. And she was curvy. Oh, man, she was curvy and fine and hot and a woman.

And so we danced.

At the end of the song, I simply thanked her. I was pretty sure she knew what she was doing, and I was right.

She leaned up to me and said, "You know, you are a pretty good dancer, but you are obviously straight. Your friend may have bailed on you, but I wouldn't."

And she left.

That was it.

But that is okay. She made an uncomfortable situation comfortable, so if that was all she wanted to do, fuck it, who am I to argue.

I do wish I could have bought her a drink, though. Not to pick her up, but because of her cooltitude.

Rock on, sister.

Oh, and my friend was pissed off at her. He would have been able to bust my balls for years with this story, but he got nothing. Ha.

Check another one off the list, soon...

2005-07-24T15:56:00.000-04:00

There is a mental list I have of things I want to do before I die.

A lot of them I've already knocked out, but there are still some things I want to do, given the opportunity.

One of the things that's been on "the list" for a good while is to drive cross country.

Well, last night I found out that I may be doing exactly that in September--on someone elses dime.

A buddy's brother is in the military and he's coming home. He wanted his car shipped from Hawaii to Maryland, but, for whatever reason, they couldn't do it when he needed them to do it. So they told him they could ship it to California and he could drive it to Maryland. And they'd pay for meals, lodging and gas. He just has to do the drive in 9 days.

So my budd'y brother called my buddy to see if he wanted to go. He said yeah. I asked if I could go. My buddy called me last night and said yeah, I could go.

The only thing I would have to pay for is my meals.

I'm ready to order my plane ticket to California now.

Fuck yeah.

To that girl on the metro today...

2005-07-20T22:03:00.000-04:00

...the one on the orange line wearing the white tank-top and fanning herself.

You are absolutely stunning.

For the first time ever, I was happy to be riding a packed metro. It's rare that I see a good looking woman on my line and you made up for all the bad ones.

Now, if you had shaked your ass to "Fire Woman", you would have been perfect.

I was in the thick of it...

2005-07-17T19:01:00.000-04:00

1988. Junior year.

The class of 1990 is called to the gymnasium for an assembly--the reason for the assembly is irrelevant.

200 - 300 students chat with friends as they sit impatiently on the bleachers waiting for the assembly to start.

Assistant Vice Principal, Mr. Gibson, steps up to the podium and tries to get the students' attention.

The students ignore him. That's what kids do.

Mr. Gibson tries again.

Again, he's ignored.

In anger, he yells, "If I don't get your complete attention by the count of three, there's going to be trouble!"

At two, the bleachers collapsed, taking the Class of 1990 with it.

That's exactly how I remember it. I remember Mr. Gibson's thread, I remember him starting the count, then, as if I blinked, people were running over me to get outside of the gym. One minute I was watching Mr. Gibson--blink--screaming kids running over me. I had two bleachers on my legs and a bleacher on my back.

Now, why they were running has always bothered me. I mean, for fuck's sake, it's not like they were being chased, or there was a fire. What happened, happened--the danger was gone. Unless they thought the floor was going to collapse, too.

Me? After I scrambled out from under the bleachers on my legs, I walked out and found my friends waiting for me in the hallway. We went to the bathroom to grab a smoke since we figured the teachers would be busy with the situation at hand. Afterwards, we headed to the cafeteria as per the instructions from the voice in the overhead speakers. I guess they wanted to make sure everyone was accounted for. There was a lot of running, someone might not have stopped and ran right on home.

At the cafeteria, the word was out, there were TV crews at the hospital. Kids were getting interviewed by the local news. Rumor had it that CNN was even there. Lucky bastards, I thought.

Soon enough, we were herded into the auditorium for another assembly. I'm fairly certain the topic for the first one was postponed. This one was to calm the students, or at least inform them what's going on. After a bunch of "blah, blah, blahs" from the administration, I heard the magic words. "If anyone is hurt, or feeling any pain AT ALL, you should go to the hospital to get checked out."

That's all I needed. I stood up and started to go to up to the front. My buddy grabbed my arm and said, "Where are you going, you're not hurt."

"Yeah, but there are cameras at the hospital. I could get on TV."

I faked a limp and headed to where some other students were gathering.

My folks were called and my dad met me at the hospital. I was fitted with a neckbrace and my dad and I were sent to a room where I would wait for the doctor. Before the doctor arrived, a reporter and a cameraman came in the room and asked my dad if it was okay to film. My dad said it was up to me, and I said sure thing.

Long story short, I got interviewed by two reporters (I got hit by another one on the way out of the hospital) and made two stations (Fox 5 and CBS).

But the best part was the lead in on Fox. It opened with a shot on the doctor checking me for damage, then the reporter's voice comes over "Stewie Redrum was in the thick of it."

Cut to my interview.

Yeah, me faking an injury to get on TV was probably not very cool, but, like most everything else in my life, I have no regrets.

It was worth it.

5 questions...

2005-07-16T10:19:00.000-04:00

Caught this over on Mero's blog.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I asked the fabulous and fascinating Merovingienne to interview me. I will answer the questions shortly, but first, I am contractually obligated to explain the rules to this inquisitive round-robin.

Here are the instructions:

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "Interview me." "Blow me" or "Eat me" are not acceptable substitutes.

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. I'll post the questions in the comments section of this post.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post on your blog.

5. When others comment, asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merovingienne's questions...

1.You have the opportunity to take revenge on someone who has wronged you personally. Who do you pick and what do you do to 'em?

The kid who throw the stick in my eye when I was 7. Granted, he was a kid, but he grew up into a punk. Last I heard he was in the pokey.

I'd blind him.

2.You are granted the wish of one superpower, your pick. What do you pick and why?

The ability to stop time. The fun I could have with that one.

If I had to use a superpower for good, however, it would be time travel. Then I could go back in time and do whatever I can to save great shows like Miami Vice and Knight Rider from going off the air. Oh, and I would kill the producers of reality tv. That would benefit all of us.

3. If you had to be married (with all that marriage entails) to a male celebrity, who would the lucky guy be?

Robert De Niro or Samual Jackson. Both are bad motherfuckers. I'd withhold sex, kissing and all other shows of affection, too, so I don't know how long the marriage would last.

4. You get to change the ending of any movie you want. Which movie do you pick, and what is the new ending?

Chasing Amy. Up until that dreadful scene at the end, the movie is damn near perfect.

I would cut out the whole "talk" scene Holden has with Banky and Alyssa. I'd keep the last 3 minutes that immediately follows that scene.

5. You've mentioned being attracted to women who are unattainable. What makes them unattainable?

Oh hell, tough question. I know what the answer is, but I don't know how to answer it without getting too personal.

Generally, however, I always seem to develope a mutual attraction with women who either are already in a relationship, live in an area that it just wouldn't work or are mentally unobtainable (meaning issues).

I love our friends across the pond...

2005-07-11T15:59:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine who lives in London sent me this today.

It was in the London News Review.

A Letter To The Terrorists, From London
July 07, 2005

What the fuck do you think you're doing?

This is London. We've dealt with your sort before. You don't try and pull this on us.

Do you have any idea how many times our city has been attacked? Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work.

All you've done is end some of our lives, and ruin some more. How is that going to help you? You don't get rewarded for this kind of crap.

And if, as your MO indicates, you're an al-Qaeda group, then you're out of your tiny minds.

Because if this is a message to Tony Blair, we've got news for you. We don't much like our government ourselves, or what they do in our name. But, listen very clearly. We'll deal with that ourselves. We're London, and we've got our own way of doing things, and it doesn't involve tossing bombs around where innocent people are going about their lives.

And that's because we're better than you. Everyone is better than you. Our city works. We rather like it. And we're going to go about our lives. We're going to take care of the lives you ruined. And then we're going to work. And we're going down the pub.

So you can pack up your bombs, put them in your arseholes, and get the fuck out of our city.

Thanks for the letter, R.

Fuck the terrorist pussies.

God bless the internet...

2005-07-10T12:10:00.000-04:00

This is an old letter that floats around the internet, but everytime I read it, I still giggle like a school girl because it perfectly shows the hypocrisy of the church.

Whether or not it was actually sent to Dr. Laura is not proven, but the points are valid. Here is a great site that points to the actual excerpts.

Dear Dr. Laura,

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.

a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

e) I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an Abomination (Lev 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

g) Lev 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

h) Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?

i) I know from Lev 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev 24:10-16) Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help.

Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.

God bless the internet.

Hold me Spock...

2005-07-09T20:52:00.000-04:00

So I went to a scifi convention today, Star Trek style.

Wait. Wait. Wait a damn minute.

I didn't go as a fan. I went as a favor.

My buddy had a table there, and he asked if I could hang out so he could run and get drinks, get food, go to the bathroom, that sort of thing. And so I said what the hell. I had nothing else going on and I figured it would be an experience.

Oh, and I was not disappointed.

There is only one combination of words to describe a scifi convention.

Train. Wreck.

Oh man, I had seen the documentary Trekkies, but I had no idea. None, whatsoever.

I go to horror conventions, but they are nothing like the dorkiness that is a scifi convention. If nothing else, I feel MUCH better about myself today.

That said, I had a great time. I am a people watcher by nature. I love watching people and making fun of them. And what better place to do it (other than a furry convention. I'd say cosplay, too, but a lot of those chicks are smoking hot, so I am less likely to poke fun).

Is it right that I had a good time making fun of others? Probably not.

Does the fact that I spent most of the day laughing my ass off? Absolutely not.

Hey, if I ever suffer a massive head injury and dress up like a klingon, you damn well better laugh at me. I'd deserve it.

Oh, and the most interesting thing being sold at this convention? The fan fiction with spock and kirk on the cover.

In a lovers embrace.

Priceless...

2005-07-08T22:22:00.000-04:00

1 Ticket to see Def Leppard and Brian Adams - $48.00
The cost of gas to and from the show - $8.00
1 Beer and hotdog - $12.00

Getting out of the parking lot in under 5 minutes - Priceless

Sometimes it pays to leave when Brian Adams comes on stage.

Gunter glieben glauchen globen...

2005-07-08T11:21:00.000-04:00

All right
I got something to say
Yeah, it's better to burn out
Yeah, than fade away
All right
Ow
Gonna start a fire
C'mon!
Rise up! gather round
Rock this place to the ground
Burn it up let's go for broke
Watch the night go up in smoke
Rock on! Rock on!
Drive me crazier, no serenade
No fire brigade, just-a pyromania
C'mon
What do you want?
What do you want?
I want rock'n'roll
Yes I do
Long live rock'n'roll

The Def Leppard concert is tonight. And I'm going. Yes.

The only downside is they are touring with Brian Adams. Ug. But, fortunately, Leppard is opening, so I can leave as soon as their set is done. I won't have to stick around and I can beat the traffic.

Good times.

(Now I wait for the inevitable comment on my music from shiki. :) )

Hope you enjoy your stay...

2005-07-07T12:25:00.000-04:00

The article title is Court jails N.Y. Times reporter.

I read that and did a jig.

Here's the gist as I understand it...

Two reporters--one from the N.Y. Times, one from Time magazine--have been under pressure from the government to reveal a source who leaked the identity of a covert, I'll say that again, a covert CIA agent. Both have refused to name their source.

And now one, Judith Miller, is going to jail.

I say good.

This is the problem with fucking reporters. They feel like they can do whatever they want, then run and hide behind "freedom of the press" when they fuck up and print something that could endanger someone's life.

No. It doesn't work that way.

Freedom of the press doesn't give you the right to print whatever you want without responsibility, you jackoffs.

Did you think it was okay to print the name of a covet CIA agent and not expect any repercussions? Honestly? How fucking stupid are you?

Cooper, one of the reporters pressured to talk, said her jailing "is a sad day not only for journalists, but for our country."

Hey Coop, how did you manage that quote with your head up your ass? Talk to people outside of your field, numbnuts. Many, many people are supporting this. We are tired of this shit.

What if something happens to this lady because of your thoughtlessness? Oh, wait, it's not your responsibility. Freedom of the press and all.

Well fuck you.

Hey Ms. Miller, I hope you enjoy your prison stay. Don't think for one second you don't deserve it.

Smoke, she is a rising...

2005-07-06T19:53:00.000-04:00

I'd like to thank that woman walking in front of me today.

She was shaking her ass to the beat of The Cult's Fire Woman.

Lord have mercy.

It's a fucking cartoon...

2005-07-04T10:26:00.000-04:00

I have a buddy who watches anime, but doesn't defend it. He just likes it. I can dig that.

What I don't get, however, are the people who defend anime like it's some kind of art form.

Hey, knuckleheads, it's a fucking cartoon. That's it. A cartoon.

Just because it's made in Japan doesn't make it anything special. It's no different from The Simpsons or Family Guy. And watching a cartoon from Japan doesn't make you elite.

Come out of the basement of the science building, kids. You're defending cartoons.

The States I've been to...

2005-06-30T10:49:00.000-04:00

I ripped this off of Ms. Spinster's blog.

Hopefully, by the end of next year, I can add Nevada to the list.

And, if the stars align and fall perfectly into place, I will have a bunch more between California and Maryland by the end of this year.

But for now, here's where I've been...

Create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out our California travel guide

How lazy do you have to be...

2005-06-29T21:19:00.000-04:00

It's a bitch thinking of things to write on here, sometimes.

Last week I hit a random blog and it was funny as hell. Unfortunately, it hadn't been updated in a month, so I dropped a comment.

Her reply, which was as equally witty as the blog, was...

I think about writing in this damn thing every day, but then I start thinking about cheese (or something equally important) and forget to jumpstart the computer and get ta writin'.

For me, that is spot on.

Everyday I think of something I should write in here, and every time I go to do it, either the words fail me, or I forget.

But sometimes, sometimes man, people make it easy. Like yesterday.

Yesterday I hit Charbucks to do a little coffee drinking and a little brainstorming for a blog. I had three themes rolling in my head...

-The first time I remember being told I love you - not as hokey as it sounds.
-My attraction to women that are unobtainable - as hokey as it sounds and not what you think.
-The day I found God - not a chance, fuckers. Oh, I believe in God. I have a close relationship with Him. I just hate the church. Passionately.

And none of these themes were working for me. So I left empty handed.

And that's when I saw it. My blog entry.

I was heading to my truck when I noticed a lady waiting for a car to leave so she could park. That in itself seems okay, but there were things she was doing that were just flat out ignorant.

The first was she wasn't even in the parking lane waiting for this car to leave. She was on the main strip (the spot she was waiting for was a front-row-Joe). Normally not much of an issue, but the people leaving were taking their time, thus causing people to line up Ms. Ignorance.

Now, normally this would no big deal. Hell, she's waiting for a good spot. But when the jeep that was behind her pulled around her and parked TWO SPOTS DOWN from the car leaving, I just watched in amazement. I know, I know, I shouldn't be surprised, but it gets worse.

The car behind the jeep went around this dumb bitch and parked in a spot FOUR SPOTS DOWN from the car leaving (who, by the way, was still sitting there, occupants outside of the vehicle, still dicking around).

I got in my truck, which was five spots down from the car leaving, and left. My spot was immediately taken by the car behind the car behind the jeep.

And that bitch was still waiting for the spot.

Seriously, how fucking lazy do you have to be to hold up traffic so you don't have to walk about ten extra feet.

Good thing breathing is automatic or this bitch would have suffocated long ago.

Oh. Wait. Maybe that's not a good thing. It would get rid of some of the riffraff.

She's to blame, or thank...

2005-06-26T01:32:00.000-04:00

I was over my sister's house last weekend for a cookout and one of her friends took this picture for me.

I honestly can't remember the last time my sister and I took a picture together.

She made my first 16 years a living hell, so she's the one to blame (or thank) for some of the stories on this blog.

Why she's shoving her baps at me, I have no idea.

What I should tell the police...

2005-06-23T14:12:00.000-04:00

My roommate is going to a concert in Atlantic City this weekend.

She is supposed to come back Saturday afternoon and catch a movie with a bunch of us and she informed me that if she didn't call me before the movie started, with some legitimate reason why she was going to be late, for me to call the police.

I asked what she would like me to tell the police, if I had to call them.

Her reply...

Say, “My roommate went to Atlantic City and thinks I actually care about her whereabouts. She hasn’t returned home, and said if she didn’t for some legitimate reason, she would call. She hasn’t. I’m supposed to think the worst and get someone looking for her. Really, I don’t give a shit, I’m just worried that she WILL eventually return home okay, and then sic her brother and father on me for not calling you guys. Now I’ve made the call, and my hands are clean. It’s on you. When you find her, please tell her I expect to be compensated for the money this phone call is going to cost me, plus an hour of my time at my overtime rate. Please don’t call me with any info, as I have a life and don’t want to be disturbed, unless it’s to tell me she’s dead so I can kick her cats out. Thanks.”

Yeah. I'm good with that.

I couldn't help but laugh...

2005-06-23T10:32:00.000-04:00

I saw a car yesterday with a flat tire. The tire that was flat was the spare tire.

Think about it, what the hell did this poor bastard do to piss off the gods to deserve that?

I figure he was one of those idiots that rides the left lane without passing--holding people up--and he was smote down for it.

I couldn't help but laugh.

Safety glasses over the contacts...

2005-06-21T22:46:00.000-04:00

A few blogs back I explained why I have two different colored eyes.

I don't know if I mentioned it or not--you are lucky to get the link--but the vision in the bad eye is horribly bad. It can only be corrected to 20/40. I couldn't even tell you what it is uncorrected, but I'm legally blind in it, so that should be enough.

About two years ago I went to Sears Optical* to get my vision checked so I could get some new contacts and glasses.

It's always amusing when opticians check out my eye for the first time because they always do a double take. Apparently, I have a lot of scaring on the bad eye, due to the operations I have had on it. And it's always the same conversation...

"Hmmmmm," they'll say, as they use the super-duper magnifying lens on my eyes.

"If you are wondering, then yes, it's scar tissue. I've had a few operations on it." I'll say.

"How did..." they'll start.

Then it's my cue to go through the same old story--not that I mind, people seem to find it entertaining and, apparently, I am here to entertain.

So I go through the rigmarole with the new doc and get the scripts from him so I can pick out my glasses and order my contacts.

Then he said something never said to me before.

"You should also order some safety glasses to wear when you are wearing your contacts."

Huh? And I think "huh" was what I said then, too.

"So you can protect your good eye. You don't want to risk anything happening to it, do you?"

What. The. Fuck.

The thought had never crossed my mind. Sure, it's probably come to the crosswalk before in times of danger (like when I got nailed with a snow/iceball right in the good eye), but I always told that motherfucker to go back into his hole. I didn't want to hear his negative ass. I have enough problems to keep me occupied than to worry about something that may or may not happen.

In over 24 years of going to the eye doctors, NONE have suggested that. Not one. And I've been to the top doctors in the country.

I don't blame the guy. I mean he was only looking out for my best interests. But, fuck, man. Like I need that over my head.

I get contacts for three reasons:

1. The right eye drifts like a motherfucker when I don't wear a contact in it. And it has to be a contact because if they were to put the power in glasses, I'd be walking around all cockeyed and shit because one lens would be thin and the other would be about six feet thick.

2. So I can wear sunglasses. Sunlight is a bitch when your pupil doesn't dilate.

3. SO I DON'T HAVE TO WEAR GLASSES. Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, you motherfuckers that wear glasses, but don't need them, can go straight to hell.

The pisser is, due to my obsessive compulsive nature, the thought of something happening to my good eye comes out of his hole much, much more often, now. Before, the bastard would only come out if some serious shit was going down--like a three car pileup in his front yard.

Now the little fucker comes out just to smile and say hi. Prick.

*on a side note, don't ever go to Sears Optical in the Annapolis Mall. Thieving bastards. Another blog, another time. Just trust me on this.

More updates necessary...

2005-06-19T22:27:00.000-04:00

Recently I found out my blog has been linked on two different sites.

Wow. And that is not a sarcastic wow, or indifferent wow. That's a wow as if it had the exclamation point. But I'm not a big fan of the exclamation point, thus just the period.

It's kind of flattering, without the 'kind of' part.

I've been asked on a couple different occasions why I started a blog. And it's an easy answer. I started it on the recommendation of a friend. That's it. I had asked this friend how to be a better writer. I write reviews for HorrorTalk.com (linked on the right) and, soon, DonkeyHat.com (also linked on the right). I wanted to write the best reviews possible. My friend said the best way to be a better writer is to always write. And the best way to always write is to start a blog and keep it updated.

I took his advice, as it was sound.

I never intended it to be anything more than a bitchfest. Hell, the first couple months, I barely updated.

I threw the link of my blog into my signature at Horrortalk and I got a few requests from some friends to update. Honestly, I would be lying if I didn't think that was cool. Someone not only read my crap, but they wanted more. That's hella-cool.

So I updated.

And then some friends started blogs.

So I updated some more, to keep up with them. I know it's not competition, but, to me, I didn't want to be left behind. Also, dammit, some of the blogs they started are pretty damn good and I want to be as funny and as articulate as some of the blogs I read. So I have to keep updating.

Now this. The links.

Now I have to discipline myself to update even more. Dammit.

But that's a good dammit.

I appreciate the nods, Aric and Ms. Spinster. Considering the quality of the sites I'm being linked from, it's a high honor.

And to those who read this and even leave a comment or two on occasion, I appreciate you as well.

I have said before, and I'll say it again, if I didn't have readers, I would still write. I need to if I want to be better at my reviews. But because of you guys and gals, I write more than I probably would if I didn't think people were reading, and that helps me.

I have to stop now before I start putting Bette Midler song quotes in the mix. Then I'd have to eat some scissors, The Dead Zone style.

Finally...

2005-06-14T23:59:00.000-04:00

The story of the Pennsylvania stalking trip.

About two months ago, or so, I noticed Brian Keene was going to be doing a signing in Union Town, PA. Since I have family up there, I figured it would be a pretty cool roadtrip, as I have not been on a solo roadtrip in ages.

I headed up Thursday evening and went straight to my aunt and uncle's place. Since the signing wasn't until Friday, it was a good time to catch up with my family. I would elaborate more on them, but that's another blog. Great people though. I don't think they are related to the rest of my nutty ass family.

Anyway, Friday rolls around and I get up late, do a little shopping at Gabriel Bros. (which is, hands down, the best outlet store I've ever been in), bought some low-budget DVDs from a kick ass video store and basically dicked around until about 5 or so. Once 5 hit, I headed up to the signing, which was about a half hour away.

I hit Union Town mall at about 5:30 or so. The plan was to hit Keene up for some 'graphs, BS a little, do some shopping and hopefully have a drink with the man when he stopped signing at 8.

Two things went wrong...

1. Keene was signing until 9, not 8.
2. The mall was not the size of a mall I was used to. It wasn't half the size of malls I was used to. It was probably a quarter the size of malls I was used to.

So I was pretty much done by 7. Shit.

There were only so many times I could walk by Keene's table while pretending not to look at him. Or stare at the wall. You know what I'm talking about.

Finally, I said fuck it. What can you do? So I went over to bullshit with him. And try to look busy when business came up. I hope I suceeded.

Long story short, Keene is a great guy. He is probably one of the most approachable people I know, famous or not. Down to earth and funny as hell.

After the signing, Keene, Scott, Kat, Sheldon and I went out for a drink and had a bullshit session on the horror genre in general. After we polished off our beers, we headed over to this guy Steve's house, where he gave me an autographed copy of his novel Oogie Boogie Central.

Most definite good times.

A couple of shoutouts in order...

Brian - Dude, I've read some of the preview in the back of Terminal. The part about BS being a big pussy. I assure you, I laughed my ass off. But that's all I read of it. I don't know if it's me milking it, or nerves, but either way, you're getting an email. Good times, bro.

Steve - Thank you to you and your family for welcoming me into your home. And thanks for the book, too. I finished up the one I was reading last night and I will start yours tomorrow. I assure you I will live up to my promise of shooting you an email with my thoughts.

Sheldon, Scott and Kat - Good times, you shall get my email soon pointing you in the right directions for more conversations.

All in all, a fanfuckingtastic time.

The power of Skittles and Dew...

2005-06-12T20:15:00.000-04:00

As mentioned yesterday, this weekend I went to Pennsylvania. I made pretty good time, but it would have been better if it weren't for the backup in Frederick.

I left DC about 2:00 (thanks to my boss for letting me cut out early!) and hit the road before rushhour took over. I was making pretty good time until I hit Frederick, where it became bumper to bumper for about 1/2 an hour.

Since I was making pretty good time, anyway, this backup didn't really bother me. What did bother me was the soccer mom behind me completely up my ass. How did I know she was a soccer mom? Because every so often she was trying to get ahead, and she'd jump over in the right lane in her yellow SUV and the cute little soccer ball on the back window. Gag.

And being the asshole that I am, and since she pissed me off by riding my ass for no reason, I would not let her around me. Look, I don't use the left lane if I'm not passing, or trying to pass. And I hate people that do. And I hate people that get up on my bumper when there is obviously nowhere for me to go.

Finally, traffic started to pick up some and people starting getting a good clip going. It was still a little thick, but things were finally moving. I was going along with the flow of traffic and soccer mom got behind me and started riding my ass. Again. I'm talking so close, I couldn't see the bitch's bumper.

So, being the child that I am (and believe me, I know this is childish), I hocked up a good loogie (skittles and mountain dew has mad loogie power), rolled down the window, and let it fly. Statistically, I should have missed her. But I don't think I did.

Why else would she whip around from behind me and give me the finger as she passed?

I laughed and gave her a little wave.

Drive safe, sunshine.

A special place in hell...

2005-06-11T20:37:00.000-04:00

I got back today from a trip to Pennsylvania to see my family and hit a Brian Keene signing.

I have a seperate blog for both the signing and my family coming soon, but not right now.

Right now, I just want to thank all of those drivers who ride the left lane and pace the car in the right, thus not allowing me to pass them.

There's a special place in hell for you.

Pricks.

You know who you are...

2005-06-07T22:02:00.000-04:00

The recent blog on smoking was an experiment done by some friends and I. We took all took the same topic and wrote on it. The only rules were don't talk about it and don't read anyone elses.

And since I've yet to give a shout to the my friends' blogs, this is a good opportunity to do so.

Those who participated (in alpha order)...

freakmagnet - Going Up in Smoke
The Hitman - Cross-blog discussion time!
Mr. Blonde - I'm sorry, I just don't care
Neon Maniac - I Hate Peer Pressure
shiki-jitsu - You got an extra smoke?

Now, a few other friends' blogs...

Issued Away - The Short Bus
Krystal Lake - Nothing Important

And a bonus...

Lance Henrickson - Lance Fucking Henriksen's Blog

Now, there are other blogs I read on a daily basis, but those don't get posted in this entry.

This blog is for the fuckers that make me laugh on a daily basis.

You know who you are.

So true...

2005-06-07T14:19:00.000-04:00

I took one of those stupid-ass online personality tests. Every single word is true. I'm actually a bit surprised.

Smartass
You are 85% Rational, 57% Extroverted, 71% Brutal, and 71% Arrogant.

You are the Smartass! You are rational, extroverted, brutal, and arrogant. You probably consider people who are emotional and gentle to be big pussies who are obviously in lesser stature than you. You have many flaws, despite your seeming intelligence and cool-headedness. For instance, you aren't very nice. In fact, you're probably an asshole.

And you are conceited and self-centered. Not only that, but you are very loud and vocal about all this, seeing as how you are extroverted. There is no better way to describe you than as a "smartass", I'm afraid. Perhaps just "ass" would do, too. But that's a little less literary and descriptive. At any rate, your main personality defect is the fact that you are self-centered, mean, uncaring, and brutally
logical.

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive.

2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more ARROGANT than humble.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Emo Kid.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Capitalist Pig, the Braggart, and the Sociopath.

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well.

Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain yraits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 72% on Rationality
You scored higher than 64% on Extroversion
You scored higher than 85% on Brutality
You scored higher than 82% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid

I need a cigarette...

2005-06-05T19:11:00.000-04:00

So I read in the paper the other day that D.C. is trying to ban smoking in bars again.

Shhhhh.

You hear that?

That's the sound of millions of smoke nazis around the globe doing a little dance.

I'll give them a minute to stop.

Okay, smoke nazis, now that you can hear me...

You are a bunch of fucking idiots.

Do your fucking dance. Enjoy the fact you may have another city that will have smoke free bars. And, not surprisingly, completely miss the bigger picture. But, before I explain the bigger picture to you, I'm going to share with everyone else the main reason why smoke nazis love this law. The ONLY reason that's been given to me on why this law is good.

"Now my clothes smell like smoke after I go out drinking."

Um. Sure.

Let me clue you guys in on a new invention. It's called a washing machine. You want to know what it does? It washes your fucking clothes, you dumb asses.

Oh, oh! I just shot there major excuse down. Wait for the next one, the one that's a throwaway.

"Now I don't get second-hand smoke. It's dangerous."

Let me clue you guys in on something else. You aren't going to get lung cancer from going to a bar every now in then, you dumb asses. And do yourself a favor, investigate second-hand smoke, some. You may be surprised to learn that there are just as many studies discrediting it as studies that claim it's killing us all. I'd love to carry on with this topic more, but this blog isn't about the effects (or non-effects) of second-hand smoke.

Now, the big picture. The one you smoke nazis either completely ignore, or just don't see. I'll even type it slow so you can keep up.

The government is telling a bar owner what's best for his/her business.

I'll type it again, in case you missed. I'll even bold it so you know that it's important.

The government is telling a bar owner what's best for his/her business.

Do you honestly think that's a good thing? Here you got a man (or woman) who is abiding by all the state laws, running his/her bar, making some money for him and his family and the goverment comes in and says "Yeah, we know it's your business, but we think it's best for you that you lose up to 50% of your income. Because we feel it is up to us to protect non-smokers from, uh, second-hand smoke or something."

Huh?

Now here's a thought. I'm just throwing this out there. If you don't like to go to a place where smoking is allowed, don't fucking go. If you don't like working in a place where smoking is allowed, find another job. Is it that hard to be a responsible adult, capable of making your own decisions? Or do you still need someone to hold your hand, like mommy and daddy did for you when you were a child, because that is EXACTLY what the government is doing. It's making the decision for you. And me too, you fucking cocks. Thanks for imposing your lifestyle on me. I appreciate that.

Also, do you really think it's fair that someone should lose their money, and possibly their life savings, because the government has a bug up their ass and a hand in their pocket telling them that smoking is bad? And don’t think for a second that someone other the government is footing this bill. Do some research.

"Here’s the grabber: The movement to make Washington smoke-free isn’t coming from actual Washingtonians. “Smoke Free D.C.” is underwritten by a $250,000 grant from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, a non-profit “public health” organization based in New Jersey. The movement was given $50,000 by the Rockefeller Family Fund, which is based in New York.

The AFL-CIO of Washington enthusiastically supports the ban, claiming in a press release that “secondhand smoke causes 65,000 deaths per year in the United States.”

That number is absurd. It’s 20 times the estimate of secondhand smoke deaths put out by the Center for Disease Control, and even the CDC’s estimate was recently laughed out of a federal court." (Fox News)

Yes, goddammit, smoking is bad. It's a filthy, disgusting, addictive habit. And I'm a smoker. But you know what? I'm responsible for my own actions, and if there is a bar that is a non-smoking bar, I'll go to another one. But, unfortunately, I'm not going to have a choice. Choice. Now there's an interesting word.

How about we give the bar owners a CHOICE on whether or not to make their bar a smoking or non-smoking one? Oh, fuck me, did I just say that? Give them a choice? God forbid some sense is thrown out in the mix.

Because we all know damn well that the bar owners are going to do what's best for their business, thus, most likely, keeping it a smoking bar. And since the smoke nazis are whiney babies who can't handle making their own decisions, they get the government involved to do their thinking for them. And the rest of us. Thank you so much for taking decision making away from me. I was worried I was going to have to think for a minute. Oh, I was wondering, how did you find time for this when you are usually so busy writing down everything Howard Stern says that you don't like? Did finally figure out to change the station? Or have you given up on him since he's going to satellite radio?

Back on track, let's look at the numbers from the Montgomery County, Maryland, ban.

"Although large, family-style chains have been relatively unhurt by the ban, smaller establishments have seen total sales decline by an average of 30 percent during the week and 50 percent on weekends, according to Melvin Thompson, vice president of the Restaurant Association of Maryland, a food service industry trade group."(Washington Post)

30 to 50 percent. You smoke nazi fucks. 30 to 50 percent. I hope you are happy. Some poor bastard is losing 30 to 50 percent of their income so your clothes don't stink. Good job.

"Meanwhile Julie Johnson, 24, one of his bartenders, recently moved out of her Silver Spring apartment and onto a friend's couch. "I'm just not making enough to pay my bills," said Johnson, who added that the law has created another indignity: chasing after customers who duck outside for a smoke and leave behind their tabs.

She said her average day's tips used to be $70; now, she's earning less than $20."(Washington Post)

Question, who is going to make up the lost money to the owners of the establishments and the people who work there? You? I doubt it, you are just happy you have smoke-free clothes. Clothes that apparently you don't have to wash anymore because there is no smokey smell. I mean, you obviously never thought of washing them before, so I certainly see no reason why you would start now.

Now, I know your incredibly teeny, tiny minds are all filled up right now from reading this, but let me throw something else at you.

Have you considered for a second what can of worms these bans might have opened up? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Let's just say you like Ma's local diner. You like the greasy burgers they serve. Best in town.

Oh, shit! Grease is bad for the heart! Working there will make your clothes stink! We should encourage the government to tell Ma's they can only use greaseless meat for their burgers. I mean, it's only fair. We must make the decisions for people and their happiness! WE KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR THEM! And don't tell me it's different, because it's the exact same thing. Look at the pressure McDonald's has been getting because some fat fucks decided it was McDonald's fault for the fatties not being able to control themselves.

That's it. I'm done. I know this is a losing battle. I'm just happy people out there deciding things that are in my best interest.

I fucking hate people.

I need a cigarette.

A good cat is a dead cat...

2005-06-04T14:15:00.000-04:00

I hate cats.

Cats are easily the most useless domesticated animal. They have absolutely no purpose. None. Unless it's to piss on your carpets, destroy your furniture, break your belongings or, if you are allergic, make you completely miserable. I take that back, you don't have to be allergic to cats for them to make you miserable.

And, cat owners, pipe down. I already heard all of your lame ass excuses.

"They are good companions."

The fuck they are. They only let you pet them when it's convenient for them. Or they want something. Don't think for one minute that their world revolves around you. Cats are selfish little bastards. If you want a companion, get a dog.

"Cats are smarter than dogs, they have their own personality."

No. Cats are smarter than you. They own your ass and you don't even realize it. You say they have a personality so you can justify how they walk all over you.

"He only pees on your carpet because he's marking his territory."

What?!? Marking his territory? Until that piece of wasted flesh pays a fucking mortgage bill, he doesn't have any fucking territory.

"He only pees on your carpet because he's upset."

Hey, I get upset when I'm in Walmart, but I don't take my dick out and piss all over the automotive section.

"My cat knows me better than anyone else. He's like a little person."

What. The. Fuck. Seriously. Get some fucking help. And yes, I have heard that one.

And on. And on. And on.

All cats are the same. They all suck. They should round them all up and put them down. Little worthless fuckers.

And if you think they are loyal to you, go ahead and have someone else start feeding them. See how much they pay attention to you after that.

I used to have a dog that only my dad fed, but that dog was loyal to everyone in the family and he came to anyone in the family who called him. Try that with a cat.

Cats fucking suck.

I was a teenage poemboi...

2005-05-31T21:34:00.000-04:00

Yes.

Yes.

I sadly admit it. I used to write poems.

And yes, somewhere buried in my room there is a notebook or two of my work.

But I had a good reason for writing poetry. And, surprisingly enough, it's testosterone related.

Back in the day, I used to go to college. If I ever got off my ass and got my paperwork together, I'd have enough credits for either an associates degree in general studies, or if I ever took another class or two, I could get an associates degree with an English major. At least that's how I remember it from the conversation I had with a counselor years ago. Anywho...

My forte in college was English. Not so much that I had a knack for it, but more so it was easier to bullshit my way through papers. Something you can't really do with math or science. Give me a six page English final over a three problem math final any day of the week, because I can wing a paper like nobody's business.

One of the classes I took in about my third semester was a creative writing class. Oh man, when I saw that one offered, that was a dream come true. To me, it was a gimme "A." I mean, how could I not get an A? Aside from grammatical errors, grading was subjective. And if I could nail my regular English classes, this one was going to be a breeze. And it more or less was. But, again, I'm digressing.

About the third day of class, the teacher (I forgot his name, but he was probably one of the best teachers I ever had) stood at the top of the room and said, "All of the short-story writers on this side of the room (his right), and all of the poets on this side of the room (his left, duh)."

I was in the direct middle of the room. There were five rows. I was in row three. In the back. As I had not yet decided what I was going to write (I was there to hone my writing and get a grade), I just sat there as people moved around to their appropriate spots.

Plus, I wanted to see who moved where.

As it happened, all of the women moved to the poet side and all of the men moved to the short-story side.

Me? Yeah. That day I became a poet for the first time ever. I never even knew I had it in me.

In a class of about 20 people, I was sitting with all of the women, loving every minute of it. Well, there was that one girl that sat on the short-story side, but she could stay there as far as I was concerned.

And, ironically enough, I busted my ass writing in that class more than any other class I had taken up to that point. It's amazing the work you put in when you are trying to impress.

I'm not embarassed about being a poemboi. I had good reason.

And I still never called myself a writer.