Friday, April 30, 2004

dirty girl.

so this is how i learned about racism.

i shadowed my brother most everywhere because i thought he was the shit. more like obsessively stalked him. that is, until i figured out that he was a boy and boys are slimy and they smell bad and we should throw rocks at them and poke at with twigs.

i was being the usual hanger-on pain in the ass, and i followed my brother over to his friend mark's house. mark's sister was also there and she let me play with her barbies. so i became totally ensconced in this world of barbie-ness, with all the little clothes and the little shoes and the tiny little hot pink corvette with an anatomically correct ken, batteries included. and in walks a black girl.

i was three years old. barely. i can remember things about my crib, so its not that much of a bull-shit story that i can recall this.

i was afraid of her. i had never been in contact with a dark skinned person. either that, or i just didn't remember it. and it wasn't like, 'damn, that bitch is tan', because obviously there are other characteristics that make a person look black or white. i think it was the corn rows that got me. i was like, 'how does her hair grow in neat little hedges like that? i am afraid. somebody un-fear me. i am running away'. then i thought that maybe she had never taken a bath. because for certain, when i got that dark, my mom would snatch me and wash the potatoes out from behind my ears. i did not like it when she did that.

i was attempting to flee the scene, because i didn't want the dirty girl to touch me with her dirtiness, cause then i might have to take a stupid bath. i guess i was fairly vocal about my distaste for infectious dirt and baths, so my brother and mark and mark's sister tried to explain what the hell was up with black people. and that they weren't dirty. and that there was no need to be afraid of them.

too bad id watched 'star wars' about nine million, eight hundred and seventy-five times by then, and darth vader, the epitome of all that is über-evil, kept trying to teach me that black=bad. 'star wars' totally fucked with my nascent value system. dude was the blacking-est, blackety, black ne'er-do-well, and he so confused me with all his blackness.

eventually, i figured out that she wasn't scary or dirty and we all became the best of butt-buddies and all that hippie crap. its a good memory in the sense that it prevents me from being so quick to crucify ignorant thought-revoking people. but then again, i was like, three. in the event that you are 43, and choose to strap on a little white party hat and burn a cross in my front yard, i will not hesitate to fucking nail you to it. biotch.

i feel that i might recieve hate mail and/or death threats for this post. oh well.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

cheap-ass therapy.

somewhat crappy ways to deal with your shit.

i am a well-motherfucking-adjusted individual. goddamnit. several not so nice things have occured in my lifetime, but i am not naive enough to believe that such events dont bust up other people's 'chi'. like, i dont try to stroke the whoa-is-me card. is what im trying to say. i guess.

i write things down, and then i feel better. and if someone else feels less of a shit-bag because of this, thats cool. but this writing of crap down, is mostly for me. im not so much comfortable with vomiting life anecdotes to total strangers. so typing with no one else being in the room, is very nice.

get ready for some gnarly honesty.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

crying myself to sleep like a little bitch.

Pray God you can cope.
I stand outside this woman's work,
This woman's world.
Ooh, it's hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.

I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.

I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking

Of all the things I should've said,
That I never said.
All the things we should've done,
That we never did.
All the things I should've given,
But I didn't.

Give me these moments back.
Give them back to me.
Give me that little kiss.
Give me your hand.

All the things that you needed from me.
All the things that you wanted for me.
All the things that I should've given,
But I didn't.

Oh, darling, make it go away.
Just make it go away now.

~kate bush

this is the song to ruminate on in lieu of miserable break-ups. i dont care if youre happily married with a dog and a cat and a couple of honor student children, this song will poke you in the eyeballs if you dont tear up.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

yet another link post.

this is why the music industry blows.

thank you, pound. for pointing this out.

fuck you, nickleback.

homicidal rage. again.

people fucking suck. sorry. no im not.

1. listen, asshole. dont order a sample of a drink, deem it yummy, and then proceed to drink half of it, and then also proceed to tell me it no longer suits your obviously fickle fancy.
2. hey dipshit. that's what samples are for. if you didn't like that fucking sample you should most definitely not have ordered a massive pint of it. asshole. you are so paying for that beer.
3. this is a rule of thumb. so as to never incite me to shove my thumb up your anal cavity. which is bad.
4. if you are so intent upon being on time for that movie, try not to roll into a clearly full and busy restaurant, and then think by telling your server that you are in a hurry, that you will get your food any faster. cause you wont.
5. who the fuck do you think you are to demand that you get your food before people who have waited patiently, and were here before you, just because you have to see 'Gigli' in half an hour?
6. dont get pissed at me cause the three cooks in back cant magically conjure up more fryers or perhaps grow a stove out of their ass. they dont like growing stoves out of their asses. and they most certainly dont like being told by a waitron to do so.
7. did you really just give me a three dollar tip on a $45.00 tab? oh. how gracious of you. allow me to not pay my rent this month.
8. dude. go to the ATM. im not going to split your fucking check 18 ways. thats re-cock-ulous. and i will murder you. murder.
9. yes. you are so right.
10. i know nothing about beer or food. that is obviously why you are displeased with your drink and your pasta. it has nothing to do with the fact that sometimes people have different food preferences. i couldn't possibly enjoy the taste of something you loathe. how silly of me. i should totally be held responsible for that $18.00 entree you ordered.

Monday, April 26, 2004

in like a lion, out like a total pussy.

this is so fucked up.

Sunday, April 25, 2004

new years resolutions.

or, i really enjoy compiling useless lists.
or, its april but whatever.

1. drinking is the devil. stop dancing with him. so much. in the pale moonlight.
2. smoking will only lead to a pair of lungs as black as your heart.
3. stop not shitting. seriously.
4. sleep long enough to become not enraged at birds chirping in the morning.
5. no more shaking of the enraged fist at birds. they obviously think this means, 'please take a huge fucking shit on my car'.
6. get a dog already. get a truck to put the dog in. dogs love trucks.
7. quit using so much motherfucking profanity.
8. make a concerted effort to learn more about the african-american culture.
9. write pretty words.
10. partake in the chronic. determine what all the hoopla is about. hoopla!

stupid spiders.

...still arachnophobic as a motherfucker.

spiders are total assholes. i hate them. i am strongly opposed their sometimes hairy-ness. when i dream of them it makes me not happy.

so i was at this party last night, and this girl was like, 'hey, why arent you talking? whats with the not talking? why dont you talk more?'. to which i replied, 'well. i am shy, and i definitely dont know maybe any of these people'. and then she was all, 'no youre not. youre not shy. this is bullshit'. and so now i might purchase a medic alert bracelet that says something like 'social anxiety disorder...step off bitch'.

Saturday, April 24, 2004

'someone saved my life tonight...'

his fucking majesty, Elton John.

i know its an idiotic, 'im a fourteen year-old boy who hasn't achieved puberty yet', thing to do, but i still turn all the lights off and listen to pink floyd's The Wall, in it's entirety. sometimes.

i see nothing wrong with this.

i dont even like pink floyd much. but like all music, it has this ability to impress itself indelibly with good and bad memories. so sometimes i like to crank up the awful shit i used to listen to in high school, and recall how fucking excruciating and awkward that period of time was, and how fucking infinitely grateful i am that the suck-fest is over.

had i not strapped headphones to my ears to block out the gibbering fuck-tards known as my classmates, i might have swallowed a bottle of clorox a long fucking time ago. that and the running thing. i assume it would create difficulties to not have a functioning throat when youre trying to be really fast. i have enough trouble trying to be really fast what with the smoking and the drinking and the free-basing till all hours of the morning. damn that pesky free-basing.

but when youre 15 and life sucks and there's no end in sight to sucking, its sometimes nice to know that no matter how awful you feel, Morrisey will most definitely always feel worse. its his fucking job or something. at least my girlfriend's not in a coma.

Friday, April 23, 2004

the god people.

so ive been meaning to see the 'jesus christ chain-saw massacre', but given my repressed-nazi-catholic upbringing, i am decidedly hesitant. as i am still a recovering catho-holic, i feel it would be a step backward to review the propaganda, in graphic detail, that's been shoved down my esophagus long before anything should have ever been shoved down my esophagus.

i like the idea of jesus. he certainly seems to be a swell guy/god. but why do all 'his people', suck ass? i dont understand how these mostly warm fuzzy teachings could have been so misinterpreted by so many stupid, vindictive, ass-fucking, erotophobic, holier-than-thou, 'im going to take every word in the bible literally even that seven day creation thingy and the stuff about gay dudes because i am a complete dipshit', MORONS.

sure. i believe jesus existed. and im sure he died in a fucking horrendous, excruciating manner. but so have lots of people. anybody remember the holocaust? there are worse ways to die. and its not as though other people werent crucified right along with him. apparently, he checked out early, as crucifixions go. usually, it would take days of agony before you kicked it.

im not disputing the fact that jesus existed, died, or was/is a god. i dont fucking know, and regardless of faith or whatever, nobody else fucking knows either. no matter what they say, how many robes they don, how very muchly they resemble darth vader and his imperial homies in said robes, no one human can tell me he/she knows exactly what the fuck is going on with jesus.

my point is, i would appreciate it if the god-squad would step the fuck off when it comes to pretending their lives are so much richer, and holier, and more heavenly, and sanctioned than the rest of us. and i would like them to stop being so judgmental. if i have fantasies about midgets with whips riding goats bearing a cart of really hot dudes with handles of chivas cupped in their rippling biceps, thats my fucking business. there's nothing in the ten commandments that saith 'thou shalt not fornicate with drunk himbos', you sanctimonious fuck.

also, i would really, really like all the christ-ers to actually read what the bible says. maybe then it would become apparent how asinine taking the gospel literally is. and maybe someone will pick up on the fact that jesus told all you unpleasant, fun-sucking, tight-wad pudwackers to 'judge not, lest ye be judged'.

fuck this. im going to karaoke night. creed blows.

conversatin' with that guy

reproductions of ridiculous shit uttered, recently.

'dude, look at all these parking spaces. ive never seen so many open. i feel heady with power, yet am indecisive.'
'yeah, i know. lets just stay out here and park the car again and again until we get it out of our systems. look at all the possibilities!'

'man, i had to spend two entire days cramped in a suburban with my family. it totally sucked.'
'i dont want to hear your sob story.'
'dude, we were in a suburban, not a saab. dont you ever listen to me?!'

'shots. now. shots goddammit. why arent there 40s on tap?'
'uh, i dont know.'
/*insert barfly-type scuffle with atomic wedgies and indian burns*

'i feel that the killing was better in the first movie. there seemed to be a lot of superfluous plot going on in kill bill 2'
'yeah. i know what you mean...but uma thurman looked totally hot, right?'
'yeah. totally.'

'i fucking hate that guy.'
'yeah he totally sucks.'
'you dont even know that guy.'
'yeah, but im sure he totally sucks.'

'i cant use my cell phone as an alarm, it doesn't get service in your house.'
'how the fuck do you think my alarm is going to get service then?!'
'youre a funny guy. funny, funny, funny.'

may the motherfucking force be with you, asshole.

god motherfucking dammit. at some point i will be able to make an actual entry to my actual blog, but until that time when i become not cheap enough to not buy my own motherfucking computer, i will be inundated with monkeys looking over my fucking shoulder to see what im writing.

yes. i know this is a public fucking site. but its a little fucking hard to concentrate with eighteen drunken douche-bags having a battle royale with two men enter one man leave in my fucking living room. where are the cops when you need them. where i say.


Sunday, April 18, 2004

dude, where's my rib?

so i went to a wedding this weekend. you know, the joining of man to woman. or woman to woman. or man to man. or man to woman to man. whatever.

aside from having to spend way too much time with my parents in a suburban, i actually had fun. also, my brother and his fiance came along for the ride, and it was good to get to know her better. though, im not sure i like the dynamic involved when traveling with two vomitously perfect and cute couples. because it makes you want to vomit.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

come and knock on our door...

so my land-overlord came over yesterday but didnt give my roomates and i any warning. and he had some prospective renters with him. and our house is a complete shite-hole right now.

naturally, i had been up till that hour of the morning when the sun should rise, but as williamsburg is the forsaken, curs-ed, barren center of the universe, where nothing will grow and no light will shine and the earth shall be as sack-cloth, i had no frame of reference and continued to honk down Cutty Sark. so.

at some point i recall staggering back to my bedroom. cause i had to have stopped watching ghost-busters before the god-awful sequel came on. but there was no removal of clothing, or turning off of lights, or turning on of fans to disperse the concentrated bourbon smell. and when land-lord man appeared some short hours later, wackiness ensued.

me: passed the fuck out, fully clothed, lying halfway on the bed with covers and limbs in a tangle of awkwardness. clearly, obviously, eminently intoxicated.
roomate bob: buck ass naked in the shower.
roomate matt: at work, but not failing to be really messy. and stopping up the drains with his thick pelt.

shortest fucking tour ever.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004


top ten reasons i went to william and mary. really.

1. UVA told me to go fuck myself.
2. out of state tuition is a total bitch.
3. accidentally included a photo in all my other applications.
4. im really fucking ugly.
5. came to visit on the one day in the 1000 year astral cycle that williamsburg is sunny. assumed it was always sunny. was fucking wrong.
6. saw someone drinking a beer and thought, 'this campus can party'. it was root beer, and under no fucking circumstances can this campus 'party'.
7. saw a need for the breeding of yet more nerds who tap out at 5'6 and have abnormally large craniums.
8. wanted to use the word 'matriculate', and have the people around me know what the fuck i was talking about.
9. was intent upon doing no work, drinking lots of beer, and receiving C's from an institution that distributes virtually all C's.
10. uh. it was either here or JMU. and harrisonburg smells. there's a huge dog food plant right next to the campus. seriously.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

every artist is a cannibal,

every poet is a thief... ~paul hewson

its killing me that i feel like everything i write is just some idiotic mock of something someone has already done.

i am a product of what i grew up on. there isn't much i can bullshit in the world of the internet. and i dont want to. i definitely dont fucking want to.

but i just feel like this massive, hemorrhaging douche-bag, when i 'reference' something that wasn't mine to begin with. and then there's the other side of my monkey-ness, where i feel like i might be enlightening some dudes to stuff they should know about, and like. everyone should know that david bowie rules. despite his mid-80s crisis.

meow. dancin' in the streets was totally for a good cause. totally.

Monday, April 12, 2004

im not here, this isn't happening.

i have a bad habit of listening to Kid A when im really depressed. which blatantly doesn't help. cause it's not the most uplifting of soundtracks. but it has been the theme music to my 'im way too fucking miserable to get out of bed' type days. someone please shoot thom yorke and put him out of his misery.

someone please shoot me and put me out of my misery.

maybe this fabulastic mood is due to the third fucking weekend in a row the ex-factor has decided to show up unannounced. i was super mad at him for not making himself available for my wrath incursion, but now that he's around, i kind of just wish he'd go away. life was admittedly easier when i could just hate him in all his absent glory. now he's like this actual person that has a good side that i can't loathe completely. and i sooo want to loathe him completely.

motherfucking fuck. fuckety, fuck, fuck fuckerson. with a side of FUCK.

eh. that's just a minor complication though. i have these periods in my life where i can't seem to get anything done. and the thought of all the things i have to get done render me an immobile piece of shit, that sleeps till three in the afternoon. and then im even more unlikely to move in any significant direction the next day. due to all the additional shit i have accrued from two whole days of being a piece of shit.

or sometimes there's that completely misanthropic day or two, where if someone is stupid enough to invite me to go somewhere, it takes me a full four hours of deliberation and staring at the ceiling to will myself out the door and into the social melee. once i get to wherever it is im going, im like, 'no. im not coming out. so you better under no fucking circumstances get this party started'. but then if i dont go, i feel guilty for not joining the human race and being an upstanding, contributing, baby-kissing member of the community.

and these are the days for when i want to drink a shit-ton of nyquil and sleep until i suspect i might not mind waking up. im like the puxatawnie phil of mood swings. if i poke my head out the bed-room door, to merely locate my hip flask and take a healthy gulp, there shall be six more weeks of nuclear, mind-suck winter. but if i make it to the kitchen, and there is pizza...well then, the tundra has been traversed.

Sunday, April 11, 2004


i stole this. from this. genius.

Thursday, April 08, 2004

sad, sappy, sucker v. sick, fickle, fucker.

i hate to beat a dead horse's skeletal remains, but what the fuck is this.

i cant pretend i dont like it. that saucy mustache. those marine muttons. a surreal underwater concert: snorkel mask included. that damn song is growing on me like a virulent rash. i enjoy both livestock, and mustaches. so i cant not appreciate a creation that serves me equal and generous portions of each. and a dude wearing a fez. which is cool.

if im not careful, i might start entertaining thoughts of actually purchasing the cd. you win this round, Epic.

i hope the sheep dont get slaughtered in the end though. that barn looked like it had meat hooks in it, and the sheep looked pretty bummed about having to maybe go hang from them.

so. floating on down my stream of consciousness, if this song is about how 'i am him and he is me and we are he and she is all together, coo-coo ka-choo', i might get hormonal. cause i fail to see how being nonchalant about sheep murder is ok, even if a bunch of slack-jawed hippies 'heard' the universe tell them so. or however it is that hippies acquire their belief systems.

uh, what i mean is, i dont want to 'float on' and be a slacker if i dont agree with whats going on around me. even if nothing i do ever matters, id like to at least try. participating might end up being more satisfying than observing, but i doubt it. sometimes.

i dont know how ive managed to dissect a simple pop tune, and reconstruct it using my personal manifesto, but obviously, i need to go eat a fuck-load of chocolate and watch lifetime. now.

the boss

'at night i wake up with the sheets soakin wet, and a freight train runnin through the middle of my head...' ~bruce the springsteen

at least that motherfucker can sleep. im tired all the fucking time. but this tiredness never seems to prompt any essential, life-nourishing rest.

i dont really like going to sleep. once im all up in it, snoring and drooling, all is well. if im in a zone of narcoleptic sleepification, i can wake briefly and still doze right back to that dream where elephants are playing kickball with lollipops in some dali-esque locale. but i hate, hate, hate closing my eyes and willing the sleep to come. even if im on the edge of the sleep chasm. i dont want to fall in. i know it will be nice to relinquish control of my mental faculties for a few hours, and let my brain-patch regenerate itself. or something. but i still envision sleep as this free-falling state, and when you finally hit the ground, you wake up. im sure ive had coronary events as a result.

maybe i dont want to lose control. i feel vulnerable when im about to nod off. i find myself kicking tweakishly awake after five minutes. and somebody needs to fix that fucking elevator i keep dreaming about. how many times does a person have to plunge to their untimely death before someone will please fix the elevator.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

homicidal rage

menage et trois.

21. dont speak, write, or morse code me for more than 4 months, then roll into town, come to my workplace, and strike a pose at the end of the bar as though all is well, for hours.
22. dont be afraid to stay in town for like, 5 days, on account of some 'conference' you have to attend.
23. whatever, dude.
24. leave bizarre messages on my answering machine at 2am. yeah, i might do that to you, but when i do it, it's cheeky. when you do it, it's cruel and mind fuck-ful.
25. dont be afraid to suck really, really, hard.
26. be thoughtful enough to obtain a signed copy of the new jack the ripper book, (i love serial killers!), and cause me to feel guilty for secretly wanting you to to suck really, really, hard.
27. kiss me in a not-so-brotherly fashion before leaving town.
28. regrettably, im not from west virginia.
29. does that rancid skank youve been fucking know you just kissed me in a not-so-brotherly fashion?
30. oh yeah. that's a moot point. youve probably already dumped her for, say, being nice to you. or treating you well. or not being an evil cunt-ass-whore. i know how you love evil cunt-ass-whores.
31. why do you love evil cunt-ass-whores? because, YOU ARE CRAZIER THAN A SHIT-HOUSE RAT.
32. feel free to come back and visit any time. like, the very next weekend.
33. add 8 beers and a couple(6) shots. enquire if im 'dating' that guy.
34. watch my head explode as i try to fathom how your presumptuous ass has any right to ask me such questions.
35. become 'sulky', because i am screaming at you and simultaneously timing how long i can shriek at this decibel without having to waste time breathing.
36. i certainly do have a lot of things to say.
37. somehow manage to still make me feel like recycled dog-shit. guilty, recycled dog-shit.
38. cause me to revisit those tragic instances of self-loathing, all because i still tragically hope i do not make you sad.
39. make me sad.
40. cause me to be lame and introspective in my blog entry and, to pull yet another list out of my ass. damn you.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

homicidal rage

part deux.

11. let out that rancid fart you were holding in, and then fail to warn me, on the off chance i might not notice.
12. have the balls to get pissed when i light a match. or six.
13. play tetris on your game-boy while taking a crap, instead of concentrating on hurrying the fuck up because im about to have an ass-plosion.
14. complain about your butt falling asleep, cause you were so engrossed in said tetris game, you failed to notice the passing of time, or the odd constrictive position of ass-upon-toilet.
15. expect me to have sympathy for your poor numb ass when i am this fucking close to shitting myself.
16. play some more tetris.
17. remark about how interesting it is that i only take a shit every so often, and that you, however, are quite regular. continue to play tetris.
18. bring home a pamphlet on the causes of disordered pooping.
19. display it prominently and suggestively in the bathroom, causing my ass to pucker in creeped-out stage fright.
20. play tetris, and somehow elude being murdered by me.

homicidal rage

or, ways to incite me to eat your face off.

1. learn my name for the sole purpose of repeating it ad nauseum, until you get your drink.
2. make me run your stupid fucking credit card for $3.29. and then come back ten minutes later thinking i will joyfully run it again.
3. tipping? is that a city in china?
4. "so...when are you gonna get a real job?"
5. "so...english...what are you gonna do with that? teach?"
6. "smile!"
7. not understanding that humans arent meant to wander around with huge, shit-eating grins on their faces, all the time. such phenomena only occurs in the realms of plastic surgery and clinical psychosis.
8. misunderstanding our relationship in the sense that as your bartender, you think i am required to listen to you drone on about the whoas that have befallen you. until i am compensated financially for filling the role of your psychiatrist, i will not pretend to be interested in your various neuroses.
9. being a lawyer.
10. immediately asking what the specials are. if dog-shit was on special, would you automatically order it just because it's cheaper?

and im just getting started.