Last off, I would like to thank Ryan, Greta, Tiffany, Scott, Josh, Jenny, and Brad for participating. And myself. I have worked three days on this and I believe I'm a better person for it.
I included the rest of you, because I wanted to let you see the fun you missed out on. I wanted you to see Princess Bride on the list and say "DAMN, how did that happen?!" And then kick yourself for not being a part of the experience.
Also, I figured you were too busy to join in and I wanted to waste more of your time.
With that said, on to the awards...
This, our first year, was a tumultuous one. Many fair opinions were offered. My only regret is letting women join in as they skewed the results in favor of garbage. Now, that seems like a low blow, but it needs to be said.
First, the biggest losers. The purpose of this is to show you what movies you voted for that no one else added to their lists. This will give you incentive to keep them to yourself and not trouble others with your "taste."
In no particular order:
Before Sunset
Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring
Kill Bill Vol. 1
All About Eve
Shrek
Return of the Jedi
Mononoke Hime
ET
Groundhog Day
Highlander
Amadeus
V for Vendetta
Singing in the Rain
12 Angry Men
All the President's Men
Finding Nemo
Some Like it Hot
Dr. Strangelove
The Professional
Mystic River
Star Wars
Jaws
The Departed
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
The Sting
Terminator 2
Batman Begins
Pirates of the Caribbean: Black Pearl
One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest
Heat
Unforgiven
Manchurian Candidate
Now, I would like you all to take a moment to laugh at these titles and the people who selected them.
Moving right along...
The winners this year were a ferocious bunch. I thank you all for your time and will present my own commentary on each title, as my opinion matters.
1. The Shawshank Redemption. This movie continues to surprise people. After finding it on TBS on a Sunday, the following week you're likely to tell a friend "You know what's an underrated movie?" And the answer follows. Although, I will say, the movie/book is a complete rip-off of Escape from Alcatraz with Clint Eastwood. But, Shawshank is still better.
2. Schindler's List. Hatred, Evil, Butchery - the Nazis. But, goddarnit, they make the best movie fodder. The world got a gift in Adolph Hitler, and that gift was the embodiment of evil: Vegetarian, dog lover, non-drinker, and non-smoker. This was a bad man. Plus, he butchered millions and wasted the Earth for 13 or so years. We see Hitler in the character of Amon Goeth (sans vegetarian/teetotaler/non-smoker). Amon reminds me of myself as a youth. His rapscallion drinking and porking, not to mention his lust of good food puts a smile on your face. But, at the same time, he murders people. I love this guy. Counterpoint - Schindler: a man driven by greed, but shown the light by Ben Kingsley. Not since Gandhi have I wanted to eat a cheeseburger so badly.
3. The Empire Strikes Back. It used to be people would say this was their favorite Star Wars movie and you'd want to punch them in the face for choosing the most underrated title. Like they are so cool. It's like those a$$holes in high school who listened to Kate Bush or some other crap band you've never heard of. "Oh, I'm so deep because I like a band no one has heard of. Anything on the radio is commercial slop." Nuts to you! What movie were we talking about?
4. Memento. The movie with the working title "Ass Backward." Also, the movie with the guy who SHOULD HAVE played Superman. Great flick. Kept me guessing. I like that in a movie. Like in Inconvenient Truth.
5. Saving Private Ryan. B.S. you not: when I went to see this they were mopping up puke from the previous showing. This was the first movie to make you actually think you just stormed a beach. Beaches doesn't count. Seriously, this was the finest first half-hour (after that creepy looking old dude and his hot blonde grandchildren and the weeping and so on) in cinema history. The plot and story peter out like a hooker out of KY, but DAMN!
6. The Princess Bride? What is wrong with you people? This is a trite, faux-comic, saccharin voyage to Gilman Village. This movie is so juvenile and pandering I'm surprised Hallmark didn't turn it into a "moment." Really, you should be ashamed. This was the movie that destroyed Billy Crystal - so much so that I can't remember if he ever WAS funny. I had to watch this movie every time I had a "movie date" in high school. I remember women that were hot turning to bowls of annoyance after I had to sit through this garbage. I really can't express my outrage in words. Your best bet is to watch Hitler deliver a speech and you'll get the idea of how much I hate this movie. I wish I was Amon Goeth and each character was a prisoner in my camp. But, that's going too far. You have your opinion and....GODDAMNIT!
7. Apocalypse Now. The most jumbled run-on sentence of a movie ever made - but, it works. Three solid hours of sex, drugs, and violence. The moment the movie opens up with The End and Martin Sheen drunk out of his mind was the moment I decided to take up alcoholism.
8. Godfather. This should have been number one, but apparently I'm working with hacks and Billy Crystal fans. Anyway. Do yourself a friggin service and rent this movie - or see it again for the first time. Solid movie. Absolutely no bad parts. Best movie ever made, the rest of you be damned.
9. Pulp Fiction. Second best movie ever made. Tarrantino's last flick before mediocrity and repetition. This movie blew my Vulcan mind. A man who had mastered every genre, reshaped it and shoved it in Uma Thurman's chest.
10. Godfather 2. A real man's number 3. What makes this a lesser movie is the absence of James Caan and Brando. One Deniro is like 38/40ths of a Caan and Brando. Man, that would be a bada$$ dinosaur movie - there's this guy who splices James Caan, Marlon Brando, and a Raptor. Damn, I should be in Hollywood.
11. Fight Club. I remember thinking this movie was about a bunch of dudes who fought each other, like Rocky or Roadhouse. I was wrong. This movie was about a bunch of dudes fighting each other, but totally different than Rocky or Roadhouse. In my top five.
12. To Kill a Mockingbird. Now here's a sweet movie that doesn't sap you out. Gregory Peck is the father you always wanted to have. And Boo Radley is the retard you always wanted to taunt. Anyway, I need to cry just a little...someone please play piano for me in the dark.
13. Seven. Titles, as I said before, are the best opening ever. The brutal dinginess of serial killing in all its glory. What was in the box? A head or a fetus? Both? Maybe the fetus in the head's mouth? I hope you're having a late lunch.
14. The Shining/Bladerunner. I couldn't bust this tie up. I apologize. The Shining is the best characterization ever. Period. Sure, Jack took this character through EVERY OTHER MOVIE HE HAS BEEN IN. But, it still holds up. Bladerunner was an elegant travel to the future. This had better special effects than all six of the Star Wars movies combined. The secret: understatement. God, that reminds me how much I hate George Lucas. Oh, and the movie Princess Bride. What a bunch of crap chuggernauts.
15. American Beauty. This is my chance to say "C'mon!" It was a damn fine movie, but a top twenty movie? I don't think so. By the by: if you play Billy Joel's Pianoman while watching this movie it totally syncs up.
16. LA Confidential. Great movie. Little story: I took this waitress that I met at a casino to this movie and as an empty gesture I told her she could bring the kid. She actually brought the brat and I was so freaked out by the prospect of going to see (josh cred) a "complex drama' with a two year old that I walked into the theater with a lit cigarette. I even offered to watch a Disney flick, but this chick was determined to mentally abuse this kid with graphic violence. Man, what happened to that chick? Anyway...
17. Raiders of the Lost Ark. I think "Crusade" is the best of the titles, but who am I to judge? JUST MATT ECKERT, that's who! I guess they're making another one. Knowing George Lucas, I'm sure the Nazis will be replaced by an army of Snuggles bears.
18. Stand by Me. Stephen King's third appearance on this list. What does that tell you? It tells you that Stephen King controls the media. THAT is what it tells you. Golden grahams, oh those crispy, tasty golden grahams.
19. Scarface. This movie made rap music. There's nothing else to say. Except that Princess Bride sucked.
20. Philadelphia Story. I've never seen this movie, but I'm sure if I had, I would be mad now.
Well, we had a good time - shared some stories, laughed a bit, and learned how to love at the same time. I'm glad I could email you my opinions, once again. But, this time, I tried to infuse the opinions of others.
My equation for the scores was first: number of times a movie appeared on all the lists, then by number on the list.
Have a good day.
You deserve it!
Friday, July 31, 2009
This One is About My Goldfish
MY BIRTHDAY - JUNE NINTHI will be turning 28 years of age. I expect Yahoo Hallmark cards and such from the outside world.As for the inside world - I need a blowjob. Any women who are in the Seattle area during the ninth of June should write in and give me their location. I will promptly come down and you may administer a GOOD blowjob to me.I will not accept anything other than GOOD work. GREAT would be nice, but I understand that you don't know me and may feel a bit uncomfortable.But, I am a forgiving man.I don't believe that this is too much to ask. Especially, since I haven't asked anyone in the Internet community for a blowjob before.I'm turning 28, ladies. Do you know what that means?Neither do I. But, for now on it means - BLOWJOB TIME.In fact, I believe it should be a new tradition: you turn 28, you get head.IT JUST MAKES SENSE!Christ, how hard is it to give a stranger on the Internet a blowjob? Seattle is full of computers, I'm sure some of you live in the area.Hell, even if you don't - fly in! I'll let you stay at my place.Your choice of Hotpockets or Kraft Dinner.Look at me, even on MY birthday I'm giving.Offering you a place to stay and food to eat - what a guy!This is going to be the best birthday ever, and I wish you all - everyone around the world (except people in Florida and Texas) the best Matt's Birthday ever!Join in the celebrations! Let peace on Earth reign!And blowjobs.Thank you,MattP.S. I will continue with new material soon - I leave for Vegas tomorrow. Look for a man with a journal in a strip club writing frantically.God Bless
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Old Review Of Casino Royale
(My opinion is interactive, please click on the colored links)
Casino Royale – Best Movie Ever Made
Just joking.
This movie was at times the worst Bond flick ever and the best. But, mostly the worst. The only reason I bring this up is because everyone told me how less shitty this movie was compared to the others. This movie only proves that if you pack a movie with 2 and a half hours of footage, you're gonna at least get a half hour commercial break worth that's good. Which finally answers the question as to why movies these days run a fortnight.
I kept telling people – Bond blows. I think this opinion was formed after a three-day marathon, witnessed by myself, on TBS. Yet, everyone assured me "This one is different."
Yes, it was – it was 2 and a half hours long and had superheroes in it.
Yes, superheroes. Since Pierce Bronson left, James Bond apparently has the EXACT same powers as Tobey I Just Huffed Lunch Maquire in Spiderman.
The movie starts out with this grand chase between James Bond and a burn victim. Now, it's a Bond movie and you have to take things with a grain of salt. When 007 hijacks a bulldozer in plain sight of a cadre of construction workers and catches up to a man who's running 190 miles an hour, that's one thing. But, I think it left the realm of suspension of disbelief when Bond and the burn victim began catapulting from steel cranes like Matrix characters. There was a brief moment where I really thought Bond was going to fly.
You'll probably say "Well, it's an action movie, what do you expect?" Well, there are some things that even an action movie shouldn't push. If Mel Gibson showed up on Lethal Weapon 5 with X-ray vision, you'd call bullshit. Same goes here: James Bond is not Spiderman.
But, the opening was pretty cool. Black and white juxtaposed with a man getting swirlied to death. That's cinema.
Yet, after the incredible Mexican jumping bean scene, I was adamant that I was going to hate the rest of this movie. Boobs or no boobs.
And there were no boobs (unclothed).
The movie progressed and Bond chases down a cell phone call to the Bahamas where we realize he's a badass and doesn't listen to authority. That rings true of Bond, but normally he doesn't go so far as to be caught on the Daily Globe for annihilating an embassy. He retorts that he was doing it to stop a dirty terrorist and I realize I'm watching a Rumsfeld/Cheney Joint. Anyone who cheered 007 blowing up an embassy and then bringing real world politics into (specifically, right wing politics) it, should probably join a church and vote Romney.
Next, we reach Miami and Bond is hunting down what looks exactly like the ghost of the Flight 93 pilot. By this point, I'm calling everything ahead of time, to the point that I realize that 9 days ago I knew he was going to hook the bomb to the Saudi's pants.
I think I went to the mall and finally got around to doing my taxes, because at some point Bond is in a Casino some place trying to poker terrorists to death. That's right: instead of using badass weapons (like the old Bonds), Bond now has such mad poker skills he can bet a man to death. In related news, I'm going to play scratch tickets until the U.S. war machine is bankrupt. This movie was definitely also written for losers who watch World Series of Poker and enjoy taking money from their friends (wink).
Well, Bond is poisoned and has to go out to his car to defibrillate himself back to the poker table. This is a stretch, but I'll allow it as it's on par with Bond fighting Jaws on the moon or using a jetpack to travel.
There's a love story in here someplace. We find out that Bond only likes married women, which is the point I really want our youth to take away from this movie: good guys want to bang your mom.
Surprisingly, the chicks are hot and not Jessica Alba clones. Normally, Bond only goes for women who can't complete sentences without blowing someone in the middle of them. But, Bond does like chicks who betray him, and that is why Bond is angry at the world. This point of the movie I agree with. If they just had the part where Bond is tricked, beat up, and has his balls flagellated by a heavy gauge rope all to save a woman who eventually screws him over because she's a total bitch and should be –
Yeah, Bond – forgot. Anyway. So, Bond goes pussy and doesn't ice the skank, but actually tries to save her. Pretty much the whole end of the movie is about how Bond is a Manillowesque pussy who writes Toni Braxton songs.
Come to think of it, this whole movie sucked.
But, before it's over, the main bad guys get whacked by even more bad guys that they just kind of throw in at the end. Like if you were watching the entire Star Wars trilogy and the Emperor gets thrown into that hole in the Death Star and suddenly Godzilla comes out of nowhere and ices Vader. You can't throw random bad guys into a movie just so you can get a sequel and a target for revenge. Not in the last half hour with no explanation.
Garbage.
Maybe I'm just getting old, but I remember action movies being better. Or, maybe everyone told me this movie was super good and my expectations were set to high – like when I voted for Kerry.Either way: C-.
Casino Royale – Best Movie Ever Made
Just joking.
This movie was at times the worst Bond flick ever and the best. But, mostly the worst. The only reason I bring this up is because everyone told me how less shitty this movie was compared to the others. This movie only proves that if you pack a movie with 2 and a half hours of footage, you're gonna at least get a half hour commercial break worth that's good. Which finally answers the question as to why movies these days run a fortnight.
I kept telling people – Bond blows. I think this opinion was formed after a three-day marathon, witnessed by myself, on TBS. Yet, everyone assured me "This one is different."
Yes, it was – it was 2 and a half hours long and had superheroes in it.
Yes, superheroes. Since Pierce Bronson left, James Bond apparently has the EXACT same powers as Tobey I Just Huffed Lunch Maquire in Spiderman.
The movie starts out with this grand chase between James Bond and a burn victim. Now, it's a Bond movie and you have to take things with a grain of salt. When 007 hijacks a bulldozer in plain sight of a cadre of construction workers and catches up to a man who's running 190 miles an hour, that's one thing. But, I think it left the realm of suspension of disbelief when Bond and the burn victim began catapulting from steel cranes like Matrix characters. There was a brief moment where I really thought Bond was going to fly.
You'll probably say "Well, it's an action movie, what do you expect?" Well, there are some things that even an action movie shouldn't push. If Mel Gibson showed up on Lethal Weapon 5 with X-ray vision, you'd call bullshit. Same goes here: James Bond is not Spiderman.
But, the opening was pretty cool. Black and white juxtaposed with a man getting swirlied to death. That's cinema.
Yet, after the incredible Mexican jumping bean scene, I was adamant that I was going to hate the rest of this movie. Boobs or no boobs.
And there were no boobs (unclothed).
The movie progressed and Bond chases down a cell phone call to the Bahamas where we realize he's a badass and doesn't listen to authority. That rings true of Bond, but normally he doesn't go so far as to be caught on the Daily Globe for annihilating an embassy. He retorts that he was doing it to stop a dirty terrorist and I realize I'm watching a Rumsfeld/Cheney Joint. Anyone who cheered 007 blowing up an embassy and then bringing real world politics into (specifically, right wing politics) it, should probably join a church and vote Romney.
Next, we reach Miami and Bond is hunting down what looks exactly like the ghost of the Flight 93 pilot. By this point, I'm calling everything ahead of time, to the point that I realize that 9 days ago I knew he was going to hook the bomb to the Saudi's pants.
I think I went to the mall and finally got around to doing my taxes, because at some point Bond is in a Casino some place trying to poker terrorists to death. That's right: instead of using badass weapons (like the old Bonds), Bond now has such mad poker skills he can bet a man to death. In related news, I'm going to play scratch tickets until the U.S. war machine is bankrupt. This movie was definitely also written for losers who watch World Series of Poker and enjoy taking money from their friends (wink).
Well, Bond is poisoned and has to go out to his car to defibrillate himself back to the poker table. This is a stretch, but I'll allow it as it's on par with Bond fighting Jaws on the moon or using a jetpack to travel.
There's a love story in here someplace. We find out that Bond only likes married women, which is the point I really want our youth to take away from this movie: good guys want to bang your mom.
Surprisingly, the chicks are hot and not Jessica Alba clones. Normally, Bond only goes for women who can't complete sentences without blowing someone in the middle of them. But, Bond does like chicks who betray him, and that is why Bond is angry at the world. This point of the movie I agree with. If they just had the part where Bond is tricked, beat up, and has his balls flagellated by a heavy gauge rope all to save a woman who eventually screws him over because she's a total bitch and should be –
Yeah, Bond – forgot. Anyway. So, Bond goes pussy and doesn't ice the skank, but actually tries to save her. Pretty much the whole end of the movie is about how Bond is a Manillowesque pussy who writes Toni Braxton songs.
Come to think of it, this whole movie sucked.
But, before it's over, the main bad guys get whacked by even more bad guys that they just kind of throw in at the end. Like if you were watching the entire Star Wars trilogy and the Emperor gets thrown into that hole in the Death Star and suddenly Godzilla comes out of nowhere and ices Vader. You can't throw random bad guys into a movie just so you can get a sequel and a target for revenge. Not in the last half hour with no explanation.
Garbage.
Maybe I'm just getting old, but I remember action movies being better. Or, maybe everyone told me this movie was super good and my expectations were set to high – like when I voted for Kerry.Either way: C-.
This Blog Is Totally Blogging My Blog
The Fourth of July"We are full of religion now. Please, everybody bow your heads and pretend to be serious."- IgnotSo, I stayed in on the fourth. Why? Why not. NEW RULE: I won't be going out on New Year's or the Fourth of July – indefinitely. Without a doubt, both of these holidays never live up to expectations. Barring a few times.Of course, there was the New Year's when I lost a grand, or the one in which I got a free ride on the Dinner Train – but, other than that, these holidays blow. And I can't remember one good Fourth of July story. Last year, I was 10 in by five o'clock and spent the evening asking this one chick about her sexual history – which involved a cucumber.Yes, the Fourth has never been good to me. The year before that I was in Toronto for some reason, the year before that I waited for an hour in the cold as my ex had gone to grab the car and had to sit in an hour of traffic from one side of West Seattle to the other.Before that? I think I was on Mercer Island. I'm not sure. The point is, it's a dumb holiday.Well, besides the founding father's stuff and all. God Bless America, etc....What I think it really boils down to is the idea that you're going to have so much fun, since it's an event, and you end up being disappointed.Oh, bother.So, last week I was invited out to Anderson Island. I made the quick decision of going on the 3rd, rather than the fourth. Mainly, because of the above and the fact that I was already in Federal Way helping strangers move for no reason at all.So, I made the split decision to go to Anderson, with just the clothes on my back...hell, I wasn't even wearing underwear.On the way, I picked up beer and a sandwich.The sandwich was eaten as I waited for an hour for the goddamn ferry.Anderson Island is only accessible by boat. Some interesting tidbits: it's adjacent to McNeil Penitentiary, and if you go over at the right time you can see all the visitors, guards and such. Also, McNeil is lit up like a city at night. It's amazing. But, I have at least three more DUI's before I end up there, so let's move on.I arrived at the island around six to find a large group of people enjoying the beautiful weather. To my chagrin, there were no single women, but this is to be expected, for I have reached that awkward age of 27 – 35 where everyone is married. I'm going to have to wait another seven year before I can reap the benefits of the divorce years.Oh, well.I quickly began drinking, but found I had no taste for it. I think it was the mood I was in. I'm not sure. Beer just didn't taste good. But, like a champ, I drank anyway. J.K, Tony, and Nick were there and quickly showed me the large arsenal of illegal fireworks they had purchased. It looked like Uday Hussein's bedroom.Wait. Let me stop right here for a piece I like to callI Hate Anderson CooperEvery time this smug vampire appears on my TV set, I feel like throwing a burrito at him. Oh, I know, he's the pretty boy for CNN and everyone wants to hear what the pretty boy's pretty little views are on things. I bet he eats children. He's such a smug little cunt: peering at me from my TV, thinking he's so much better than me because he has a TV show and does that stupid walk, stop, and pose on his commercial. HE'S RUBBING IT IN OUR FACES! That fucker must be tied to a hog and rolled through the mud. Pretentious bastard. "Oh, I'm Anderson Cooper, I have two last names for a name and I'm on CNN."BASTARD!!!!Anyway, so Tony was nice enough to let me fire off some bottle rockets on arrival. With beer in hand I began looking for the most interesting ways to blow up gun powder via a stick and a small tube. I came up with: out into the water, directly into the water, straight down into the water, and up into the sky.This quickly became boring.It was then that Rob and I went to the General Store. I had eaten my sandwich on the way to the island and needed food. Rob needed gas for the power boat. So, we went to the store. It was a lovely store....and it was haunted.Bet you didn't see that one coming.After figuring out that Shopkeep Jonesy was really the mummy, Rob and I went back to the cabin. Rob insisted on driving and was belligerently drunk. At one point in time, we had three deer carcasses stuck in the wheel wells.Back at the cabin, I tried to find a place to store the pizza I purchased. It was really hard, because all three freezers were already filled with pizzas.I mentioned this to Rob and he said "Well, you shoulda asked me."I hate it when people do this: watch you buy something completely redundant and not mention it.I wasted my money....on pizza.Oh, the humanity.Anyway, it was now time to go grab the crab pot. Rob and I boarded the motor boat and made our way out into the Sound.I had to adjust my place in the boat as my fat ass was tilting the boat at a right angle and we could only manage to get off shore with my ass strategically placed in the front.The crab pot produced one crab, but it was a rock crab and we couldn't use it for food. I asked Rob if we could make a hat out of it, but he said no.Back on shore, I whiled away the time drinking and wondering if there were any drugs on the island. The beer wasn't doing it and I wasn't in the mood for Rum.At some point in time, Nick produced a small bullet shaped device that I mistook for a cocaine sniffer. But, alas, it was only a tampon for his girlfriend.Later in the evening, rumors of mushrooms were abound and I inquired with Tony's girlfriend who adamantly denied this premise. However, Nick's girlfriend, bright eyed and bushy tailed, kept nodding her head behind Tony's girlfriend's back. I began to think there was a conspiracy against me.Down at the campfire I met up with Nick and Tony. Soon a small bag was produced. "Dude, you want a shroom?""Bullshit!" I said. "That's weed.""No, dude."Long story short: an hour later I was infused with mushroomy goodness. We had to keep it quiet and this grew into some paranoia, but was quickly abolished by the lucid dream that is the mushroom experience.Luckily, I have never had a bad trip; or, rather, the type of trip that makes you see small ghosts of Nixon running around stabbing jelly fish with bottle openers. There was a time where I had to sit through a four hour ordeal of blowing a flat in a motorhome in Chicago, but that's different.So, as the mushrooms took hold, the fireworks began. Which I ignored in place of the beautiful stars that seems to surround the Earth like a circular Lite Brite.The next day, when I would close my eyes, I could still see them.Down the shore, a great cavalcade of fireworks went off. J.K. remarked that that must have put up and Iver's down there.They would set off a complete light show involving pyrotechnics not seen since Gandalf left the Shire.Soon, Tony was mounting a defensive: BOOM!There response: BOOM BOOM BOOOM WIZ BANG BOOM SHOOOOOOO WIZ BANG TODAH BOOM BANG BOOMTony: BOOM!This went on for awhile and after each mortar burst from Tony I would shake my fist at the other's and yell "YEAH, FUCKERS!"Soon, the weed was passed around and I found myself near sleep or death. I made my way back up to the cabin, ate some pizza and passed out underneath the enormous Lite Brite.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Corn Nutz
Once again, we had a barn burner. Yes, the 1st annual Best Albums Ever awards as voted by you.
Some of you may have chosen not to participate, or I forgot to email. In either case - sorry.
With that in mind, let me let you in on next week's contest: Best Songs Ever. At the end of the contest I will make CDs of the winning 20 song compilation.
Also, if anyone is interested in pitching five bucks in, you may choose to bet that your list comes the closest.
Jenny, please forward this to Sean.
So, moving right along to the winners.
BUT FIRST! Some stats:
It was a tough contest and we ended up with 2 ties. Therefore, there are 22 albums on the list.
Of those 22 albums -
11 are American/11 are English/0 were Iraqi, Canadian, etc.
The top bands, represented by 3 spots each, were Led Zeppelin and Nirvana. Cyndi Lauper did poorly.
Of the 22, 7 of the bands were/are from Seattle. So there, Creepifornia.
The majority of the albums were made in the 90s.
Big surprise award: NONE of the albums were made after 2000 (which we know that after Lateralus, no classic albums have been made).
Of the bands represented, 16 no longer exist.
Kid A barely didn't make it and I want to kill Paul Simon for it (see below).
The only album I disagree with is Paul Simon's Graceland. You should all feel bad about your taste, for it sucks.
How did I arrive at these figures: First, number of times charted; second, placement on each chart. Ties of more than two would have gone down to another vote, but luckily...Also, all albums came from the Rolling Stone's 2005 Best Albums Ever chart. The reason, and everyone b*tched, was that if you all put your own little pet album in it would have been a disaster. Imagine 10 lists with all ten Genesis albums, or worse, a little early Paul McCartney here, a little Slayer there. It would be all over the place and it would make it hard to tally votes. Especially from those of you who like "Indie bands" that no one has heard of - not to mention those of you who enjoy bluegrass and PowerJazz.
Furthermore, I wanted no Enya on this list.
So, without further ado:
20. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles.
Not a bad choice. Definitely didn't deserve the number 1 it got in the Rolling Stone list. A Day in the Life ends up making up for a good margin of error.
19. The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails/Led Zeppellin 2, Led Zeppellin.
The Downward Spiral was my number one...and should have been yours. It's an album about ruining your life and you should get to know it. Led Zeppelin 2 is a bit bland, especially compared to IV, Houses, and Graffiti.
18. Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath.
One of the most underrated bands. Ozzy on his own sucks (except when he's drunk on MTV).
17. Master of Puppets, Metallica.
Metallica is pretty much a joke now. Face it. They haven't put out a good album since Justice. Face it. The black album sucked. Face it. But, Master was in my top twenty and is a classic. The best Metallica album evah. FACE IT!
16. Synchronicity, The Police.
Underrated album. The Police were what Sting did before he started making Contemparary adult music for Starbucks. The earlier Police albums were, for the most part, collections of singles, like the latest Nails album. Good listening, but not real albums. Synchronicity on the other hand...classic album. The namesake songs are awesome and overlooked. Do yourself a friggin service and buy this album...because I want to burn it. I think I sold mine for burrito meat.
15. In Utero, Nirvana.
Classic. Made me understand why killing yourself is cool. After the attempt, I realized you have to be a rock star first.
14. Vitalogy, Pearl Jam/Superunknown, Soundgarden.
Vitalogy - probably the best PJ album. Ten is great, but a bit too usable. Vitalogy was weird enough to make sure you didn't understand 50 % of it and that is what you want in an album. By the way, I know this is Ripley's, but the new album (with the avocado) is amazing. Trust me. I gave up on PJ a long time ago, but happened upon the album out of boredom and it is great. Probably their third best, under Vit and Ten. Check it out. Superunknown sounds like the end of the world from under a truck. Really must be listened to as a whole album. Otherwise, MTV's constant playing of Black Hole Sun in the summer of 94 would make you want to throw it out. Man, I forgot MTV used to have videos.
13. Pink Moon, Nick Drake.
This album is bleak. In my top ten. Very good. No wonder the guy killed himself. I wanted to from just listening to it once - this guy wrote and recorded the thing! Seriously, if you want to get rid of someone who is too emotional, give them this album. It's worse than a loaded shotgun and a superior command of the toe.
12. Are You Experienced, Jimi Hendrix.
I've never been a Hendrix fan. I don't know why. I've tried to like it - I just can't. It's like the show Friends.
11. OK Computer, Radiohead.
Classic. Three minute dialogue from a Commadore64 in the middle of the album, space rawk jams, and awesome lyrics. Hint: an EP came out after this album that is also classic, but hard to find. I think it's the Airbag EP, but I'm not sure.
10. Houses of the Holy, Led Zeppelin.
Classic. That's all you can really say about Zep. Everytime you hear it your transported back to highschool and find yourself drinking Keystone Light in front of a fire. Well, that's what happened to me last night. I met this hot chick who turns 18 next month!
9. Revolver, The Beatles.
Tomorrow Never Knows is classic. You know what's sad? The first time I heard it, it was a Phil Collins' cover. Man, I feel like listening to Pink Moon now. Great album.
8. Graceland, Paul Simon.
You people make me sick. Poopland.
7. Unplugged in New York, Nirvana.
He may have been Christ. Plateau and Where Did You Sleep Last Night floated around for a year or two without being delivered. Probably the most anticipated album ever.
6. Ten, Pearl Jam.
I remember hating PJ in highschool. Later, I came to enjoy this album quite a bit. Like hummus.
5. Led Zeppellin IV, Led Zeppellin.
See Houses of the Holy. Oh, P.S. Stairway and Misty Mountain Hop are the weaker songs on the album. ACCEPT IT!
4. The Wall, Pink Floyd.
No white highschooler should leave home without it. A rock star goes nuts after the loss of his father in WW2, alienation from the world at large, drug abuse, and the collapse of his marriage. Yet! I TOTALLY could relate to it in 9th grade.
3. The Doors, The Doors.
This made my list, and yours I'm sure, for the bookends Break on Through and The End. It's a real shame that the Doors Greatest Hits wasn't on the list. I think everyone owned it. What was that line in Wayne's World about Frampton Comes Alive? Something like it being standard issue to suburbian teenagers? Same goes.
2. Nevermind, Nirvana.
I like In Utero better. This is probably because I'm smarter than you.
and....can you guess? Is it a Beatle? A Stone? A Duran or Duran?
1. The Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd.
I really can't express.....
There you are. Once again, we shared some stories and some laughs and maybe learned something along the way.
Please give me an email if you would like to take part in the Best Songs Ever contest for next week.
So, in the wise words of Milton Bradley - that's Life, b*tches.
-Matbert Eckro.
Some of you may have chosen not to participate, or I forgot to email. In either case - sorry.
With that in mind, let me let you in on next week's contest: Best Songs Ever. At the end of the contest I will make CDs of the winning 20 song compilation.
Also, if anyone is interested in pitching five bucks in, you may choose to bet that your list comes the closest.
Jenny, please forward this to Sean.
So, moving right along to the winners.
BUT FIRST! Some stats:
It was a tough contest and we ended up with 2 ties. Therefore, there are 22 albums on the list.
Of those 22 albums -
11 are American/11 are English/0 were Iraqi, Canadian, etc.
The top bands, represented by 3 spots each, were Led Zeppelin and Nirvana. Cyndi Lauper did poorly.
Of the 22, 7 of the bands were/are from Seattle. So there, Creepifornia.
The majority of the albums were made in the 90s.
Big surprise award: NONE of the albums were made after 2000 (which we know that after Lateralus, no classic albums have been made).
Of the bands represented, 16 no longer exist.
Kid A barely didn't make it and I want to kill Paul Simon for it (see below).
The only album I disagree with is Paul Simon's Graceland. You should all feel bad about your taste, for it sucks.
How did I arrive at these figures: First, number of times charted; second, placement on each chart. Ties of more than two would have gone down to another vote, but luckily...Also, all albums came from the Rolling Stone's 2005 Best Albums Ever chart. The reason, and everyone b*tched, was that if you all put your own little pet album in it would have been a disaster. Imagine 10 lists with all ten Genesis albums, or worse, a little early Paul McCartney here, a little Slayer there. It would be all over the place and it would make it hard to tally votes. Especially from those of you who like "Indie bands" that no one has heard of - not to mention those of you who enjoy bluegrass and PowerJazz.
Furthermore, I wanted no Enya on this list.
So, without further ado:
20. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles.
Not a bad choice. Definitely didn't deserve the number 1 it got in the Rolling Stone list. A Day in the Life ends up making up for a good margin of error.
19. The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nails/Led Zeppellin 2, Led Zeppellin.
The Downward Spiral was my number one...and should have been yours. It's an album about ruining your life and you should get to know it. Led Zeppelin 2 is a bit bland, especially compared to IV, Houses, and Graffiti.
18. Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath.
One of the most underrated bands. Ozzy on his own sucks (except when he's drunk on MTV).
17. Master of Puppets, Metallica.
Metallica is pretty much a joke now. Face it. They haven't put out a good album since Justice. Face it. The black album sucked. Face it. But, Master was in my top twenty and is a classic. The best Metallica album evah. FACE IT!
16. Synchronicity, The Police.
Underrated album. The Police were what Sting did before he started making Contemparary adult music for Starbucks. The earlier Police albums were, for the most part, collections of singles, like the latest Nails album. Good listening, but not real albums. Synchronicity on the other hand...classic album. The namesake songs are awesome and overlooked. Do yourself a friggin service and buy this album...because I want to burn it. I think I sold mine for burrito meat.
15. In Utero, Nirvana.
Classic. Made me understand why killing yourself is cool. After the attempt, I realized you have to be a rock star first.
14. Vitalogy, Pearl Jam/Superunknown, Soundgarden.
Vitalogy - probably the best PJ album. Ten is great, but a bit too usable. Vitalogy was weird enough to make sure you didn't understand 50 % of it and that is what you want in an album. By the way, I know this is Ripley's, but the new album (with the avocado) is amazing. Trust me. I gave up on PJ a long time ago, but happened upon the album out of boredom and it is great. Probably their third best, under Vit and Ten. Check it out. Superunknown sounds like the end of the world from under a truck. Really must be listened to as a whole album. Otherwise, MTV's constant playing of Black Hole Sun in the summer of 94 would make you want to throw it out. Man, I forgot MTV used to have videos.
13. Pink Moon, Nick Drake.
This album is bleak. In my top ten. Very good. No wonder the guy killed himself. I wanted to from just listening to it once - this guy wrote and recorded the thing! Seriously, if you want to get rid of someone who is too emotional, give them this album. It's worse than a loaded shotgun and a superior command of the toe.
12. Are You Experienced, Jimi Hendrix.
I've never been a Hendrix fan. I don't know why. I've tried to like it - I just can't. It's like the show Friends.
11. OK Computer, Radiohead.
Classic. Three minute dialogue from a Commadore64 in the middle of the album, space rawk jams, and awesome lyrics. Hint: an EP came out after this album that is also classic, but hard to find. I think it's the Airbag EP, but I'm not sure.
10. Houses of the Holy, Led Zeppelin.
Classic. That's all you can really say about Zep. Everytime you hear it your transported back to highschool and find yourself drinking Keystone Light in front of a fire. Well, that's what happened to me last night. I met this hot chick who turns 18 next month!
9. Revolver, The Beatles.
Tomorrow Never Knows is classic. You know what's sad? The first time I heard it, it was a Phil Collins' cover. Man, I feel like listening to Pink Moon now. Great album.
8. Graceland, Paul Simon.
You people make me sick. Poopland.
7. Unplugged in New York, Nirvana.
He may have been Christ. Plateau and Where Did You Sleep Last Night floated around for a year or two without being delivered. Probably the most anticipated album ever.
6. Ten, Pearl Jam.
I remember hating PJ in highschool. Later, I came to enjoy this album quite a bit. Like hummus.
5. Led Zeppellin IV, Led Zeppellin.
See Houses of the Holy. Oh, P.S. Stairway and Misty Mountain Hop are the weaker songs on the album. ACCEPT IT!
4. The Wall, Pink Floyd.
No white highschooler should leave home without it. A rock star goes nuts after the loss of his father in WW2, alienation from the world at large, drug abuse, and the collapse of his marriage. Yet! I TOTALLY could relate to it in 9th grade.
3. The Doors, The Doors.
This made my list, and yours I'm sure, for the bookends Break on Through and The End. It's a real shame that the Doors Greatest Hits wasn't on the list. I think everyone owned it. What was that line in Wayne's World about Frampton Comes Alive? Something like it being standard issue to suburbian teenagers? Same goes.
2. Nevermind, Nirvana.
I like In Utero better. This is probably because I'm smarter than you.
and....can you guess? Is it a Beatle? A Stone? A Duran or Duran?
1. The Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd.
I really can't express.....
There you are. Once again, we shared some stories and some laughs and maybe learned something along the way.
Please give me an email if you would like to take part in the Best Songs Ever contest for next week.
So, in the wise words of Milton Bradley - that's Life, b*tches.
-Matbert Eckro.
She Won't Leave
Never apply yourself
It's a waste of time. You think to yourself "Hey, well, if I applied myself maybe I would accomplish such and such."
Bullshit. You're still going to end up failing. Trust me, I know. I know you and I know you have no potential whatsoever.
You remember that last thing you applied yourself at? And you remember how miserably you failed? Well then, what's the point of going through all that again?
Look, if you wanna do something with yourself, watch some TV. That's totally a no-lose situation. Sure, there might be some shitty TV on, but you won't be risking the ugly scene of your own existence applying itself once again to another grim failure.
Not only that, eat some junk food. One thing that will never fail is your ability to get fat. In fact, drink and drug as well. There's nothing like being high as a kite while watching television. That way everything on TV is good TV.
Good. I'm glad. I've been worried about you. You've been applying yourself to a lot of things lately and none of them have been working. It's really irresponsible when you think about it. Look at all those things you applied yourself at and ended up hurting others.
But, I guess you didn't think about the rest of us when you were out there gallantly applying yourself, now did you?
Like that job you interviewed for – do you know what it must have been like to listen to you prattle on about all your accomplishments that really had nothing in the way of experience for the job you wanted?
Good lord, what a trouble.
Ah, I see you've procured some wine. That's a good thing. Wine is good. Drink it heartily, there's nothing else to do, now is there?
I mean, you could be out there applying yourself and making everything worse for all involved. But, instead you chose the higher ground and opened a bottle of 3 dollar wine.
Good for you.
How's the potato chip situation? Good. I'm glad your well. If you are unable to procure drugs, coughing syrup or model glue will work.
Now, that we have this all settled, continue to not think about tomorrow and hope for a lovely evening.
It's a waste of time. You think to yourself "Hey, well, if I applied myself maybe I would accomplish such and such."
Bullshit. You're still going to end up failing. Trust me, I know. I know you and I know you have no potential whatsoever.
You remember that last thing you applied yourself at? And you remember how miserably you failed? Well then, what's the point of going through all that again?
Look, if you wanna do something with yourself, watch some TV. That's totally a no-lose situation. Sure, there might be some shitty TV on, but you won't be risking the ugly scene of your own existence applying itself once again to another grim failure.
Not only that, eat some junk food. One thing that will never fail is your ability to get fat. In fact, drink and drug as well. There's nothing like being high as a kite while watching television. That way everything on TV is good TV.
Good. I'm glad. I've been worried about you. You've been applying yourself to a lot of things lately and none of them have been working. It's really irresponsible when you think about it. Look at all those things you applied yourself at and ended up hurting others.
But, I guess you didn't think about the rest of us when you were out there gallantly applying yourself, now did you?
Like that job you interviewed for – do you know what it must have been like to listen to you prattle on about all your accomplishments that really had nothing in the way of experience for the job you wanted?
Good lord, what a trouble.
Ah, I see you've procured some wine. That's a good thing. Wine is good. Drink it heartily, there's nothing else to do, now is there?
I mean, you could be out there applying yourself and making everything worse for all involved. But, instead you chose the higher ground and opened a bottle of 3 dollar wine.
Good for you.
How's the potato chip situation? Good. I'm glad your well. If you are unable to procure drugs, coughing syrup or model glue will work.
Now, that we have this all settled, continue to not think about tomorrow and hope for a lovely evening.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Dungeons and Dragons Convention
Mountain Dew
And pizza nights
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!Wizards, swords,
And mighty knights
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I think I see a dragon
Eating your troll
DUNGCON!
DUNGCON!
Don't just sit there, brother
Motherf*cker, roll!
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I think I left my retainer
At your last bash
DUNGCON!
DUNGCON!
If your Mom don't mind
Could I look through the trash?
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I just sent away for a mail order
Bride
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Hey, is that a Tercel?
That's one sweet ride
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I can't eat dairy
I'm totally intolerant
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
This orc ain't trouble
He ranked moderate!
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Picard is shizite
To James T Kirk
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
My game is dungeons, boy
And my name is Dirk
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
My asthma is
Totally off the wall
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Sometimes in gym class
I straight curl into a ball
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Chicks don't understand
Cuz they don't know
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I'm the smoothest knight
DUNGCON!
With spell cast level FO!
And pizza nights
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!Wizards, swords,
And mighty knights
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I think I see a dragon
Eating your troll
DUNGCON!
DUNGCON!
Don't just sit there, brother
Motherf*cker, roll!
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I think I left my retainer
At your last bash
DUNGCON!
DUNGCON!
If your Mom don't mind
Could I look through the trash?
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I just sent away for a mail order
Bride
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Hey, is that a Tercel?
That's one sweet ride
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I can't eat dairy
I'm totally intolerant
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
This orc ain't trouble
He ranked moderate!
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Picard is shizite
To James T Kirk
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
My game is dungeons, boy
And my name is Dirk
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
My asthma is
Totally off the wall
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Sometimes in gym class
I straight curl into a ball
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
Chicks don't understand
Cuz they don't know
DUNGCON!DUNGCON!
I'm the smoothest knight
DUNGCON!
With spell cast level FO!
Ankaragan
Viewing blogs is fucking addicting. But, I learned a lot. Like that this one guy hates it when people call him a faggot and then don't want to fight him about it. Or, that most of the general population of MSN Spaces have an average age of 13. Literally. I'm not talking about the mentalities here, 60% of the blogs are written by 12 year olds.
Which makes one think: posting your thoughts or whatever up on the web is pretty fucking mature.
Good lord!
Oh, then there was this one woman who had under her "About Me" that she totally wasn't into chatting, so don't even try.
Whoa there, babe. When did we decide that we were so the shizit and that we would have to fight off offers to chat?
So, I left her a comment having to do with the exploration of her anus.
What else? Well, according to this one guy, war is swell. Which is funny, until you read on and find that the guy really thinks war is swell.
Lucky for me, there have been no pornographic blogs. I'm at work and the last thing I want showing up on my PC is some chick being balled by a llama or something. So, that's nice.
I'm going to do more research, but I'm pretty certain the world is full of absolutely nothing interesting.
Which makes one think: posting your thoughts or whatever up on the web is pretty fucking mature.
Good lord!
Oh, then there was this one woman who had under her "About Me" that she totally wasn't into chatting, so don't even try.
Whoa there, babe. When did we decide that we were so the shizit and that we would have to fight off offers to chat?
So, I left her a comment having to do with the exploration of her anus.
What else? Well, according to this one guy, war is swell. Which is funny, until you read on and find that the guy really thinks war is swell.
Lucky for me, there have been no pornographic blogs. I'm at work and the last thing I want showing up on my PC is some chick being balled by a llama or something. So, that's nice.
I'm going to do more research, but I'm pretty certain the world is full of absolutely nothing interesting.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Some Things to Think About
Some Things to Think About
Millions of Americans are denied health care and left to die. Meanwhile, conservatives still are against euthanasia. It's almost as though they just hate the part about having dignity in death. Sure, you can slowly die from cancer, but there's no way we're letting you die from some self-administered Lullabye drug. That would be pussy.
If you're black and you want free health care, accuse Cancer of racial profiling. Someone will be with you within seconds.
In related news, being an asshole cop or arrogant professor will probably get you a free beer from the president.
Summer is here and the time is right for dancing in the streets. Unless you live in Seattle where it's due to hit 100 on Wednesday and then you'll just be kind of wishing you were dead in the streets.
Watchmen came out on video the other day and I was able to see a blue penis for the second time in my life. The first time being when that lesbian made out with the chick in the beginning of the movie.
The Cash for Clunkers program started today. Governor Schwarzenegger attempted to bring the state of California into a local dealership. The Governor is hoping to get the state of Maine towards his next purchase of the state of New York.
Michael Vick was released from jail and immediately got his old job back. That happens 99% of never the time.
The Birther movement is now over just in time to see Health Care go away, proving once again a doctor's signature is more important than what he actually knows.
I still don't know who or what the Gosselins are. I imagine them to be a group of ducks that got trapped down a well with Baby Jessica's 14-year-old daughter.
Recently, a study was published that says that the Universe isn't expanding rapidly; rather, it's time that's slowing down. Asked why, the researcher pointed out that he was really, really stoned when he observed this.
A majority of Americans believe that space program funding is justified. When these same Americans learned that the space program has nothing to do with Ben Kenobi, these numbers reversed.
Swine flu vaccination testing has begun across the country. Volunteers are encouraged to come with their own swine flu, as it was created in a lab at Baxter Pharmaceuticals making it extraordinarily expensive.
Millions of Americans are denied health care and left to die. Meanwhile, conservatives still are against euthanasia. It's almost as though they just hate the part about having dignity in death. Sure, you can slowly die from cancer, but there's no way we're letting you die from some self-administered Lullabye drug. That would be pussy.
If you're black and you want free health care, accuse Cancer of racial profiling. Someone will be with you within seconds.
In related news, being an asshole cop or arrogant professor will probably get you a free beer from the president.
Summer is here and the time is right for dancing in the streets. Unless you live in Seattle where it's due to hit 100 on Wednesday and then you'll just be kind of wishing you were dead in the streets.
Watchmen came out on video the other day and I was able to see a blue penis for the second time in my life. The first time being when that lesbian made out with the chick in the beginning of the movie.
The Cash for Clunkers program started today. Governor Schwarzenegger attempted to bring the state of California into a local dealership. The Governor is hoping to get the state of Maine towards his next purchase of the state of New York.
Michael Vick was released from jail and immediately got his old job back. That happens 99% of never the time.
The Birther movement is now over just in time to see Health Care go away, proving once again a doctor's signature is more important than what he actually knows.
I still don't know who or what the Gosselins are. I imagine them to be a group of ducks that got trapped down a well with Baby Jessica's 14-year-old daughter.
Recently, a study was published that says that the Universe isn't expanding rapidly; rather, it's time that's slowing down. Asked why, the researcher pointed out that he was really, really stoned when he observed this.
A majority of Americans believe that space program funding is justified. When these same Americans learned that the space program has nothing to do with Ben Kenobi, these numbers reversed.
Swine flu vaccination testing has begun across the country. Volunteers are encouraged to come with their own swine flu, as it was created in a lab at Baxter Pharmaceuticals making it extraordinarily expensive.
High On Fiber - Get Me?
A capsule edition of the History of Man by George W. Bush
So.
There's this….uh, so….um….God sent Jesus down to immaculate a pregnancy with a…malicious, devious snake and then humanity was born. Right, Karl?
So, man was…humanity was learning how to make fire and getting that lumber and that oil and teaching their children about the ways of the Lord when…um…so…what's this word? Oh, all right, so this abortionist set fire to a bunch of tea and then America was formed. What? No, that's what it says.
America divided into…like 900 or so countries and they called themselves different names. Like Iraq and Afghanistan and Delaware. From there, the Americans sought peace and justice and the criminalization of abortion and medical marijuana and Ritz crackers. But, some people wanted to legalize eating babies and trying to use Boba Fett to turn Luke Skywalker to the Dark Side. These were called liberals.
So, Luke goes to Endor…that's a country where Ewoks and Wookies and those green fellas from Battlestar Galactica live. So, he goes there and he learns from Yoda that Christ died for his sins…and your sins…and Delaware's sins. Hold the phone, there partner, I gotta clear some brush.
Soon, Darth Vader and Boba Fett had tracked Luke down. They wanted Luke to raise taxes and…educrate…educate the youth about numbers and letters and scientific facts…like global warming and gay marriages and piñatas that turn out to be small children and that you've somehow hit'in a couple with your Camaro and it's late, and you've got a couple of tabs of acid in your system and are coming down from a coke high and your dad's the director of the CIA and…Karl, little help?
Sorry 'bout that. Got that Ted Kennedy thing going there for a sec. Alright. So, where were we? K, so this lamb is…wait, wrong book. K, so on Endor the Wookies – magnificent people – learn to fight for themselves with the help of Luke and Teddy Roosevelt's rough riders. So, Luke and the rough riders decide to bring freedom to Endor. But, there's this delegation – Princess Amag…Princess…Natalie Portman and John Kerry and Susan Sarandon…they think that the Boba Fetts…Karl, can you pluralize Boba Fett? Pluralize. See, I'm not so dumb. K, so the Boba Fetts are aligned with the Ted Kennedy and Russ Feingold and Adolf Hitler. It's a real mess for Luke Skywalker and the Ewoks. Luke is a product of the successful Reagan revolution and the Boba Fetts are…they're just always trying to get him mad and stuff. Got it?
Soon, there's a great war with the Boba Fetts and the Wookies and Michael Moore. Michael Moore wants to abort the Wookies and eat their Ewoks. But, the brave Luke finds the courage to stay and fight the battle against Delaware and …shit, I can't figure this out. Is this really what happened? K…K….
Pretty soon, Hong Kong attacked Mexico and World War Two started. No, forget about the Boba Fetts. That didn't happen. That never happened. That was just…revisionist historicals…anyway, so Hong Kong attacked New Mexico and our fearless leader, Ronald Reagan sent them a message: Hey, Hong Kong, don't attack New Mexico…or Delaware. This is still true today when I tell the insurgents – Hey, c'mon, where's the weapons of mass destructions? Calm down, let America gently hold your hand as you tell us how you shot down our towers and helped the Boba Fetts kill Jesus. So, point is: we can't leave Iraq. We need to hunker down for the sake of the Ewoks and Delaware.
Good night, and God bless America.
So.
There's this….uh, so….um….God sent Jesus down to immaculate a pregnancy with a…malicious, devious snake and then humanity was born. Right, Karl?
So, man was…humanity was learning how to make fire and getting that lumber and that oil and teaching their children about the ways of the Lord when…um…so…what's this word? Oh, all right, so this abortionist set fire to a bunch of tea and then America was formed. What? No, that's what it says.
America divided into…like 900 or so countries and they called themselves different names. Like Iraq and Afghanistan and Delaware. From there, the Americans sought peace and justice and the criminalization of abortion and medical marijuana and Ritz crackers. But, some people wanted to legalize eating babies and trying to use Boba Fett to turn Luke Skywalker to the Dark Side. These were called liberals.
So, Luke goes to Endor…that's a country where Ewoks and Wookies and those green fellas from Battlestar Galactica live. So, he goes there and he learns from Yoda that Christ died for his sins…and your sins…and Delaware's sins. Hold the phone, there partner, I gotta clear some brush.
Soon, Darth Vader and Boba Fett had tracked Luke down. They wanted Luke to raise taxes and…educrate…educate the youth about numbers and letters and scientific facts…like global warming and gay marriages and piñatas that turn out to be small children and that you've somehow hit'in a couple with your Camaro and it's late, and you've got a couple of tabs of acid in your system and are coming down from a coke high and your dad's the director of the CIA and…Karl, little help?
Sorry 'bout that. Got that Ted Kennedy thing going there for a sec. Alright. So, where were we? K, so this lamb is…wait, wrong book. K, so on Endor the Wookies – magnificent people – learn to fight for themselves with the help of Luke and Teddy Roosevelt's rough riders. So, Luke and the rough riders decide to bring freedom to Endor. But, there's this delegation – Princess Amag…Princess…Natalie Portman and John Kerry and Susan Sarandon…they think that the Boba Fetts…Karl, can you pluralize Boba Fett? Pluralize. See, I'm not so dumb. K, so the Boba Fetts are aligned with the Ted Kennedy and Russ Feingold and Adolf Hitler. It's a real mess for Luke Skywalker and the Ewoks. Luke is a product of the successful Reagan revolution and the Boba Fetts are…they're just always trying to get him mad and stuff. Got it?
Soon, there's a great war with the Boba Fetts and the Wookies and Michael Moore. Michael Moore wants to abort the Wookies and eat their Ewoks. But, the brave Luke finds the courage to stay and fight the battle against Delaware and …shit, I can't figure this out. Is this really what happened? K…K….
Pretty soon, Hong Kong attacked Mexico and World War Two started. No, forget about the Boba Fetts. That didn't happen. That never happened. That was just…revisionist historicals…anyway, so Hong Kong attacked New Mexico and our fearless leader, Ronald Reagan sent them a message: Hey, Hong Kong, don't attack New Mexico…or Delaware. This is still true today when I tell the insurgents – Hey, c'mon, where's the weapons of mass destructions? Calm down, let America gently hold your hand as you tell us how you shot down our towers and helped the Boba Fetts kill Jesus. So, point is: we can't leave Iraq. We need to hunker down for the sake of the Ewoks and Delaware.
Good night, and God bless America.
There's Everything Ugly About Christmas
Apocalyptic Christmas Special
We're, once again, live.
Christmas is a special time of year, when people everywhere take the time to cherish loved ones, enjoy a prayer for world peace, and get trounced by 60 foot waves for Jesus.
But, we'll get to the waves later. I'd have you all pray for the dead and dying, but I'm sure that was done on Christmas mass and certainly did no good.
So, for the record – there is no God.
Accept it.
Well, there is no God that's answering prayers. Why should he? If we're all supposed to go to heaven, why the hell would he care if we die?
But, that's blasphemy and I'm trying my damndest to be a good soldier of fortunate in the Christian army.
But, what of myself? How were my holidays portrayed on the public access cruelty that is my life?
Well, for the most part – swell.
Christmas eve found me at my father's trying my best not to drink more than four drinks so that I could drive 45 minutes home.
I was presented with bedding for Christmas from my father and stepmother. The rash of paranoid calls about whether he would get me this gift paid off.
"Dad, this is Matt, I'm burning my bed sheets and comforter, so if you don't get me bedding I'll freeze to death for no good reason at all."
Christmas day I went over to my mother's for good times had by all. Many presents were exchanged and my sister tried to make donuts. It was explosive to say the least.
That night I received phone calls from every drunk I know apologizing for some ugly thing they did to me in the past.
Christmas brings out the drunk in everyone and I was liquored enough to bestow upon everyone a hearty "Piss off."
Sunday was ugly and I'm still hung over.
My ex from ten years ago (what the hell am I doing subjecting myself to an ex from ten years ago) was in town and we went out.
On a Sunday.
On a worknight.
The evening found us at Peso's meeting a couple of her friends and getting trashed on Champagne and beer.
We talked about old times, about how things were ten years ago, about how some are thinner and others fatter.
Retracing your past is a lot like having the spins – you keep muttering to yourself "make it stop."
Sometime around this time a huge earthquake rumbled beneath a distant ocean and brought forth a tsunami that is killing thousands and leaving a large portion of the world an open sore for ugly diseases and misery the likes we haven't seen since Oasis put out an album.
After Pesos, we went to see my ex's other ex-boyfriend play at the Central. It took all the grain and hops in my system to decide that this was a good idea.
At the bar I got drunker and decided I knew how to break dance and produced the loudest collective sigh of revulsion in history.
I have no recollection as to what was said in this bar, but I came out of it with a free promo CD from the band.So, I have that.
Oh, and I kept threatening to "totally buy (people) hotdog(s)."
At around this time I developed some sort of crush on a friend of my ex's.
This led to highschoolesque questions about how I should approach her. Now, let me just let you know what every woman will tell a man about approaching women – "just be cool."
Man, that's genius. Cuz, my whole idea about women is that they really dig a guy who acts totally uncool.
But, my coolness paid off when I was able to score a make out session while stranded in front of a closed bar with the woman at 2 in the morning.
Later, the ex would show up with her ex and we would try our best to get as lost as we could searching for a phantom Safeway in the Queen Anne area.
Everyone would wind up at my place and a fly on the wall would perceive a drunken orgy. But, oh no. Whereas I may have been sandwiched between two hot blondes, I received no action other than a couple of random spoon positions that offered nothing in the way of sex.
What a jip.
However, I believe my ex's best friend may have scored on my blow up bed in an attempt to make me clean sheets all day yesterday.
There's nothing uglier than finding a stranger's protein all over your linen.
And to think! One of those comforters was hand made by my step grandmother!
FORSHAME, M!
Jesus lord, all I ask when people spend the night is that they not drizzle any jizz on my sheets that is not my own.
Is that too much to ask?
Probably, but I'm greedy.
And greed kills! Just ask God. Thousands of the poorest people in the world are dead now because they had the nerve to ask God to not obliterate them with his sea hand in exchange for living religiously and sleeping in a shack the size of a tapeworm's central nervous system.
But, we can't blame God. No, we are all of him and will return. So, why the long faces?
Well, it's just that this kind of thing always happens to those that are less fortunate.
I wonder if they'll be the same widespread mourning that took place after 911? Or, is the fact that God did it, and not some crazys, going to relieve our pain? Or, the fact that the only industry destroyed was tourism? Will a German destroyer fly the flag of Thailand in memorial?
Doubt it.
Cuz, after all, it's not like they were a Western state.
Then again, with outsourcing, there's a good chance that the American workforce will be reduced by thousands in India....
Oh well.
So, I find myself still hung over and wondering if I should call that girl. She gave me her number, but she was drunk. Yes, a lot has happened since that night: she's probably moved on, as it were. The Earth has been transformed and maybe the liquor in her veins has been processed into vinegar and now her brain is working coherently. That would spell doom for any plans I might have of taking her out.
Drunk women are disposable – once the drunk wears off, they no longer work for my ends.
Oh well. There's always the memories of cigarette and boozed soaked smooching in an doorway that smelled of piss.
Christmas is a special time in that way.
So, for now, I'll try to cure my hangover with cold medication and cross my fingers.
An earthquake is a means to mass destruction and there's a good chance we'll be attacking a fault in South Eastern Asia. The troops are massing in Sumatra and an shock and awe campaign of submarines is going under to flush out any aftershocks that threaten the stability of our overseas American corporations.
War is big business and the guilty will be brought to justice.
And now I give you the President of the United States:
"God's tyranny on this Earth has come to a head. Make no mistake – God will be brought to justice for this horrible crime against humanity. Mark my words, God will pay.
Some of you may ask 'Why would God do this?' And I have an answer. God hates our freedom. God hates us for what makes us great – our democracy. When God sent that tsunami over there, to that...nations...those nations, he sent a message to our American corporate investments. He said 'I hate your freedom.' Well, there's too ways to flush out a rabbit. And one of them is....wait...no, there's three ways to ride a donkey into the water...no, that's not it.....look, my message to God is that we will avenge the death of...those people who died over there. You know, there's a poster that they used to hang up in the old west. It said 'Wanted: Dead or Alive.' Well, mark my words, we will hunt down and find God, dead or alive. Just like the Bonjovi song. So, to those people in those nations over there, God bless. We will find God dead or alive and we will find justice. Of course, let me add, this is not the Jesus God, this is that other God, the God of...the one with the scepter and those beady eyes and...I think there's a Led Zeppelin song about him...it's something like...damn...I forget...but, here's the point – we will not tolerate waves the size of the Chrysler building on our shores or on anyone's shores, mark my words – my words will be marked. God bless America and those other countries."
- Leonard
2004
We're, once again, live.
Christmas is a special time of year, when people everywhere take the time to cherish loved ones, enjoy a prayer for world peace, and get trounced by 60 foot waves for Jesus.
But, we'll get to the waves later. I'd have you all pray for the dead and dying, but I'm sure that was done on Christmas mass and certainly did no good.
So, for the record – there is no God.
Accept it.
Well, there is no God that's answering prayers. Why should he? If we're all supposed to go to heaven, why the hell would he care if we die?
But, that's blasphemy and I'm trying my damndest to be a good soldier of fortunate in the Christian army.
But, what of myself? How were my holidays portrayed on the public access cruelty that is my life?
Well, for the most part – swell.
Christmas eve found me at my father's trying my best not to drink more than four drinks so that I could drive 45 minutes home.
I was presented with bedding for Christmas from my father and stepmother. The rash of paranoid calls about whether he would get me this gift paid off.
"Dad, this is Matt, I'm burning my bed sheets and comforter, so if you don't get me bedding I'll freeze to death for no good reason at all."
Christmas day I went over to my mother's for good times had by all. Many presents were exchanged and my sister tried to make donuts. It was explosive to say the least.
That night I received phone calls from every drunk I know apologizing for some ugly thing they did to me in the past.
Christmas brings out the drunk in everyone and I was liquored enough to bestow upon everyone a hearty "Piss off."
Sunday was ugly and I'm still hung over.
My ex from ten years ago (what the hell am I doing subjecting myself to an ex from ten years ago) was in town and we went out.
On a Sunday.
On a worknight.
The evening found us at Peso's meeting a couple of her friends and getting trashed on Champagne and beer.
We talked about old times, about how things were ten years ago, about how some are thinner and others fatter.
Retracing your past is a lot like having the spins – you keep muttering to yourself "make it stop."
Sometime around this time a huge earthquake rumbled beneath a distant ocean and brought forth a tsunami that is killing thousands and leaving a large portion of the world an open sore for ugly diseases and misery the likes we haven't seen since Oasis put out an album.
After Pesos, we went to see my ex's other ex-boyfriend play at the Central. It took all the grain and hops in my system to decide that this was a good idea.
At the bar I got drunker and decided I knew how to break dance and produced the loudest collective sigh of revulsion in history.
I have no recollection as to what was said in this bar, but I came out of it with a free promo CD from the band.So, I have that.
Oh, and I kept threatening to "totally buy (people) hotdog(s)."
At around this time I developed some sort of crush on a friend of my ex's.
This led to highschoolesque questions about how I should approach her. Now, let me just let you know what every woman will tell a man about approaching women – "just be cool."
Man, that's genius. Cuz, my whole idea about women is that they really dig a guy who acts totally uncool.
But, my coolness paid off when I was able to score a make out session while stranded in front of a closed bar with the woman at 2 in the morning.
Later, the ex would show up with her ex and we would try our best to get as lost as we could searching for a phantom Safeway in the Queen Anne area.
Everyone would wind up at my place and a fly on the wall would perceive a drunken orgy. But, oh no. Whereas I may have been sandwiched between two hot blondes, I received no action other than a couple of random spoon positions that offered nothing in the way of sex.
What a jip.
However, I believe my ex's best friend may have scored on my blow up bed in an attempt to make me clean sheets all day yesterday.
There's nothing uglier than finding a stranger's protein all over your linen.
And to think! One of those comforters was hand made by my step grandmother!
FORSHAME, M!
Jesus lord, all I ask when people spend the night is that they not drizzle any jizz on my sheets that is not my own.
Is that too much to ask?
Probably, but I'm greedy.
And greed kills! Just ask God. Thousands of the poorest people in the world are dead now because they had the nerve to ask God to not obliterate them with his sea hand in exchange for living religiously and sleeping in a shack the size of a tapeworm's central nervous system.
But, we can't blame God. No, we are all of him and will return. So, why the long faces?
Well, it's just that this kind of thing always happens to those that are less fortunate.
I wonder if they'll be the same widespread mourning that took place after 911? Or, is the fact that God did it, and not some crazys, going to relieve our pain? Or, the fact that the only industry destroyed was tourism? Will a German destroyer fly the flag of Thailand in memorial?
Doubt it.
Cuz, after all, it's not like they were a Western state.
Then again, with outsourcing, there's a good chance that the American workforce will be reduced by thousands in India....
Oh well.
So, I find myself still hung over and wondering if I should call that girl. She gave me her number, but she was drunk. Yes, a lot has happened since that night: she's probably moved on, as it were. The Earth has been transformed and maybe the liquor in her veins has been processed into vinegar and now her brain is working coherently. That would spell doom for any plans I might have of taking her out.
Drunk women are disposable – once the drunk wears off, they no longer work for my ends.
Oh well. There's always the memories of cigarette and boozed soaked smooching in an doorway that smelled of piss.
Christmas is a special time in that way.
So, for now, I'll try to cure my hangover with cold medication and cross my fingers.
An earthquake is a means to mass destruction and there's a good chance we'll be attacking a fault in South Eastern Asia. The troops are massing in Sumatra and an shock and awe campaign of submarines is going under to flush out any aftershocks that threaten the stability of our overseas American corporations.
War is big business and the guilty will be brought to justice.
And now I give you the President of the United States:
"God's tyranny on this Earth has come to a head. Make no mistake – God will be brought to justice for this horrible crime against humanity. Mark my words, God will pay.
Some of you may ask 'Why would God do this?' And I have an answer. God hates our freedom. God hates us for what makes us great – our democracy. When God sent that tsunami over there, to that...nations...those nations, he sent a message to our American corporate investments. He said 'I hate your freedom.' Well, there's too ways to flush out a rabbit. And one of them is....wait...no, there's three ways to ride a donkey into the water...no, that's not it.....look, my message to God is that we will avenge the death of...those people who died over there. You know, there's a poster that they used to hang up in the old west. It said 'Wanted: Dead or Alive.' Well, mark my words, we will hunt down and find God, dead or alive. Just like the Bonjovi song. So, to those people in those nations over there, God bless. We will find God dead or alive and we will find justice. Of course, let me add, this is not the Jesus God, this is that other God, the God of...the one with the scepter and those beady eyes and...I think there's a Led Zeppelin song about him...it's something like...damn...I forget...but, here's the point – we will not tolerate waves the size of the Chrysler building on our shores or on anyone's shores, mark my words – my words will be marked. God bless America and those other countries."
- Leonard
2004
Friday, July 24, 2009
Debarge Sample of Orthodox Christianity with Strong Story Line
Dick Cheney tunneling through this white jazz room on the eternal equinox. I play favorites. One of my favorite turns on the roller rink was greeted by Isotoner robots.
The Isotoner robots will get you too. We may be getting farfetched here. I'm concerned about the patient. He's..She's...they're exhibiting signs of total recall. You know, the kind that lands them in their aforementioned life in Japan where they performed lobotomies on North Koreans for rupies. The gypsies loved their work and hired them on as stranglers for the circus. Did I say stranglers?
Meet Ricki Todd. Ricki Todd is a strangler. It's not so much a profession as it is a hobby. He sees these white lines up and down the faces of women and takes it as a sign to kill. We're thinking of putting him on the payroll with Al Roker and Jermaine Jackson (our finest assassins).
Let's think a spell here. Here's this equation:
Milk.
You see where I'm going with this? Do you see how you can't solve for X? No, it's just plain old milk.
Walking through the forest I notice that I'm holding a pan of eggs. I taste them and they are delicious. This proves nothing. They may be terrible eggs, but after walking in a forest on your own you notice these things.
I tried out for track the other day. I'm 30, but I figure I had a shot. If I could beat a 15 year old...I don't know how to end that sentence. But, I didn't make the team.
Two years later he wondered the corridors of the airport to the beat of a stopwatch. He was determined to beat his record. And he did. 34 televisions going at once. But, this was back in '82.
Drug stores are our best form of revenue. When I say "us" I mean my fellow Tigers. We have created a shrine of Sri Lanka and we will continue to piss on it until the ghost of Arthur C. Clarke tells us once and for all what the hell the last hour of 2001 was about. Sure, everyone has their theory, but we need definite certitude.
CERTIFICATION - Product complies with DHHS rule 21CFR subchapter 1 applicable at the date of manufacturer. Can anyone make sense of this? It was the only message aliens have ever sent me. If you have similiar messages, please write.
All right. It's time to have it out: yes, I am from another planet and yes, I will tell you that flossing is a waste of time. Other than that, you know as much as I do.
The Chinese, they really get me. I'm thinking of moving to China come summer. But, what about the government and such? It's not really the government, it's about the same; it's the food. For the life of me I can only eat cheeseburgers. I fear for my life. You shouldn't fear, there's McDonalds there. Ah, yes. Well, now I have solved that problem. I can leave now. I love you all. Especially you, Ronald.
NAVIGATIONAL ERRORS HAVE OCCURED AND YOU HAVE BEEN SENT TO THE UNITED AIRLINES HOMEPAGE. HERE YOU MAY ENJOY THE LUXORY OF MISPELLING ALPHABET CASES AND PUNCTUATION DISASTERS. I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A WRITER. IT'S JUST THAT THIS GIG...
Did you see that man? That page? What was he talking bout, you dig? Sheeeeeeeeeeeet, I don't know. But, that's some funky soul you eatin'. Sure, it's Regis Philbin, died but two hours ago. Where them white devils? Come calling me to sleep, man. Hell, it's hot up in here. You see Dick Cheney been back again? Yeah, crawlin' through dem tunnels again. Sheeeeeeeeet!
The Star Plant is by far our best creation. You simply use some shake and bake and a bit of Coca Cola. Add the cartoon version of the Hobbit and viola! Magnificent, really.
I love your work.
Thank you, Charles. How is Patagonia?
She's fine, and she sends her love.
Really, in the form of what, pray tell?
A BJ, old sport. Let's look at the funnies.
What's on TV? I hope it's something good? What if they don't exist anymore. What? Mormons. That would be a real shame. I mean really, what if they didn't exist? What would happend? I know. Oh, well. What else is bothering you?
The Isotoner robots will get you too. We may be getting farfetched here. I'm concerned about the patient. He's..She's...they're exhibiting signs of total recall. You know, the kind that lands them in their aforementioned life in Japan where they performed lobotomies on North Koreans for rupies. The gypsies loved their work and hired them on as stranglers for the circus. Did I say stranglers?
Meet Ricki Todd. Ricki Todd is a strangler. It's not so much a profession as it is a hobby. He sees these white lines up and down the faces of women and takes it as a sign to kill. We're thinking of putting him on the payroll with Al Roker and Jermaine Jackson (our finest assassins).
Let's think a spell here. Here's this equation:
Milk.
You see where I'm going with this? Do you see how you can't solve for X? No, it's just plain old milk.
Walking through the forest I notice that I'm holding a pan of eggs. I taste them and they are delicious. This proves nothing. They may be terrible eggs, but after walking in a forest on your own you notice these things.
I tried out for track the other day. I'm 30, but I figure I had a shot. If I could beat a 15 year old...I don't know how to end that sentence. But, I didn't make the team.
Two years later he wondered the corridors of the airport to the beat of a stopwatch. He was determined to beat his record. And he did. 34 televisions going at once. But, this was back in '82.
Drug stores are our best form of revenue. When I say "us" I mean my fellow Tigers. We have created a shrine of Sri Lanka and we will continue to piss on it until the ghost of Arthur C. Clarke tells us once and for all what the hell the last hour of 2001 was about. Sure, everyone has their theory, but we need definite certitude.
CERTIFICATION - Product complies with DHHS rule 21CFR subchapter 1 applicable at the date of manufacturer. Can anyone make sense of this? It was the only message aliens have ever sent me. If you have similiar messages, please write.
All right. It's time to have it out: yes, I am from another planet and yes, I will tell you that flossing is a waste of time. Other than that, you know as much as I do.
The Chinese, they really get me. I'm thinking of moving to China come summer. But, what about the government and such? It's not really the government, it's about the same; it's the food. For the life of me I can only eat cheeseburgers. I fear for my life. You shouldn't fear, there's McDonalds there. Ah, yes. Well, now I have solved that problem. I can leave now. I love you all. Especially you, Ronald.
NAVIGATIONAL ERRORS HAVE OCCURED AND YOU HAVE BEEN SENT TO THE UNITED AIRLINES HOMEPAGE. HERE YOU MAY ENJOY THE LUXORY OF MISPELLING ALPHABET CASES AND PUNCTUATION DISASTERS. I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A WRITER. IT'S JUST THAT THIS GIG...
Did you see that man? That page? What was he talking bout, you dig? Sheeeeeeeeeeeet, I don't know. But, that's some funky soul you eatin'. Sure, it's Regis Philbin, died but two hours ago. Where them white devils? Come calling me to sleep, man. Hell, it's hot up in here. You see Dick Cheney been back again? Yeah, crawlin' through dem tunnels again. Sheeeeeeeeet!
The Star Plant is by far our best creation. You simply use some shake and bake and a bit of Coca Cola. Add the cartoon version of the Hobbit and viola! Magnificent, really.
I love your work.
Thank you, Charles. How is Patagonia?
She's fine, and she sends her love.
Really, in the form of what, pray tell?
A BJ, old sport. Let's look at the funnies.
What's on TV? I hope it's something good? What if they don't exist anymore. What? Mormons. That would be a real shame. I mean really, what if they didn't exist? What would happend? I know. Oh, well. What else is bothering you?
Who Cares.
YOU'RE STILL A TOOLSHED: KENTRIDGE CLASS OF 1994 REUNION"Please bury me with it"- Modest MouseLongtime readers may know that the ghost of Nixon haunts me. This can be quite puzzling to most, as sometimes he shows up with me at social events. I acknowledge that there is a fair chance that he's a figment of my imagination, but my high school reunion proved otherwise.I opted out of the formal reunion, and chose to attend the Friday-before event at B.B. McGraw's. B.B.'s is best known for Matt Oien pulling his sack out of his fly and having a bouncer say "Hey, clean it up."Or, when Weisberg and I got in an ice fight that resulted in me hiding in bushes as Weisberg proclaimed that he wanted to fight me in front of 8 police officers.My friends plague me like leprosy.I had a previous occasion to attend before; being my stepmother's birthday. Sure, there was pizza and pipes: a real jamboree of my father getting tossed and getting into weird conversations with me about who I'm dating and why I don't talk about my social life.Its times like these that I figure my dad thinks I'm a druggy or gay.Good old dad.Soon, I found myself waiting for Jerry to pick me up so that I could meet up with Josh and Weisberg. Jerry was on time (if we spare all lost souls a half hour to say a prayer) and was in a ripe mood to follow 16-year-olds down the street. We passed the 16-year-olds and I dropped a cigarette out the window in my nervousness that Jerry actually wanted to stop and talk to them. I don't care about legal ages, but we were in farmland and there's something to the myth of the old man with the shotgun, etc. We passed on by, and Jerry had the tunes cranked to try and fit in with 16-year-olds and I inquired about his amp. All we needed was D.J. Magic Mike and we would have been 10th graders. Passing them, Jerry let me know that we would be returning to his home to "pre-funk."I'm 28.At Jerry's I met a couple of his friends and Nixon appeared out of nowhere and demanded raisins. I had to apologize for Nixon for the guests at Jerry's did not find the zombie'd body of Nixon funny in the least. Jerry decided we should all partake in vodka and Red Bull bombs and Nixon disappeared like the ghost he is. Nixon doesn't drink in public and is, at the same time, a terrible alcoholic. Jerry, I owe you one.Soon, Jerry's friends left and I was left with Jerry and his girlfriend. Jerry's girlfriend was supposed to start work at a bar in Fife or something and somehow it didn't work out. So, basically, she was in a sour mood until the alcohol hit her gut and we soon were like two parasitic worms feeding off our own alcohol-fueled humor. Later in the evening, I would buy her Jerky in tribute.More unimportant stuff happened and we fled his house for the bar.B.B.'s has a cover charge. For my friends in, say, Australia, this is like a aboriginal settlement charging a cover to pet Kangaroos.Actually, it's not at all like that. It's more ridiculous...like if you went to Mars and had to bring jam in order to please 12-foot rabbits that lived there and fed on continents painted on plastic globes shipped from Bjork.In the bar, I found Josh and Weisberg waiting for drinks. I had a certain excitement in me that could only be compared to starting a first day at work: you're all excited to fucking be annoyed.I still don't understand why I wanted to see these people, considering I see most of them begging for change, working perfume counters, drinking to death in Classics, or posting "where is?" on cretin websites that kick Keith and myself out for cursing in Hebrew.At this point everything becomes a blur and I realize I'm 6 drinks in.Soon, I'm ripping off a pitcher of beer Ottesen bought and carrying it around with me like a drunken gypsy.The next day I recall thinking about the dread that most of my classmates felt when they saw my ugly mug bearing down on them, demanding conversation.My interludes with each and all of the doomed usually ran around five minutes, at the most, as I would become thoroughly bored with them and would start looking around for the women who looked the most drunk.But, of course, this was a reunion: the only drunk girls were the ones that were so dumb and drugged out that they couldn't hold your penis between their lips without the help of a 12-step penis holding program.Besides, I was a fat drunk that now resembles Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.Most of the conversations revolved around what people have been up to and if they were going to the reunion the next day.Mine, however, dealt, specifically, with the embryonic nature of dead viruses that encapsulate our celestial plane, and, therefore are their own dimension.This blew only my mind as I was the only one who realized that I was putting words together, at random, from a script for TOIL MONSTER I found in Pioneer Square the night before while trying to buy crack.All in all, everyone is "totally happy and really enjoying their job/kids/husband/dead piano player they buried in Arkansas."Josh related to me the next day that I actually ended a conversation with some girl with "Let me leave you with this: you should have sex with more midgets."What really minoritized me was the fact that (besides above comment) everyone looked the same except me. I was once quite skinny, white, and Christian.Well, years go by and things change. I guess it was a shock when I showed up as a Muslim Native American, with three arms growing out of my head and attached, Siamese-like, to Gary Coleman.Anyway, long story short: I black out and I'm at Lee Gitt's all of a sudden.I commandeer a banjo (for sake of my memory, we'll say it's Mike's) and begin playing a song I called MIKE'S GUITAR AND JESUS.Here are the words:MeAndMikeAnd Mike's guitarAnd Jesus!That's pretty much it.Out of nowhere, like usual, Gussa appears and demands that I stop singing songs about Jesus cuz he's Christian and retarded, or something.The guitar is quickly taken from me by Tyler Call and Brandon Hall: because they are FORREALS musicians and they begin jamming WISH YOU WERE HERE or some such Guitar 101 rubbish.I get tired, and walk the party, like the rock star I am, and demand virgin blood from the burning funeral pyre Lee set up.He called it a "bonfire," but I knew better.You see, they were burning our youth.At this point the only people that had not pissed me off were J.K., Josh, and (surprisingly) Weisberg.Blacking out again, I found myself on the porch. Mike had decided that he wanted to record, produce, and mix MIKE'S GUITAR AND JESUS with a tape deck. I had no qualms with this, but soon my banjo was abducted again by Tyler Call and Brandon Hall who now had formed TYDEN CHALL - MASTER OF THE BANJO.It wasn't long before they left and started a cartoon series of the same name where they battled crime dressed like grungers who wore Armani under their flannels.TRUMPED AGAIN!EPILOGUE (just joking): After smoking dope I puked on Lee's house to teach him a lesson and Nixon awoke and chased Gussa out into a field where he made him fashion a crude pizza out of barbed wire, grass and road kill.All in all, I found that I was the same douche bag I was in high school: caught in a crowd of people that have nothing to do with me, no understanding, and no care for me - just like now.LESSON 342: Everything changes relative to your own idea of reality: if you imagine that a reunion will provoke high school, it will. If you don't: you wouldn't fucking go to the god-awful thing.SHITPISSCUNTFUCKLater in the evening (nothing was even'd - I never got my banjo back) I dined on Jack n' the Box with friends I actually wanted to hang out with - the ones I still hang out with today. We dined on Jack n' the Box and tried to forget that high school was a joke and that someone had forgotten to pack in the Jumbo Jack I ordered.We passed out knowing that the real heroes weren't there: Tacoman and Black Godzilla.This one was for Keith who missed out on nothing at all.Keith, I walked out of nowhere, from a completely weird direction, just to remind everyone what a douche you really are.God bless.Peace,Carl
Thursday, July 23, 2009
An Ending
What hath thee wrought? I'm standing on the shore with nails in my hands, staring out at the ocean. Alien vessels fly by, and I don't know why. Seven minutes to midnight and they're in the backroom arguing about the bathroom, we've got full on doom. God bless you. I'm trying to think of this joke that I heard back before ya'all came down the hall, picked me up by the shoulders and dropped me in the heat. I fall to the sand and whisper "My lord" as the aliens drop from the sky, apparently bored.
The oceans and valleys swallow up. The highways and rivers shrivel up. There's a 109 percent chance of cancer: from your microwave, from your cell phone, from your computer – radiation emissions in bone. Wrap up in a special jacket, throw cards around and practice magic.
She came in doors, from the out door, she waved hello and then goodbye. She sat at the end of the bar and began ordering milk after milk. The stomach concave, the face grave, she never gave a name, but somebody called her Pam.
The trees began to leave last year. There today and gone tomorrow, the trees left the woods hollow. Paper made from plastic, oxygen squelched from elastic. Dryer sheets sold like gold, truffling in the dead forest for signs of mold. The forest left in ashes – let's all raise glasses.
Toilet bowl talk in the middle of Congress. Global warming and rain in acids. The debate goes on for the big win. The one side with finger pointing, with the yelling, and the pouting. The other side just won't admit it, while the dead charred bodies keep on shouting.
Water wars begin in Northern Ireland. Flanks of tanks storm the belly of the island. It's the Queen's last wish to save her goldfish and it's Ireland's last sigh as the heat beats them into a frenzy and they all die.
Paris Hilton is like 96. She lives in a palace in Dubai. They have her ready to make a statement on why war is totally gay. She limps up to the microphone and coughs for a bit. She's 96, so this leads to high heels covered in shit. "People of Earth, I wish you well. I want to signal a change in policy with this golden bell." She rings the bell and P. Diddy drops from the roof. He wants to teach us about Jesus and how he saved the couple 3 months ago. The rope breaks and we watch him go. Down to the ground he yells "Fire!" for some reason. Hilton cries over his body as she succumbs to stroke. The curtain falls down and we all vote. Paris and Diddy win funniest home movie. And for the life of me, it did move me.
Scores of camera men descend on the house on the hill. The Olson Twins have been murdered and we want retribution for sin. Their bodies were found in 500 pieces, Scientologists were brought in to cure them with leaches. L. Ron Hubbard was a hell of magician, his follows believed or, at least, kept on wishing. We all gasp and sigh, but we all know it was Lindsey Lohan with a candlestick in the conservatory. Even celebrities die.
Big plan Martian move to outerspace. There's nine shuttle fueling and they say it'll be the best reality show ever. There's Tim the black guy, and the obnoxious Nebraskan, Heather. 88 more bodies are stuffed in the shuttles and we get to watch them on nine different channels in our own brains. When it pours, it fucking rains. Angela is the lesbian from Tennessee, Donnie loves ping pong, and Cameron can't see. There's a fight between Dederick and Thomas over Chloe and Promise. Just as we're about to get a little closure, airlocks rip out and all four die of exposure. The other eight land on Mars true. The Martians meet me them and decide to turn them into glue. This evokes the great invasion that left us dead. It woulda been smart to send some ambassadors with brains in their head. Blame George for calling Martian King Prince Alxxiniur a homophobe, or blame James for slapping him in his external brain lobe. Either way, we made a bad impression, did we come in peace? It keeps me guessing.
Finally, the Earth is in a nice smoldering package. What's that old thing about needed an old adage? Who gives a shit really. Dinosaurs, asteroids, and dead human gore. When you look back it's really been a bore. Just a survival game to get to Mars and we got there, they closed the bars.
Learning isn't part of human nature. Sure we can count and read, but in the end we never learn from greed. And that's why the CEOs left before you all. We live on Jupiter and it's a ball. We're selling their planet back to them in bits and pieces. My nephews own Titan, and Saturn's been leased by my nieces.When we get a chance, we'll go back to Mars. We just need some fucking stars.
The oceans and valleys swallow up. The highways and rivers shrivel up. There's a 109 percent chance of cancer: from your microwave, from your cell phone, from your computer – radiation emissions in bone. Wrap up in a special jacket, throw cards around and practice magic.
She came in doors, from the out door, she waved hello and then goodbye. She sat at the end of the bar and began ordering milk after milk. The stomach concave, the face grave, she never gave a name, but somebody called her Pam.
The trees began to leave last year. There today and gone tomorrow, the trees left the woods hollow. Paper made from plastic, oxygen squelched from elastic. Dryer sheets sold like gold, truffling in the dead forest for signs of mold. The forest left in ashes – let's all raise glasses.
Toilet bowl talk in the middle of Congress. Global warming and rain in acids. The debate goes on for the big win. The one side with finger pointing, with the yelling, and the pouting. The other side just won't admit it, while the dead charred bodies keep on shouting.
Water wars begin in Northern Ireland. Flanks of tanks storm the belly of the island. It's the Queen's last wish to save her goldfish and it's Ireland's last sigh as the heat beats them into a frenzy and they all die.
Paris Hilton is like 96. She lives in a palace in Dubai. They have her ready to make a statement on why war is totally gay. She limps up to the microphone and coughs for a bit. She's 96, so this leads to high heels covered in shit. "People of Earth, I wish you well. I want to signal a change in policy with this golden bell." She rings the bell and P. Diddy drops from the roof. He wants to teach us about Jesus and how he saved the couple 3 months ago. The rope breaks and we watch him go. Down to the ground he yells "Fire!" for some reason. Hilton cries over his body as she succumbs to stroke. The curtain falls down and we all vote. Paris and Diddy win funniest home movie. And for the life of me, it did move me.
Scores of camera men descend on the house on the hill. The Olson Twins have been murdered and we want retribution for sin. Their bodies were found in 500 pieces, Scientologists were brought in to cure them with leaches. L. Ron Hubbard was a hell of magician, his follows believed or, at least, kept on wishing. We all gasp and sigh, but we all know it was Lindsey Lohan with a candlestick in the conservatory. Even celebrities die.
Big plan Martian move to outerspace. There's nine shuttle fueling and they say it'll be the best reality show ever. There's Tim the black guy, and the obnoxious Nebraskan, Heather. 88 more bodies are stuffed in the shuttles and we get to watch them on nine different channels in our own brains. When it pours, it fucking rains. Angela is the lesbian from Tennessee, Donnie loves ping pong, and Cameron can't see. There's a fight between Dederick and Thomas over Chloe and Promise. Just as we're about to get a little closure, airlocks rip out and all four die of exposure. The other eight land on Mars true. The Martians meet me them and decide to turn them into glue. This evokes the great invasion that left us dead. It woulda been smart to send some ambassadors with brains in their head. Blame George for calling Martian King Prince Alxxiniur a homophobe, or blame James for slapping him in his external brain lobe. Either way, we made a bad impression, did we come in peace? It keeps me guessing.
Finally, the Earth is in a nice smoldering package. What's that old thing about needed an old adage? Who gives a shit really. Dinosaurs, asteroids, and dead human gore. When you look back it's really been a bore. Just a survival game to get to Mars and we got there, they closed the bars.
Learning isn't part of human nature. Sure we can count and read, but in the end we never learn from greed. And that's why the CEOs left before you all. We live on Jupiter and it's a ball. We're selling their planet back to them in bits and pieces. My nephews own Titan, and Saturn's been leased by my nieces.When we get a chance, we'll go back to Mars. We just need some fucking stars.
A Host of Bees
Freida: Lesbian PsychologistTRANSMISSION103: Curtain?ECHO01: The curtain has been drawn.TRANSMISSION123: We're looking at 58 dead.ECHO01: I hope you enjoyed the previews, and now for our feature presentation...TRANSMISSION123: He's in the building! He's in the building!TRANSMISSION103: Kill that cancer.ECHO01: Petals dropping to the floor.Online:Freida was a lesbian psychologist who enjoyed folk music and poetry. Hillary was a manic depressive with social problems resulting in poor research.One of those fine lagers, please. Let him come. We have all night..."Freida, it's not just in my head.""Well, demons simply do not exist. What I think you're doing is projecting -"Hillary thumbed ash off the cigarette and hunched over close to Freida. "Listen, if you want me to bring a camera next time I will, but for now I'm here on the inside and none of this is helping."Freida folded her arms around her heavy chest and straightened her glasses/acquired the look of a Sunday school teacher. "Well, I don't understand."Looking through black holes, Hillary gave up. "Maybe you're right. I mean, I guess anything is possible when you're dealing with the mind."Freida snorted out of her Define them?EXT = Extended So, basically both fields with EXT in front of them are the NLC or Sell of an item multiplied by the number of units ordered of each item. Matrix Freight = Freight charges as applied by the Matrix to move the given PO from the ship point to the destination.Matrix CARR = Who the carrier is shipping the PO as applied by the Matrix.Log / Line = When a warehouse receives a PO in they assign it a Log / Line #. However, I don't know where they get this number from or how it is assigned. All that make sense?nose and looked at her watch. "Well, I'm afraid our time is up. Honestly, our time was up three minutes ago, but your insistance on ignoring my help has muddled my schedule once again.""I don't know what to say.""Selfishness.""I'm sorry.""So am I."Hillary began to get up and as Freida bent over to her intercom, a mouth opened in the back of her head and began opening and snapping shut, begging to be fed. Hillary sighed and walked to the door."Let Mr. Barber know that I'm going to get a bagel from the commisary and I'll be back up - Mr. Hurst, you left your cigarettes.""Thanks.""Arnold will escort you out.""Thank you.""You know, life can bring about roses if you just water it a bit-it-it-it-it-it..." Freida began shaking and her face eventually blurred into static. The static began breaking away in small bits of Freida information that spun out from her head and swarmed around her body. Soon, the mess that was once Freida became a large Freida head that resembled a character in Tron."Hillary, we don't leave. Mr. Muita gente chega aqui e simplesmente ouve e é abençoada e ri ou repensa, mas tô precisando ver as diferenças e no meio de tanta informação que temos e experiências pessoais . Poder te ouvir e a minha pergunta é ?Qual a diferença entre o santo e o profano ? Se der não se baseie no que é decorado ou igual ,Hurst you have several thorny toads that have escaped in your mind and are now planting small bushels of neurons that will continue to plague you with these nightmares and/or dreams that reoccur without result to you or your reality. What you have entered is a tar pit that will only devour you deeper as you continue to thrash within it. Please be advised that the yogurt in the cafeteria has 50 calories and each bushel of nerouns needs one caloric packet of energy to support the inner walls of thought. My advice to you is to starve your mind. You need a clear head or there is nothing we can do for you. Do you understand?" The Tron face snorted."I understand.""Furthermore, the games room is open to your leisure. I have not seen you inside the cage of Scrabble boards and air hockey. If you expect to recover, you must socialize with others. Without the poison in your mind, you will learn to accept a clear head as you slowly starve yourself. It will get fuzzy towards the end, but I'm sure your chronic use of heroin has accustomed your head to fuzziness.""Beautiful bliss." Hillary ran his hands up arms."Yes, it is. And once you're gone we will be sure to alert your family of their loss. We will say that you were making real progress.""But, what about Axl? I can't let him -" Hablar de Cultura es hablar del despliegue de la intencionalidad del ser humano; de la acumulación de su experiencia social y personal; de su obra y del paisaje en que se forma, y que a su vez él transforma. Este paisaje está constituido por objetos tangibles como el arte, la arquitectura, los modos de producción, etc. Y también por intangibles, como mitos, costumbres, códigos de relación, creencias, etc. Estos dos tipos"That is exactly what I am -" The head fuzzed into static again and came back together into an old, stoic man that Hillary was learning to pray for."Transmission 1 - 0 - 3, Run. Mr. Hurst, run like hell. Now." The General's face skipped like a detuned TV."She...she'll be here tomorrow." Hillary was on the ground, with his arms around his face and looking through the chink between his forearms."Run."The head blew up and flew around the room, then came together into Freida as she was before.Hillary was on his feet before Freida could bring her flabby wreck of a body to follow.Nailing the security guard in the face with his forearms, which were still firmly around his head, Hillary ran out the entrance to the counciling rooms and out to the elevators.Hillary hit the down button. Above him, the intercom buzzed to life."Dr. Floyd, you have a visitor from A-wing." It was the security alert. The elevators would be turned off in moments.Bing!The door to the elevator opened and inside was bright copper and buttons that corresponded to all five levels of the hospital:5 - Truth4 - Reality3 - Limbo2 - Reflection1 - The ShowHillary entered, struck "1" without thinking and plummeted further into what had begun.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
War of the Worlds
I'm on a Roll
Last night I had the good fortune of viewing The War of the Worlds.
Maybe it's that I'm going in thinking these movies are going to suck, but damn – this was another winner.
Last week I spent indoors, taking a VB class and doing crap around the house. I was a total shut-in and felt that this week I needed to get out and do something.
So, I made a date for every day of the week. When I ran out of bars that sounded like fun (all 2), I decided it was time to watch a movie. So, I suggested this to my sister, who suggested TWOTW.
I figured it was that or Bewitched – either way I'd be eating popcorn and thinking about what I'm going to do the next day, because let's face it – movies suck ass.
But, good golly Ms. Molly, this was a good movie.
Even Tom Cruise couldn't ruin this one.
NOTE ABOUT CRUISE: He is the Keanu Reeves V 1.0. Seriously. Some movies need a Keanu Reeves to place in huge, spiraling stories where character development will only complicate the CG and special effects. They started with Cruise, but he wasn't quite shitty enough to fall into the background of interplanetary and intercomputer robot/alien forces killing motherfuckers scheme of events. No, they needed someone shittier, a V 2.0 and they got it in Reeves. But, there was another, a V 0.1, another Reeves, but he's dead and there's no reason to go into it here.
Point is: Cruise did a great job of falling into the overall mesh of destruction and chaos that I like to see in a movie.
Here's a synopsis:
K, so we meet Ray (Cruise) who's working on the docks as a crane operator. Now, this kinda pissed me off, cuz when you get to his house he lives kinda poor and I know those bastards who operate the cranes start at 80K. But, anyway...So, Ray's a kinda shitty dad and he's got his kids for the weekend, or whatever. Like my dad, only he doesn't beat his kids (just joking). So, he's all eating hummus that his shit kid (this girl is exactly like Drew Barrymore's character in E.T.) ordered to spite him, when he finds out that his son has stolen his car. So, he goes outside to find his son (possibly to beat him with a tire iron) and all these neighborhood people are looking up into the sky. There's this ominous cyclone-looking thing in the air and everyone is staring at it like moths on floodlights. Pretty soon the cyclone gets tired of their ugly mugs and starts firing shots of lightning down on the Earth. This is awesome. So, then Ray goes to check out the impact of the lightning and all of a sudden the Earth starts moving. Long story short: a huge fucking robot machine comes out of the ground, blows a horn and starts vaporizing dirty New Yorkers. The New Yorkers are all like "Boston or New Jersey?" But decide to run upstate to avoid two shittier cities (well, that's what I figure is going on). But, it doesn't matter; the alien ships, walking around on three legs like surrealistic vacuum cleaners, start taking out people one by one. Which is odd, cuz you'd think they'd just nail the entire city with one fell swoop. But, who cares, the New Yorkers are dead and you're not. Pretty soon, Ray decides that anarchy is afoot and steals some schmuck's mini van (it's that old school blue and wood job everyone had in 1984). In the mini van his daughter goes batshit and I start to wonder if beating your children shouldn't be a right provided by the constitution. Soon, we're at the kid's mom's house. She's off whoring at the opera with her new rich husband and the Ray family finds shelter in the basement. But, pretty soon the aliens are upon him and waste a plane that crashes into the neighborhood. He meets these reporters that are worthless, like in real life, and rapes the woman reporter to get a few stones out for all the trauma he's been through. This really didn't happen, but would have made sense in terms of the stress a motherfucker being chased by walking skyscrapers would be under. Next, they travel upstate and find a city of lost souls who carjack Ray. Ray pulls a gun, someone else pulls a bigger gun, etc. The point is, when the end of times comes; don't think a gun is going to save you. After being broken by the bigger gun dude, Ray decides to jump on a ferry to get the fuck out of dodge. Why anyone would think a water-bound ferry would provide any protection from diabolical mile-high robots is beyond me, but it makes sense to Ray. Then we get into this side story about how Ray's son wants to help people out and hunt alien scum, whereas Ray just wants to save his own ass. This is like when you're young, like Ray's son, and you want to help the homeless and fight crime and then you get old and just want to set homeless people on fire and shoplift to get an erection. In a better movie, Ray would do both. So, the ferry obviously doesn't work out, not because the huge alien robots can easily nail it from nine yards away with 200 ton lasers, but because there just so happens to be a robot underwater that tips the ferry and starts snatching human meat from the water. That's right: the robots or aliens or something in the walking jabberwockies eats flesh. Dope. Ray and family make it to shore, Ray's son gets a hard on to fight with the marines, and gets killed – or does he? Next, we meet Tim Robbin's character, a survivalist with a knack for somehow not getting his basement destroyed when the giant robots are hand searching the planet for human meat. We have some discussions about how to kill the aliens and loss of hope and soon there's alien intruders in the flesh. Really gay-looking alien intruders. They're supposed to be this race of monsters that is bent on ending a civilization, but tool around the basement like Laurel and Hardy looking for hooch. Ray whacks the survivalist and is soon caught by an alien robot. He stuffs it full of hand grenades and kills it – which is badass, cuz the fuckers can't be killed by missiles or anything cuz they have shields, like when you'd play GI Joe in your backyard. Anyway, two minutes before the end of the movie we find out that amoebas somehow destroyed all the aliens that had been studying our planet for millennia and somehow missed the fact that our microorganisms would kill them. Let me be more blunt: they buried their ships under our ground before humans existed, just waiting for the planet to evolve from microorganisms, that were on the planet when they buried the ships, into humans that they could eat. Then, they sat and studied our every move and every piece of nature around us. Then, they conquered Einstein's theory of E=MC2 and traveled space through electro magnetic waves and came down to our planet in the form of pure energy, only to reanimate into their alien selves. Then, they activated their old ships, blew away most of the world and then died from the amoebas that were on the planet in the first place and continued to live on throughout history. Coincidental mistake?
No, what they don't tell you in the movie is that Scientologists have been planning for this invasion for years. They knew about the interstellar aliens and knew that they were coming to destroy us. L. Ron Hubbard, with the help of Ramtha and Shirley McClaine, set up a mental block around the Earth that would make the aliens forget that amoebas are lethal. Once again, Scientologists save humanity and we can't even applaud the love between a psychotic gay actor and a 12-year-old brainwashed actress? All to the applause of the Oprah?
Forshame America.
Anyway, the bottom line, all jokes aside: this was an entertaining movie. I give it 4 stars. Sure, there was a bunch of shit that lacked explanation or made no sense; but, at least Will Smith didn't punch out an alien in the end while yelling "Welcome to Earth!"
Do yourself a favor and see this movie.
Pleace, Matt
Last night I had the good fortune of viewing The War of the Worlds.
Maybe it's that I'm going in thinking these movies are going to suck, but damn – this was another winner.
Last week I spent indoors, taking a VB class and doing crap around the house. I was a total shut-in and felt that this week I needed to get out and do something.
So, I made a date for every day of the week. When I ran out of bars that sounded like fun (all 2), I decided it was time to watch a movie. So, I suggested this to my sister, who suggested TWOTW.
I figured it was that or Bewitched – either way I'd be eating popcorn and thinking about what I'm going to do the next day, because let's face it – movies suck ass.
But, good golly Ms. Molly, this was a good movie.
Even Tom Cruise couldn't ruin this one.
NOTE ABOUT CRUISE: He is the Keanu Reeves V 1.0. Seriously. Some movies need a Keanu Reeves to place in huge, spiraling stories where character development will only complicate the CG and special effects. They started with Cruise, but he wasn't quite shitty enough to fall into the background of interplanetary and intercomputer robot/alien forces killing motherfuckers scheme of events. No, they needed someone shittier, a V 2.0 and they got it in Reeves. But, there was another, a V 0.1, another Reeves, but he's dead and there's no reason to go into it here.
Point is: Cruise did a great job of falling into the overall mesh of destruction and chaos that I like to see in a movie.
Here's a synopsis:
K, so we meet Ray (Cruise) who's working on the docks as a crane operator. Now, this kinda pissed me off, cuz when you get to his house he lives kinda poor and I know those bastards who operate the cranes start at 80K. But, anyway...So, Ray's a kinda shitty dad and he's got his kids for the weekend, or whatever. Like my dad, only he doesn't beat his kids (just joking). So, he's all eating hummus that his shit kid (this girl is exactly like Drew Barrymore's character in E.T.) ordered to spite him, when he finds out that his son has stolen his car. So, he goes outside to find his son (possibly to beat him with a tire iron) and all these neighborhood people are looking up into the sky. There's this ominous cyclone-looking thing in the air and everyone is staring at it like moths on floodlights. Pretty soon the cyclone gets tired of their ugly mugs and starts firing shots of lightning down on the Earth. This is awesome. So, then Ray goes to check out the impact of the lightning and all of a sudden the Earth starts moving. Long story short: a huge fucking robot machine comes out of the ground, blows a horn and starts vaporizing dirty New Yorkers. The New Yorkers are all like "Boston or New Jersey?" But decide to run upstate to avoid two shittier cities (well, that's what I figure is going on). But, it doesn't matter; the alien ships, walking around on three legs like surrealistic vacuum cleaners, start taking out people one by one. Which is odd, cuz you'd think they'd just nail the entire city with one fell swoop. But, who cares, the New Yorkers are dead and you're not. Pretty soon, Ray decides that anarchy is afoot and steals some schmuck's mini van (it's that old school blue and wood job everyone had in 1984). In the mini van his daughter goes batshit and I start to wonder if beating your children shouldn't be a right provided by the constitution. Soon, we're at the kid's mom's house. She's off whoring at the opera with her new rich husband and the Ray family finds shelter in the basement. But, pretty soon the aliens are upon him and waste a plane that crashes into the neighborhood. He meets these reporters that are worthless, like in real life, and rapes the woman reporter to get a few stones out for all the trauma he's been through. This really didn't happen, but would have made sense in terms of the stress a motherfucker being chased by walking skyscrapers would be under. Next, they travel upstate and find a city of lost souls who carjack Ray. Ray pulls a gun, someone else pulls a bigger gun, etc. The point is, when the end of times comes; don't think a gun is going to save you. After being broken by the bigger gun dude, Ray decides to jump on a ferry to get the fuck out of dodge. Why anyone would think a water-bound ferry would provide any protection from diabolical mile-high robots is beyond me, but it makes sense to Ray. Then we get into this side story about how Ray's son wants to help people out and hunt alien scum, whereas Ray just wants to save his own ass. This is like when you're young, like Ray's son, and you want to help the homeless and fight crime and then you get old and just want to set homeless people on fire and shoplift to get an erection. In a better movie, Ray would do both. So, the ferry obviously doesn't work out, not because the huge alien robots can easily nail it from nine yards away with 200 ton lasers, but because there just so happens to be a robot underwater that tips the ferry and starts snatching human meat from the water. That's right: the robots or aliens or something in the walking jabberwockies eats flesh. Dope. Ray and family make it to shore, Ray's son gets a hard on to fight with the marines, and gets killed – or does he? Next, we meet Tim Robbin's character, a survivalist with a knack for somehow not getting his basement destroyed when the giant robots are hand searching the planet for human meat. We have some discussions about how to kill the aliens and loss of hope and soon there's alien intruders in the flesh. Really gay-looking alien intruders. They're supposed to be this race of monsters that is bent on ending a civilization, but tool around the basement like Laurel and Hardy looking for hooch. Ray whacks the survivalist and is soon caught by an alien robot. He stuffs it full of hand grenades and kills it – which is badass, cuz the fuckers can't be killed by missiles or anything cuz they have shields, like when you'd play GI Joe in your backyard. Anyway, two minutes before the end of the movie we find out that amoebas somehow destroyed all the aliens that had been studying our planet for millennia and somehow missed the fact that our microorganisms would kill them. Let me be more blunt: they buried their ships under our ground before humans existed, just waiting for the planet to evolve from microorganisms, that were on the planet when they buried the ships, into humans that they could eat. Then, they sat and studied our every move and every piece of nature around us. Then, they conquered Einstein's theory of E=MC2 and traveled space through electro magnetic waves and came down to our planet in the form of pure energy, only to reanimate into their alien selves. Then, they activated their old ships, blew away most of the world and then died from the amoebas that were on the planet in the first place and continued to live on throughout history. Coincidental mistake?
No, what they don't tell you in the movie is that Scientologists have been planning for this invasion for years. They knew about the interstellar aliens and knew that they were coming to destroy us. L. Ron Hubbard, with the help of Ramtha and Shirley McClaine, set up a mental block around the Earth that would make the aliens forget that amoebas are lethal. Once again, Scientologists save humanity and we can't even applaud the love between a psychotic gay actor and a 12-year-old brainwashed actress? All to the applause of the Oprah?
Forshame America.
Anyway, the bottom line, all jokes aside: this was an entertaining movie. I give it 4 stars. Sure, there was a bunch of shit that lacked explanation or made no sense; but, at least Will Smith didn't punch out an alien in the end while yelling "Welcome to Earth!"
Do yourself a favor and see this movie.
Pleace, Matt
Embrace the Almond Joy
The ShowroomTRANSMISSION103: Ah, no man, no one is alive.TRANSMISSION106: Are you fucking kidding me?TRANSMISSION103: No, it's just a fucking mess.TRANSMISSION100: He's alive.Online: An elevator later...My name is Hillary Hurst."Your name is Hillary Hurst." The intercom alerts the rest of the shoppers.I'm in a showroom."You're in a showroom."Exiting the elevator I find myself looking at furniture at what are described as 'Rock Bottom' prices."Rock bottom prices, ya'll."There are other shoppers with me who don't seem to be in any situation even close to mine. They don't notice the intercom and look as though they haven't even driven past a funny farm."We all like to drive the mean streets once in awhile." I now realize that it's none other than Barry White relaying my thoughts to the showroom shoppers.There is no way to quench panic than arriving in the surreal. I remember a time I got caught shoplifting. I was scared out of my mind, until I realized it was an elderly woman who had tackled my friend and brought on the arrest."Them ladies of the octogenarian-type will put a fix on you, fool." What the hell is Barry talking about?I used to blame the bottle for my problems, but now as I walk passed a sofa and loveseat on fire, with shoppers lifting the price tag and succumbing to flames without a wink...I think this was all pushed on me."Damn, that booze." You said it Barry.I move to push the woman to the floor as her green and white plaid skirt catches, but am thrown from her with the same force I used to push her down."Them women won't let you push them around."I'm on the floor, propping myself on my elbows, watching the woman continue to shop in flames. I think it is only her choice of sofa that is burning."There's some hotties up in this bitch, bruther!"I look to my left at the patio furniture. Beautiful teak dressers begin humping it, their drawers moving in and out in sexual rhythm."The rhythm of the jungle, ya'll."It's amazing, the feel of an ottoman trying to mount you - because that's what's happening right now."That ottoman sure know how to fuck."I roll out of the way and look up in time to see an Oriental lampshade come crashing towards me. I roll the other way into bedding that engulfs my entire body and now I'm screaming as it tightens on my body."Damn, the bedding is fucking you."I wake up in the showroom and the bedding is to my left, smoking a cigarette and singing "On the Road Again."I look around and find that the showroom is empty of customers, but in total disarray.I prop myself up, and ask the bedding how I was."I've had better."I begin laughing and reach into my pocket for a cigarette. There are none.I get up and find the rest of the furniture is also in the Valium afterglow of sex - they're acting like furniture.The dresser is standing still, drawers closed, waiting for someone to buy it. The sofa-sleeper is waiting to be tried out by the next flaming human being that happens to check the price tag.Normally, after being fucked by furniture, I try to figure out what in the name of Jews for Jesus is going on, and that's what I decided to do.Apparently, Barry is no more and therefore, I don't have this damn narrator around repeating my thoughts.I walk to the linoleum thoroughfare and begin looking for an exit or bathroom, or whatever amounts to where Oz is hiding.I'm clicking my tongue now in enjoyment. There's nothing like reality to confirm that you're totally batshit.I've now walked the linoleum thoroughfare five times, inspected behind afterglow bookshelves and have found no exit on either side of the green spotted yellow brick road.The elevator I came in is no longer here, as well. Which really works out into a nice Twilight Zone. I'm figuring I need to wait a half hour, lose my mind more and some voice will tell me what lesson I'm learning.I just hope it isn't that smug bastard Rod Serling.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Camper RV Story
Camper RV Story
So, I was driving from Seattle to Chicago in my ex-girlfriend's camper.
She bought this ugly beast to travel in. Then, she got kinda deported, in a way and we found ourselves driving her to Ottawa.
Well, she was going to Ottawa, I was to leave her in Chicago.
She was back in town the other day, so it reminded me of how much I hate her.
Just joking. But, it did remind me of one of many camper stories.
This camper story occurred – wait, when I say camper, I mean RV.
Anyway, so now this is the RV story.
In this episode of RV Stories, I will speak upon...wait:
RV STORY: TIRE OUTAGE
So, there we were, on the last leg of the trip, almost to Chicago.
We were on....a freeway and I was on mushrooms. Plenty of them. The boredom of living in an RV, coupled with the depression of driving with your girlfriend to your ultimate demise as a couple really left a hole.
I filled it with mushrooms.
So, I'm pretty high when we hear a gunshot.
Well, it was Chicago, so I figured it was a gunshot. But, in fact, it was a tire blowing out.
Panic ensued and we decided to pull over. The problem was, there was no shoulder. So, we kept driving and fighting about where to pull over.
I began hiding drugs with the assumption the cops would check out the RV on the side of the road that was shot at.
So, I start hiding weed and mushrooms in different spots in the RV. Then, I decide that those spots were too obvious, so I hide the stuff again. This goes on as the ex pulls over and begins inspecting the car. Were still fighting about something and I'm becoming more paranoid about the drugs.
Eventually we figure out that it's a flat tire and call triple A.
Then we wait.
And wait.
In the meantime we continue fighting about god knows what and I keep moving drugs around.
Eventually, we decide to try and fix the tire ourselves, but we're both to weak to get the lug nuts off the tire.
So, we wait.
Finally, we call Triple A again and they are no help. They keep assuring us that they're on the way, but they're not.
So, we're getting antsy and the shoulder we're on isn't really that safe. Like, the slightest shift of a driving wheel and someone is going to end up nailing us at 80.
We decide to try and drive to the next exit.
What follows is a large fight that continues through two or three freeways that we continue to get lost on. Finally, we come to an exit and end up at a truck stop.
We think – one of these truckers will help us if we just wait outside the RV with a T-bar and inept looks on our faces.
No one helped.
So, I start trying to remove the tire again and it's not moving.
We're still fighting.
In my anger I throw the tire iron at a grassy knoll.
Eventually, we leave the truck stop and venture into whatever town we were in.
We call triple A again. For whatever reason they couldn't help us. I forgot why now, but I remember yelling into the phone "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE SERVICE YOU SOLD HER IF YOU CAN'T HELP US!"
Finally, we decide to try and make it to Chicago.
We get into Chicago, I'm driving and the ex keeps on accusing me of getting us lost.
Finally, we get to my aunt's and the ex goes to park the RV at a nearby gas station that my aunt had paid to let us park.
Well, my aunt's helping us back in when this homeless dude comes up and says he's the master of backing in and is pretty much just yelling at my ex in gibberish.
Eventually the car is parked.
Following this, another homeless guy comes up and starts telling us what "fucking assholes" we are.
My aunt calls my uncle and he comes out with a bat and he's going back and forth with this homeless dude. It gets to a breaking point and my aunt has to pull my uncle away.
The next day we would go looking for a tire. They would ask us what kind. We would read the serial number of the blown tire. They would say they never heard of it. We would later find that the blown tire was actually the spare. We would get a new tire.
We would find that we had nothing to ever worry about because RV's have two tires for each wheel well and it's safe to drive on just the one.
I think we had Mexican that day.
Pleace,
Matt
So, I was driving from Seattle to Chicago in my ex-girlfriend's camper.
She bought this ugly beast to travel in. Then, she got kinda deported, in a way and we found ourselves driving her to Ottawa.
Well, she was going to Ottawa, I was to leave her in Chicago.
She was back in town the other day, so it reminded me of how much I hate her.
Just joking. But, it did remind me of one of many camper stories.
This camper story occurred – wait, when I say camper, I mean RV.
Anyway, so now this is the RV story.
In this episode of RV Stories, I will speak upon...wait:
RV STORY: TIRE OUTAGE
So, there we were, on the last leg of the trip, almost to Chicago.
We were on....a freeway and I was on mushrooms. Plenty of them. The boredom of living in an RV, coupled with the depression of driving with your girlfriend to your ultimate demise as a couple really left a hole.
I filled it with mushrooms.
So, I'm pretty high when we hear a gunshot.
Well, it was Chicago, so I figured it was a gunshot. But, in fact, it was a tire blowing out.
Panic ensued and we decided to pull over. The problem was, there was no shoulder. So, we kept driving and fighting about where to pull over.
I began hiding drugs with the assumption the cops would check out the RV on the side of the road that was shot at.
So, I start hiding weed and mushrooms in different spots in the RV. Then, I decide that those spots were too obvious, so I hide the stuff again. This goes on as the ex pulls over and begins inspecting the car. Were still fighting about something and I'm becoming more paranoid about the drugs.
Eventually we figure out that it's a flat tire and call triple A.
Then we wait.
And wait.
In the meantime we continue fighting about god knows what and I keep moving drugs around.
Eventually, we decide to try and fix the tire ourselves, but we're both to weak to get the lug nuts off the tire.
So, we wait.
Finally, we call Triple A again and they are no help. They keep assuring us that they're on the way, but they're not.
So, we're getting antsy and the shoulder we're on isn't really that safe. Like, the slightest shift of a driving wheel and someone is going to end up nailing us at 80.
We decide to try and drive to the next exit.
What follows is a large fight that continues through two or three freeways that we continue to get lost on. Finally, we come to an exit and end up at a truck stop.
We think – one of these truckers will help us if we just wait outside the RV with a T-bar and inept looks on our faces.
No one helped.
So, I start trying to remove the tire again and it's not moving.
We're still fighting.
In my anger I throw the tire iron at a grassy knoll.
Eventually, we leave the truck stop and venture into whatever town we were in.
We call triple A again. For whatever reason they couldn't help us. I forgot why now, but I remember yelling into the phone "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE SERVICE YOU SOLD HER IF YOU CAN'T HELP US!"
Finally, we decide to try and make it to Chicago.
We get into Chicago, I'm driving and the ex keeps on accusing me of getting us lost.
Finally, we get to my aunt's and the ex goes to park the RV at a nearby gas station that my aunt had paid to let us park.
Well, my aunt's helping us back in when this homeless dude comes up and says he's the master of backing in and is pretty much just yelling at my ex in gibberish.
Eventually the car is parked.
Following this, another homeless guy comes up and starts telling us what "fucking assholes" we are.
My aunt calls my uncle and he comes out with a bat and he's going back and forth with this homeless dude. It gets to a breaking point and my aunt has to pull my uncle away.
The next day we would go looking for a tire. They would ask us what kind. We would read the serial number of the blown tire. They would say they never heard of it. We would later find that the blown tire was actually the spare. We would get a new tire.
We would find that we had nothing to ever worry about because RV's have two tires for each wheel well and it's safe to drive on just the one.
I think we had Mexican that day.
Pleace,
Matt
Arronitis
Reality Check: I Love Spain-Talkin' MuthersWell, enough with the half- assed attempt at Sci-Fi. There comes a time when you have to say to yourself: I wish I was Arnold Skulnik.Oh well. Maybe I'll rehash it, but the idea of putting a story together 45 minutes at a time is rough. But, you never know.Lately, things have been weird, yet boring. Sure, I could tell you about the burglar who took 4 seasons of The Simpsons and a porno called "Women who Love Pussy." I could explain that the burglar showed up at my door that very night at 1.45 in the morning and asked if I was gay for some reason. I could even go further and tell you how happy I was that the cop didn't ask for the title of the "adult movie" that was swiped.Well, now that I've gone that far, I might as well explain that the burglar came back on a Friday and broke my neighbors door down while I was having a smoke. Later I would ID him and hopefully wreck his young life.No, I kid. The kid was nuts, according to the officer and my own late night experience. Apparently, before he was swiping lesbian porn, he was walking into people's homes, while they were there, and going through their clothing.And now the weather:So please don't take my sunshine away...I'm sunburned.I'm completely alright with it.I love summer.I'm like Ice Cube jacking for blogs. Here's another:My cookbook is up and running, though it's in Norwegian at the moment. I will try to translate it as soon as I'm finished with my resit exam (1. Sep)Anyone have any questions about my new cookbook, or tips on how to make my blog better. Please let me know.Thanks to Mike who is my first commenter on my blog, good luck with your forthcoming baby.Lord, that was cryptic. Someone needs to shampoo me after reading that one. Currently, I'm LISTENING TO: NO ALTERNATIVE. Let me explain. I really wanted the Nirvana song on this disc. So, I purchased it from Amazon for a good four bucks. No worries, right?Wrong. This disc sucks so much ass that there's a hairy hippy singing "Sexual Healing." The sleeve has this long, boring diatribe about how (circa 1992) there is NO ALTERNATIVE music, and that by labeling the dogshit on this disc ALTERNATIVE you are negating it or something Kirkegardian (spl? True?). Anyway, it basically just reminds me of how all those SUPERGRUNGERS sold their BMW's for Volkswagen vans and tie dye'd their Armani suits and told everyone what was truly good music and what wasn't.This usually meant that whatever you had never heard of and sounded like three elves having sex with Nick Cave was dope, but Soundgarden – passé.Hell, I don't even know who Nick Cave is, but I bet he was all the rage in 1993.Which reminds me, Oasis sucks ass.In other news, the University of Phoenix Online is offering me a fast paced degree via email.Let's jack another blog:I really don't like Pepe anymore. We exchanged brief email yesterday and he is so boring. Maybe I'm just require higher forms of interaction. But the love is gone for real. I talked to Z too, miss that guy. Ever since his evacuation of the islands, the group's changed a lot. He was the loud glue that held our oddities together. He was the game show host that kept the contestants in line.Blimey! That's real hubris, dontcha think? God, I wish I was German.What else? Well, there was the afternoon that I watched Attack of the Clones or whatever for a full half hour (no joke) without realizing it was in Spanish. See, they started off subtitling the alien language, so I figured the Spanish was alien (Chewbaccaese). So, I proceeded to watch, and next there was this scene where Anakin and his mom are having a tender moment and are still talking in alien, but no subtitles. So, I'm like, "they must be doing this for effect."Finally, Samuel Jackson and Yoda are bullshitting and it finally dawns on me that I have Spanish HBO on.Speaking of Spanish HBO:The Chicago Tribune has reported a story of a Muslim scholar who has had his visa revoked based upon what his supporters characterize as "unsubstantiated allegations" of being connected to terrorist organizations. The link to the Tribune story is here and is also printed below for your convenience. A quick Google search also brought up this flattering TIME expose on the accused scholar.That's profound. Really, I couldn't have put life in a nutshell better. That was true religion.Then, there was that day I went to the dentist and saw "Health Watch" on my folder. Then, the lady took my blood pressure and it was, like, 150/100 or some such apocalyptic shit.Then, she proceeded to clean my teeth for an hour, bitching about the mondo stains on my pearlies."I've never seen stains such as these!" She said in her Spanish accent (more Spanish - I'm changing the title) Later, we realized that I had been drinking tea lately. So, lesson learned: tea stains the fuck out of your teeth – look at the British.Yeah, look at them:ببينيم چي ميشه فكر كنم باحال از كار در بيادWell, that's about it. I'm broke, single, and bored out of my gourd. Oh, I was in the paper. Check out Opinion in seattletimes.com, look up Robert Eckert in the archives and there's a rant about cupcakes costing too much.And, finally, I'll leave you with this, peace:You have got to read the [LA Times'] editorial this morning. Not only does it officially bestow "victim" status on John Kerry --which is the highest honor the Times' ever bestows-- it also creates its own factual world and its own legal reality, stating of Kerry and MoveOn and Bush and the Swift Boat Vets for Truth that "either man could shut down the groups working on his behalf if he wanted to," an objectively and manifestly absurd claim. But because the editors at the Times, upset at the rapid dissolution of the Kerry campaign, want to believe it, they choose to believe it. No wonder this paper has fallen on the hardest of times: It isn't bound by even elementary facts.K, that's assfaced gibberish.Good night.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thoughts of the Squirrel
Oh, oh, oh a nut. Oh, look at those people over there. oh, yes, let's go over here and see what's behind this, oh no, a dog. Gotta run. Getting out of here, man. Look at that car. Oh, it's a fancy car. Oh, wait, what if I could talk, wouldn't that be cool. Hey, look a car is pulling into that driveway. I wonder who's in that car. Oh, it's that family that lives there. Oh, man, it looks like they got groceries. Man, my legs are tired. Where can I bury this nut? Where are the rest of my nuts? Man, remember that time I buried that piece of fish with my nuts and the dog got to it and I lost all my nuts? Oh, wait, hey, the mailman, I'm gonna dart between his legs and then under the car and ...whoa, I'm pooped. I need some water. Maybe there's some water under here? Oh, cool, a puddle. Mmmmmmm. Water is good. Hey, where is that other squirrel I saw the other day, he was nice. Oh, wait, there he is on the fence. Oh, wait, I'm gonna go over and see what's on the porch. Oh, nothing on the porch. I'm gonna run out into the middle of the road and then across the street. Whoa, that was awesome. Man, there's a lot of garbage out. I bet it's garbage day. I'm gonna look in this trash can for more nuts. Oh, hey, a peanut, that's awesome. Wait, what's that bird doing? I'm gonna chase that bird. Weeeeeeeeeeeee! I scared that bird away. Totally. It was freaking out. I love birds. I mostly love scaring them. Hey, look at that man! He's running. I'm gonna run up by him and pout for food. Oh, man, he tried to kick me. Better get outta here. Oh, wait, another bird......
We Dodged A Bullet
Well, it's been a rough few days. I think the hardest part was the not knowing. Monday I scoured Google for any word. It's hard when you lose someone and you don't know where they are. That's why it's with great relief that I announce supermodel Petra Nemcova is alive and well.
She managed to make it through the ravages of the tsunami with only a hurt shoulder.
I feel like crying. I mean, it's only through the grace of God that Petra was able to live through what I can only imagine must have been sheer hell. This could have been a very sad week, but with the knowledge of Petra's escape, I am proud to announce that forthwith, this day will be known as Petra day.
But, all is not well. Petra suffered a deep bruise to her shoulder and you know model's don't have health benefits.
Not even super ones.
That's why I would like to encourage you all to please donate to the Petra Nemcova fund at www.supermodelbruise.com. For just pennies a day you can help pay for the bandage that Petra needs to have surgically implanted under her surgical implants to stop the rapid dissolution of her breasts. Not only that, but the Perry Ellis ice pack that certainly doesn't come cheap.
Look, there are a lot of charities out there: nameless, faceless charades that help some ruffians in Somalia. But, this charity is strictly for one person and you'll know exactly where your money is going: to the tattoo that got smudged by a bamboo chute on Petra's underinsured arm.
I know what you're thinking: how can I make a difference directly? Well, for those of you who are available, we are throwing a lavish "Petra is Alive" party at the Met.
Now, what we need is people to help set up and decorate. Now, we are assuming that you know that you will not be meeting Petra and any attempts at such selfishness will be handled by Bobo, Petra's bouncer.
Look, it's the season to give; won't you make a difference in this supermodel's sad life? Petra would do it for you.
If you have a pulse, please visit this site and make a donation: http://www.msf.org/.
I can almost promise none of your money will go to Petra's dumb ass.
She managed to make it through the ravages of the tsunami with only a hurt shoulder.
I feel like crying. I mean, it's only through the grace of God that Petra was able to live through what I can only imagine must have been sheer hell. This could have been a very sad week, but with the knowledge of Petra's escape, I am proud to announce that forthwith, this day will be known as Petra day.
But, all is not well. Petra suffered a deep bruise to her shoulder and you know model's don't have health benefits.
Not even super ones.
That's why I would like to encourage you all to please donate to the Petra Nemcova fund at www.supermodelbruise.com. For just pennies a day you can help pay for the bandage that Petra needs to have surgically implanted under her surgical implants to stop the rapid dissolution of her breasts. Not only that, but the Perry Ellis ice pack that certainly doesn't come cheap.
Look, there are a lot of charities out there: nameless, faceless charades that help some ruffians in Somalia. But, this charity is strictly for one person and you'll know exactly where your money is going: to the tattoo that got smudged by a bamboo chute on Petra's underinsured arm.
I know what you're thinking: how can I make a difference directly? Well, for those of you who are available, we are throwing a lavish "Petra is Alive" party at the Met.
Now, what we need is people to help set up and decorate. Now, we are assuming that you know that you will not be meeting Petra and any attempts at such selfishness will be handled by Bobo, Petra's bouncer.
Look, it's the season to give; won't you make a difference in this supermodel's sad life? Petra would do it for you.
If you have a pulse, please visit this site and make a donation: http://www.msf.org/.
I can almost promise none of your money will go to Petra's dumb ass.
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