same as it ever was (talking heads)

Thursday, September 29, 2005

The CGP interview #1, "Bozo" the clown

CGP: Bozo, thanks for joining me today, on the telephone. You really came through last minute for us, we were trying to get "Krusty" but he's doing community service...again. Anyway, glad you could be here.
Bozo: Thanks for having me.
CGP: Let me get right to the point, I'm deathly afraid of clowns. The file photo that I have of you is going to give nightmares tonight. How many kids do you think had to see child psychologists because of you and your ilk?
Bozo: Well, I don't think any. Wasn't this supposed to be a soft profile piece?
CGP: I had a "surprise" birthday party at McDonald's when I was twelve. Ronald McDonald brought the cake out and I started to cry. He laughed and said it was "Ok there fella, there's nothing to be afraid of". I kicked him in the nuts and ran out to the car.
Bozo: Isn't twelve a little old to be having birthday parties at McDonald's?
CGP: This interview isn't about me, Ok! Quit dodging the question. Why is it that kids are always crying around clowns? Huh, balloon man? You guys really don't seem so funny to most kids, or adults for that matter, that I run into.
Bozo: Weren't we supposed to talk about my TV show?
CGP: Your TV show, right. Ok, example number one. Let's take the grand prize game. Throw a fucking ping-pong ball into a bucket, how hard can that be? Let me tell you, it's not hard Ok! But how far would people get? Like the average had to be to the second bucket, those kids were horrified of you and that evil motherfucker Cookie. They fucking threw the game just to get away from out sick motherfuckers.
Bozo: I'm doing birthday parties now, if you can please pass that along to your audie...
CGP: Oh, you would like to come over to our houses, huh clown? Ever seen Poltergeist? How about It? John Wayne Casey, he was a fucking clown asshole! Hello, hello Bozo, are you still there?

editor's note: CGP would like to apologize for his behavior in the interview. Some real deep seeded and obviously unresolved clown issues floating around. Up next though, Jack Nicholson!

New "Segment"

I was reading Simmons on Page 2 the other day, and he has a new segment where he trades e-mails with famous people all day long (he's got something up w/ Klosterman right now, I wouldn't necessarily call Klosterman famous but anyway) he then posts the exchange. Anyway, this got me to thinking, I should start to post fake interviews that I do with celebrities, I'll turn it into a running type deal (similar to my DH and JB movie pitches which no-one understands). I figured I'd warn you guys first since no one understands the other on-going thing that I have on-going (just mentioned). I'm kind of stealing this idea because I like to look at this site as a place of "non-original thought material" and a "source for misinformation". My first two "interviews" will be with Jack Nicholson and Bozo the Clown (I'm unsure of the order) but I'll put one of them up later tonight. I think Chuck up there is sweating.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

"Feel Good Inc." video

Click here to see the Gorillaz video for "Feel Good Inc." Most of you have probably seen it, but it's still cool. I don't think Demon Days is quite up to par with Gorillaz (first self-titled release) but right now DD still in my top five of albums that have come out this year.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Show them your pissed

Did someone close to you forget to send you a gift on your birthday? Did your closest friend steal your dog and sell it to a pharmaceutical company for "testing" to support their crack habit? And after you took the time to drive them home from the hospital after they had their spleen removed. Well, may be your EQUALIZER! A horrible gift with a sarcasticly phrased card may be just the revenge you're looking for. Below I'll list some terrible gift ideas along with an assholish note attached.

Dear Jim,

I really hope you like these sea monkeys! See they expand when you pour water on them. Hmmm, does this remind me of anything in particular? Oh yeah, it does, it's kind of like when you fucked my girlfriend in a hot-tub last month. I hope you die.

Dear Allison,

I thought you might enjoy this Oxi Clean! It's a great product, it can clean anything from "tough organic dirt" to "Stains and odors on carpet". See I was reading this product description and thought this would be a great gift for you seeing as you gave me crabs last summer. Oh yeah, it doesn't say so on the Jug-O-Oxi-Clean but the stuff really tastes good if you drink it. You should drink a lot of it.

Dear Henry,

Man I saw this Fart Detector and thought of you immediately. It's not that you fart so much, but you really smell terrible. Seeing as corporate had to make some cutbacks and we both work in the same cubicle now I thought this would be a great gift idea for you! Yeah see, you smell so fucking bad, that I think the loud warning would constantly go off and force you to take a shower. You smell so bad you want to make me throw up.

p.s. I fucked your girlfriend and gave her crabs

Dear New Super Hip Indie Rock Band,

See, it's great that Cokemachineglow and Pitchforkmedia have deemed you guys rock's next "It" band, but I purchased your cd and feel quite different. See, I don't mind the occasional hand clap in a song, but 12 out of 12 your tracks employ this technique. Track #10 is just someone clapping sarcastically w/o any other instrumental or vocal accompaniment. Track #11 is a bunch of people clapping at a football game. Track #12 is two people playing "patty cake patty cake baker man". So I've decided to purchase the clapper for you guys. Here's to hoping you all quickly form heroine addictions.

Dear Sis,

A wedding is a special time in anyone's life. So to celebrate this momentous and life-altering decision you've made I've purchased the Chia Pet for you. There's no real significant reason behind this gift, only know that I still remember the day when you lost my Boba Fett action figure and mom wouldn't buy me a new one because she said I was too old for "that kind of thing". I was only fifteen, you BITCH!!! I hope you get divorced numerous times.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Blender top 500 songs of last 25 years

For whatever reason I started getting Blender in the mail about three months ago. I don't pay for it or anything, but I still get it. Anyway, the magazine is so-so, fair at best, but today in the mail they had a really cool issue where they listed the top 500 songs of the last 25 years. As some of you know I'm still counting down my favorite 100 songs. So in this post I'm going to put my and Blender's duplicate picks. I'll put the # we each picked the song at too, there are some spoilers for my songs on the list, so consider this sentence a spoiler alert (I'll list the song but I won't list the position on my countdown seeing as I still have 20 to unveil). Cool, onto our duplicate picks, I'll give some commentary too.

"Love Will Tear Us Apart", Joy Division: Blender #7/ cultgoespop #? (top 20): I was surprised to see this song so high on the Blender list, great pick by them though as anyone who has listened to this song knows.

"Monkey Gone To Heaven", Pixies: Blender #48/ cultgoespop #? (top 20): I am very glad that the Monkey actually made it to heaven, very surprised though b/c he really liked to throw his feces at zoo bystanders.

"Karma Police", Radiohead": Blender #58/ cultgoespop #38: For those of you who didn't know (I'm sure a bunch of you did already) Radiohead named themselves Radiohead after the Talking Heads song "Radiohead".

"How Soon Is Now?", The Smiths: Blender #59/ cultgoespop #? (top 20):

Dark Helmet: "What the hell am I looking at?...When does this happen in the movie?"
Colonel Sandurz: "Now, you're looking at now sir...Everything that happens now is happening now."
Dark Helmet: "What happened to then?"
Colonel Sandurz: "We passed it."
DH: "When?"
CS: "Just now...We're at now now."
DH: "Go back to then?"
CS: "When?"
DH: "Now."
CS: "Now?"
DH: "Now."
CS: "I can't."
DH: "Why?"
CS: "We missed it."
DH: "When?"
CS: "Just now."
DH: "When will then be now?"
CS: "Soon!"
DH: "How Soon?"
Technician: "Sir!"
DH: "What?"
Technician: "We've identified their location!"
DH: "Where?"
Technician: "It's the moon of Vega."
CS: "Good work. Set a course and prepare for our arrival."
DH: "When?!"
Technician: "Nineteen hundred hours sir!"
CS: "By high noon tomorrow they will be our prisoners!"
DH: "WHO?!?!?"
mask falls in front of face

"Into the Groove", Madonna: Blender #87/ cultgoespop #99: I knew someone else liked this song.

"Around the World", Daft Punk: Blender #157/ cultgoespop #35: Daft Punk supposedly got their name from a British music journalist that called their music "daft punk" (they had a punk band before they became DJ's) (I didn't make this up, I promise, I heard it somewhere).

"More Than This", Roxy Music: Blender #195/ cultgoespop #65: Scarlet Johansen supposedly thinks that I'm "totally hot" (I did make this up).

"Once In A Lifetime", Talking Heads: Blender #224/ cultgoespop #50: David Byrne supposedly thinks that Scarlet Johansen is "totally hot".

"Where Is My Mind?", Pixies: Blender #236/ cultgoespop #? (top 20): In my humble estimation, at the end of Fight Club, when this song starts to play and the buildings explode, it is the best song usage (non-diagetic) that I've ever seen in a film.

"Lips Like Sugar", Echo and the Bunneymen: Blender #283/ cultgoespop #? (top 20): Echo is the name of the drum machine that the band used. The rest of them are named Bunneymen b/c they really liked to fuck rabbits.

"Games Without Frontiers", Peter Gabriel: Blender #353/ cultgoespop #49: Peter Gabriel is actually made of play-doh (like in his video for "Big Time", he's kinda like Gumbi or Pokey)

"There Is A Light That Never Goes Out", The Smiths: Blender #431/ cultgoespop #41: Morrissey's favorite movie is Spaceballs.

"Gigiantic", Pixies: Blender #474/ cultgoespop #31: That's what she said.

"I Wanna Be Adored", Stone Roses: Blender #484/ cultgoespop #91: She said that too, um, I mean, I'm out of ideas here.

editor's note: Song #'s 1 and 500 were by some of my homeboys. Number 1 was "Billie Jean" by Michael Jackson. Number 500 was "Yellow" by Coldplay. Funny shit.

The Killers, "Smile Like You Mean It" video

Click here to see The Killers, "Smile Like You Mean It" video. I think these dudes are allright, and this song is by far my favorite from them. At first I didn't like them b/c I don't like that "Somebody Told Me" song, I thought it was lyrically a semi-ripoff of the classic Blur track "Girls & Boys" (I'm only half joking here, I just really don't like the song, the Killers song, I love the Blur song). Anyway this post makes me to ponder something, do we really need mascara (Brandon Flowers, one of the many) in rock and roll? I think not. Damn you Robert Smith, you're lucky you can play the guitar so fucking well, because you truly do look like a douche. I'm only saying.

editor's note: Year to date no one has joined (or shown any interest in joining) TPCWMJHCOF.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

That Pepsi Commercial Where Michael Jackson's Hair Caught On Fire!

Too much afro-sheen G's! This week a service called the audioscrobbler came to my attention from MP3 blogging wunderkind Satisfied 75'. If you're too lazy to click the link, I'll let Sat 75' accurately explain the service... For those of you not familiar, Audioscrobbler is a free service that links to your preferred computer listening device (iTunes, Winamp, etc.). Every time you listen to a song it catalogs it and after awhile begins to list other members with similar tastes, etc... I'm fucking hooked on this thing now, and I've started a group, That Pepsi Commercial Where Michael Jackson's Hair Caught On Fire! I'm basically like the overlord of this group and I can choose which human beings are worthy of inclusion. If you read this site you're more than welcome to join my group (even if you listen to horrible shit like Britany Spears and Lenny Kravitz, I'll still let you join if you read this blog). Basically It'll be like a fantasy football message board, but for music. So I implore you to sign up for the audioscrobbler and get in this kick ass group, I just started a thread, If he would have used Soul Glow. So sign the fuck up! As we all know MJ is a walking meltdown waiting to happen, we can talk about other music related shit too.

editor's note: If you listen to BS or LK you really should get new friends, b/c your current friends should have had a "music intervention" a long time ago.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Favorite 100 Songs List: 30-21

30. Miss You: Rolling Stones; 40 Licks A bluesy honky tonkish song with great lyrics. I love Puerto Rican chicks. Definitely, by far, my favorite Stones song (not really a huge fan). The only problem is that the version on this CD is cut short by about a minute and a half, anyway still a great song. Anyone know how old Mick and Keef are? They probably need to stop touring.

29. Lemon: U2; Zooropa I don't want to get on my U2 high horse again, but seriously go listen to this album again, so good. Bono goes for the falsetto delivery here, and it works. Yet again I'll mention that I wish U2 would have stayed the course with albums that sounded more like this and Pop. This sounds like it could have been a Pet Shop Boys song or something.

28. Peg: Steely Dan; A Decade of Steely Dan A really happy sounding song, about some chick named Peg. This is one of those songs that I immediately play over after it's finished. Becker and Fagan manage to make this a really commercially funky sounding tune, not an easy feat.

27. Summer Teeth: Wilco; Summer Teeth A happy sounding song that is really messed up lyrically. The guitar, the organ, piano, birds tweeting, etc. really combine to make this a perfect pop tune. I think this song is very Beatlesesque. This is also my favorite Wilco album, just beats out Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

26. Push: The Cure; The Head on the Door Yet another masterful 2-minute musical lead-in, as I mentioned earlier, no one does this better than The Cure. This song is kind of simple but very addictive (listening wise). Also a great Robert Smith "Oooooowww" scream in it, gotta love those.

25. Mutilated Lips: Ween; The Mollusk "Mutilated lips give a kiss on the wrist of the worms like tips of tentacles expanding in my mind I'm fine excepting only fresh brine you can get another drop of this yeah you wish" (breathe). This song is the highlight of the ocean based album. These dudes rule.

24. Electric Relaxation: A Tribe Called Quest; Anthology As far as rap goes, these guys are second only to Outkast in my book. The production, the rhymes, every element of this song is "tight". I would put more lyrics, but I just did that for the previous song.

23. Death of a Party: Blur; Blur Graham Coxon steals the show here, with nice backing from a whacked out organ. Albarn's lyrics are also outstandingly depressing, I think most of the band were alcoholics around the time of this release. The ending is a chill inducer. An often overlooked song, from a superb album, so much more than Song 2 on this release.

22. Policy of Truth: Depeche Mode; Violator Classic song from a classic new-waveish, gothish album. Enjoy the Silence and Personal Jesus get more pub than this song, but I like this one the best. This is a true story, I was bored at school last year and I was looking through some of Rolling Stones archived reviews and Kurt Loder reviewed this album and gave it 2 out 5 stars!!! What a fucking douche-bag.

21. Supersonic: Oasis; Definitely Maybe I remember the first time I heard this song, sophomore year of HS, driving in my Taurus. I thought to myself, "Fuck yeah man, these Brits are Ok, this song kicks ass, Gin and Tonics are cool and shit!" Still my favorite song from the drunken fighting brothers Gallager.

I never thought

that there'd be a version of black eyed peas that I'd hate more than the vegetable one. Man, was I sadly mistaken.

editor's note: People are freaking out about gas again in Atlanta, fucking unbelievable!

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Lost Season 2, possible suggestions...

In case you live in a fucking hole, you already know that season 2 of Lost kicks off tonight. I'm a fan of the show, really liked the first season. The only thing is I think there is a huge possibility that the creators fuck up the entire show. There are many conspiracy theories out on the internet about the possible circumstances that the crash survivors find themselves in now. Some type of Bermuda triangle place, it's actually just someone's dream (which would make me and about everyone else hate the show), etc. I'd like to throw a conspiracy theory of my own out there. I think it's possible that they're stuck inside one of Rosie O'Donnel's fat rolls. This isn't so much because I actually think they are caught in one of her fat rolls, I just wanted to take a shot at Rosie O'Donnel, b/c I hate her. Anyway, if the show starts to suck this season (I don't think it will but you never know) here are some possible suggestions to the creators of the series. These are fucking golden I tell you.

1. The Polar Bear and Invisible monster are really cool. I think It'd cooler if they start to find more animals that could possibly kill or maim more of the survivors. Let's go with some of those big ass salt water crocodiles floating around. There could be an episode where the invisible monster the polar bear and the saltwater croc's face off in a battle royal to the death, fucking ratings juggernaught, who wouldn't want to watch that? Also some other animals, how about some Koala Bears? They're cute, they're constantly stoned, what's not to like about Koala Bears? OH, how about an emu farm? This is all totally solid advice if the show starts to go south.

2. Ok, we only really know about 10 or 12 of the characters really well. There's like 40 or 50 more people on the island we never get to see! I smell cameo opportunities, possibly a couple of regulars to join the cast out of the nameless many that are also stranded on the island. All of the suggestions below are celebrities who would be playing themselves.

a. Mr. T: Give me a break, who wouldn't like to see Mr. T join this cast? "I ain't climbing down that crazy-assed shaft sucka!" His back story would be great too, they could show him rehearsing some lines as Clubber Lane in Rocky 3. T would definitely be a regular cast member.

b. Milla Jovovich: Ok, enough said right there. You can never get too many hot chicks on the show, and there aren't too many chicks hotter than Milla. Plus she's a tough chick (Resident Evil) who wouldn't look out of place scrapping around on the island. They could just show a bunch of those L'Oreal Feria commercials for her backstory. DEFINITELY a regular cast member.

c. Andy Dick: Who wouldn't like to see Andy Dick get violently murdered by a huge fucking Polar Bear? That's right, everyone would. This would obviously be a cameo role, so they wouldn't have to do a flashback sequence, which would be a plus because no wants to see a bunch of gay sex.

d. Lebron James: This would also be a cameo role as well. Lebron would actually be athletic enough to escape the island in time for the Cavs season opener against the Knicks.

Anyway those are just some suggestions for season 2 of Lost. Can't wait to see what happens tonight.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

"In your eyes, the light, the heat, In your eyes, I am complete"

"What the fuck? Oh god, please, no! Fuck, it's John Cusak again!"

me opening bedroom window

"Hey John, John buddy, my next door neighbor, she's not home. Gone to Jamaica."

"No dude, Ione Skye, doesn't live there. We've been over this before."

"She's married to one of the Beastie Boys. MCA, I think?

"See, I was trying to bate you man. You're right, it is Ad Rock. So you know this, we've been over it before!"

"NO, NO, NO, come on dude. Kickboxing is not the sport of the future. You're not Lloyd Dober man. You've got to be like 40-something now."

"Listen, could you just PLEASE turn off the Peter Gabriel? It's 4 am, people work around here. If you don't turn off the Peter Gabriel, you're going to get arrested...again!"

more neighbors start to yell at John Cusak

"Everyone just chill out, I'm talking to him. He's about to turn it off. Right John?"

"Dude, come on man, you know Beth from Better Off Dead doesn't live there either!"

"No, no I haven't seen Serendipity."

"No, Kate Beckinsale doesn't live there either."

"Dude why do you still have a boom box anyway? Haven't you heard of an iPod?"

"Oh, Ok, you haven't heard of an iPod. Fuck you liar. You're lying to me now!"

"I'm just saying you do know what an iPod is and that you're a fucking liar! Fuck all that, we're getting off topic here. The cops are on their way. I can hear the sirens now. Do you really want to get arrested for this again? It doesn't make any sense."

"No dude, I thought Con Air sucked, Ok. I mean, come on, you expect me to believe you could land a plane on the Vegas strip? What a bunch of horseshit!"

"Listen, shut-up for a second, those are cop cars that just pulled up Ok! Just put the boom box down and give yourself up! Your arms have got to be tired! I did like Being John Malkovich, the Chuck Sheen cameo was classic, you were alright too!"

The Police: "Mr. Cusak put the boom box down and then return your hands to the same position"

"Just listen to them John

John Cusak: "Never. Fuck you pigs! Ione, this is for you!"

John Cusak charges the police and throws his boom box at them. He is gunned down violently.

to myself: "Thank God John Cusak's dead, maybe I can get some fucking sleep around here."

Monday, September 19, 2005

Exquisite Corpse, End Game

editor's note: exquisite corpse is actually a surrealist game. I was quite unaware of this fact when I started playing. Anyway, I'm too lazy to re-print the rest of the story, It'd take too long. Instead I'm going to reprint my five last contributions to the story. I'll put the sentence before mine, my sentence (in red), and the sentence after mine. The reason I didn't have more sentences was b/c I was in Mexico when the game started and the next weekend was Labor day, so I was not by my computer for much of the game. Anyway, I put a link up to the entire story in an earlier post, check there if interested in reading the rest.

I stifled waves of nausea brought on by the smell (chyme and viscera mingling with wet dog and CK One), "nonchalantly" running my fingers through its mucosy fur as it spoke to me. "Get me a Happy Meal, no pickles on the burger!" it barked. This demand filled me with a nameless dread and instead of indulging the creature's sickening lust for McDonald's, I raised my knife and plunged it through the monster's eye, spraying optical fluid and blood across the room.

A moment of clarity erupts from my deranged panic, as I behold the Louis Vitton French boutique assistant sales clerk collapse into a pool of viscera and cerebral spinal fluid. I'm thinking free samples by this point as the surrealness of the situation settles around the ever-expanding pool of death. I am frightened, I am disgusted, and I am sober.

The fear, the senseless loathing, and the memory of the self-deprecation of the entire Smiths catalog (which I had been listening to earlier on my i-Pod) all pointed to a certain failure-but I paid these Cohenian thoughts no mind as I prepared to steady my artificially enhanced trigger finger. Girlfriend in a Coma played in my mind as the Xanax blurred my thinking. The strange urge for a Marlboro followed.

I kneel down for a closer look, breathing through my mouth and choking back a scream. I love to choke, chokey, choke, choke, choke. I tightened my grip around her neck.

I started to question my mental sanity: "Was I going insane? Did it even matter if I was losing my mind?" I'd actually like to leave it behind from here on out. I locate the keys to the red convertible and make my way out to the car wondering whether I'd resemble Thompson at all if I picked up one of those long cigarette holders.

editor's note (2): Like I said, we win a signed copy of Lunar Park for winning this thing. I hope BEE puts some shit like, "I'm out to find you fuckers so I can drill holes in your heads" or something to that effect. I'm sure he'll just sign it.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Infinite Jest: an excerpt

editor's note: The whole blogging hobby has really cut into my reading. I've been reading the same book now for going on five months now. I've made some mention of it before, it's the David Foster Wallace novel Infinite Jest. The book is 1,079 pages in length but still, I really want to finish it because I have a bunch more shit I want to read. So I was trying to knock some off today (I've got about 200 or so pages left) when I came across a hilarious passage that basically sum up my current feelings about football (American version) after my gambling debacle of yesterday. Bitter much? Me...Yeah, I guess so, but this particular reading came for me at the exact perfect time, it was cathartic really. BTW that's DFW w/ a mean-ass looking dog.

A grunting, crunching ballet of repressed homoeroticism, football, Mrs. Steeply, on my view. The exaggerated breadth of the shoulders, the masked eradication of facial personality, the emphasis on contact-vs.-avoidance-of-contact. The gains in terms of penetration and resistance. The tight pants that accentuate the gluteals and hamstrings and what look for all the world like codpieces. The gradual slow shift of venue to "artificial surface," "artificial turf." Don't the pants' fronts look fitted with codpieces? And have a look at these men whacking each other's asses after a play. It is like Swinburne sat down on his soul's darkest night and designed an organized sport. And pay no attention to Orin's defense of football as a ritualized substitute for armed conflict. Armed conflict is plenty ritualized on its own, and since we have real armed conflict (take a spin through Boston's Roxbury and Mattapan districts some evening) there is no need or purpose for a substitute. Football is pure homophobically repressed nancy-ism, and do not let O. tell you different.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

It's unfortunate

I've had this blog for going on three months now and the funniest thing I've written have been the football picks I had today. O-5. Luckily I bet small, still, that's pretty fucking pathetic any way you slice it.

Beautiful day outside, what to do? How about stay in and gamble!

College football in the south. Many people look at the southern United States as a scary place where people constantly play banjos or espouse their religious fanaticism to anyone who will listen. And while this may be a somewhat misguided view of life below the mason dixon line, these elements do exist (Jesus fish, W stickers, Yellow Ribbons (which I'm not slagging on so don't even go there), etc. all over the place). But there is one institution, if you will, that people love more than church down here, and that is college football.

It's Saturday and I've yet to post on any college football yet this season. The previous two weekends I was not by my computer so I was unable to post on the subject, but I'm geared up for football watching/gambling all-day today. See the thing is, when I was younger and in High School it was just cool to watch the games, as I've grown older and "wiser" I've realized the folly of my youth. I can bet money on these games as well, and it makes watching them like 100% more fun! Well trust me, I've corrected the not-betting "problem" in last five to seven years. If you want to start betting too you can link here and register with and set up your own on-line account. No shady bookies to deal with, gambling is now achievable from the comfort of your own home. Onto my bets, and the "lock" of the millennium....

My bets:
Oklahoma +6.5 over UCLA
Notre Dame -5 over Michigan State
Boston College +2 over Florida State
South Carolina +1.5 over Alabama

Tennessee +6.5 over Florida

editor's note: I attended the UGA, South Carolina game last Saturday in Athens GA. Unfortunately I was hit to the tune of $60 clams for an open-container violation walking in downtown Athens (three other buddies suffered the same fate). Anyway important info. here if you're tailgating in Athens during a gameday it is not OK to have an open beverage in the downtown area, it is however cool to walk 50 yards across the street to North Campus and funnel golden-grain if that's your idea of a good time. The rest of THE TOMB will be posted this weekend (hopefully). Also, if these bets go well you will be seeing this segment again.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Cool...and Totally Weird...part 2

editor's note: The second installment of The Tomb. If you're not up to speed check the explination in part 1 and if you want to link to the game site go to the previous post. My sentences are in red, and the funniest sentence ever is in green (I don't know if I'll get that far, but the person on my team who wrote it is a fucking genius)

Starflyer 59 reflects the mood of the evening as I am surrounded by a mythos of allegation- a construct both intangible and overwhelming, while the saline taste is no longer enough to brush away memories stained in blood. As these nonsensical thoughts keep racing through my mind, I realized it was because my mind was slowing time down that I was seeing things move so slowly like I was in "An Occurance At Owl Creek Bridge" and the drugs were making my thoughts so thoroughly random. The beggining and the end overlapped eachother, moving forward became inpossible, I was trapped. I was unaware if I would hit the next intended mark; I soon found myself pulled into the next frame. I then saw my doppelganger, he said to me, "Hey guy, how about some Xanax?" I remember the last time my mother spoke to me, how she told me that monsters don't exist and it makes me wonder what she would make of this current situation her son finds himself in now: scared, confused, lonely, and wishing to be somewhere else or sometime else. It only takes a matter of seconds for the chadelier to fall from the high rise ceiling, shattering itself into thousends of shards on the hardwood floor when we look at each other at the same time, the same expression tied to both of our faces like "What the hell?" The body hitting the ground looks almost surreal like a scene from a bad action film. The pungent scent of rancidly decaying coagulated blood whiffs in upon the fridgidly desultory breeze that is emanating from the invisible oblivion twisting its way admist the exquisite corpse. I take the steak knife that lay next to my uneaten Kobe beef steak and kneel down next to the corpse which rests in the chandelier shards like a silent angel and I ask myself, is there no peace or love in this city anymore? I hear the sound of an object flying through the air as a hard pain spreads through my head. It was a can of Play-doh and I was, of course, bleeding. I removed some of the soft doh from the can and placed it over the wound.

"Better than bleeding to death," I thought. I stood up slowly, holding the wound tightly and feeling briefly annoyed that my Perry Ellis shirt was almost definitely ruined by the bloodstains, and lumbered towards the desk, specifically the drawer where I kept a small revolver, a .38, stored with two bottles, one half empty, of Ketel-One. Twilight had settled across the horizon and my bloodied drunken haze was then fixated on my diamond platinum gold Rolex that I had consumed from one of the extrodinarly exquisitely exhumed corpses. The black K on the blood red background giving motivation for my hand to grab the Colt wood grained grip. The weapon felt good in my hand as I brought it to an aiming stance.

As I aim I glance at my Omega 300 M I remember that Le Miz starts in 20 minutes uptown, if I want to make it I will have to leave now, so I slam my Am Ex on the table and I pay my bill. There's a harsh wind outside pulling the raindrops almost horizontal, so I pull the Prada overcoat close as I raise my prosthetic hand to hail a cab. The cab pulls to the curb with a hard squeal of the tires that leaves a horrible rubbery stench. My voice is toned slickly as I announce the destination to the cab driver, he looks over his shoulder and glares with faux spite, and has everything has distorted into an emptying psychotic delusion of grandiose purpose. Before getting out, I have to chuckle at the taxi driver's joke, the one about the one armed man and the hooker from Paris, I offer him five dollars telling him to turn up the radio, Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" on WYNN. As I step onto the sidewalk I bury my hands into my pockets and finger the sharp, metallic object I have concealed on me.

"Oh, what fun this will be," I thought. The object being an exquisite Mont Blanc writing insturment that I took from one of the other victims of the night. I'm suicidal, thinking of inserting the Mont Blanc into my brain. Instead I pour another glass of Stoli and lime and continue listening to the cab driver, wishing all the while that the Zodiac killer had been his last fare. I take the Mont Blanc pen out of my Burberry suit coat and stab the driver in the neck, he was the monster wasn't he? The driver just sits there and stares and the song ends.

"21.50," he says, I hand him the money, no tip, I get out and look at the large brown brick building in front of me, I could feel him, I thought, he is near. I slam the door of the cab and try to ignore the switching between present and past tense thought that I've been suffering, and I reach into my pocket for the bottle of Xanax that with any luck will keep me focused and calm as I start towards the massive double doors. Looming above me like a monolithic cathedral the building overwhelms me as I approach, heaving myself against the gothic-style doors in anticipation of their dancing weight only to find myself dazed against glass shards on the floor of the hotel lobby, a door with an empty pane in behind me. I'm on my feet just in time to avoid the doorman who's fast approaching with a mixture of anger, fear, and let's face it-disgust twisting his face. I feel around in my waistband for the knife I am hiding. As I pull the knife out of my waistband I hear a police siren behind me and a cop yell commands, but my blood pounding through my skull mumbles them.

I keep waiting for the director to yell, "Cut", for the marker to snap, to wake up in a sweat drenched hotel bed, but the director wants more emotion so I keep running and by the time I hit 13th street I realize, London isn't really that bad of a place. However, the reality before me sobers me up quicker than an egg Mcmuffin and a diet coke: the horror I feel is beyond incomprehensible, it's the kind of horror felt by a junior high kid hitting a crack pipe.

The moment passes, I cut a line through the twilight, the destruction I have caused: I am wrought with a sense of misery, I am caught by the necessity of moving forward, I am tired of the blood, I am tired of being a construct of the intangible, I am sick of being a monster caught inside a tomb. All metaphors aside, a real monster, big and blue, still waits for me inside a real tomb, craving cookies like I crave a glass of vodka, so I open my desk drawer with my Ketel One and my .38 taking the half-empty bottle and the gun. Ready to face my own nightmare that has been chasing me for years now.

I move the ivy aside to reveal a dark and musty cave, the cries from inside pull me in, but the darkness blinds me. As my eyes get used to the light I can see that this cave was clearly man-made. I knew that there would be no Tower Records, no Spago's at the end of this cave, but rather a brutal end for one of us. The fact that the Tower Records wasn't in my future sent me into a murderous rage, seeing as I needed to buy a new copy of London Calling. That thought now filling my head with sounds of the Four Horsemen giving my purpose its own soundtrack. As I turned the corner, my heart beating with the thunder of the horsemen's feet, I raised my fist as I approaced the creature in the mirror's reflection. I reached for the knife in my pocket taking comfort from its cold steel. It's the only thing that I know is real, and I draw on its meager reassurance for the courage to exit the room. As I exit this hell hole I'm in, I have a flashback on the first real, brutal beating I saw as a child. It was my father, in Neiman Marcus with someone who had tried to snatch his Gucci money clip.

I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, the license plate read, "FRESH" and there was dice in the mirror. The cab pulled over but suddenly the car suddenly seemed terrifyingly familiar and instead of getting in, I turned and began stumbling down the sidewalk, taking my Calvin Klein wallet out of my pocket and counting the bills because I wanted to find a pharmacy and bribe the attendant for some Valium. The cab slowly followed behind me as I walked further into the night. Though its headlight were off, it was inching closer; I could feel its heat, hearing the laboring wheeze of a badly cared for combustion engine, but I refused to turn and acknowledge what I was sure was-and wasn't-there. Finally it hit me: the fender. My body was sent skyward twisting and turning like a rag doll. A phrase runs through my head for what seems like an eternity, before the anticipated pain washes over me: you're too late to die. I am not to late to feel the explosive sensation of a million nerve endings screaming out in agony.

editor's note (2): I am positive the Fresh Prince of Bell Aire reference won us this thing. Please read that last paragraph over again and get a mental picture of the cab in the opening credits of FPoBA stalking someone. Fucking hysterical. BTW more to come.

Link to story

Right here is the link to the whole story, I'll reprint the whole thing on this blog but for those of you interested click the link.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Cool...and Totally Weird...part 1

I posted about Bret Easton Ellis' novel Lunar Park awhile back. When I was doing some surfing for that post I happened to come about a web site dedicated to the release of the new novel. There was game an interactive writing game that people could participate in to coincide with the release of the novel. The game was called the Exquisite Corpse and it was basically writing a short story with 30 other team members. The winning team would receive a signed 1st edition copy of Lunar Park by none-other than BEE himself. Anyway my team The Tardy Terby's (we didn't get to choose our name) won the bitch (21 teams were involved). We should be getting our signed books by the end of the month!

This whole thing was totally fucked-up though. Before the game started we got a cryptic set of instructions on what to write about (the game was scored). Ifwe used a comma correctly we got 10 points, any pop culture reference was worth 25 points, if we used BEE favorite word (which was not supplied) we got 100 points, we also had to write like it was a lost BEE short story, those were the only real instructions. Oh yeah, the other thing was that we could only see the previous sentence before the one we wrote, with 30 people writing the finished product is understandably chaotic, fucked-up, and pretty funny. Every so often I'd check my gmail and I'd be allowed to add another sentence (I only ended up with about 11 of the 220 or so) I'm going to reprint it below with my contributions in red for those of you who don't want to link to it. I'll also put the laugh out loud funniest sentence of all-time in green (sadly not written by me). Anyway if you get bored with the whole thing just scroll to my parts and see what I had to work with (remeber I could only see the previous sentence). Enjoy, this is pretty fucked-up shit...The Tomb

People say monsters don't live in L.A. They only say that because they have yet to meet the ones that I have run into. On Tuesday, it came to me that all these decisions I have undertaken, all these routines, were nothing more than sad little coping mechanisms for dealing with them. What would George and Martha, the real Sid and Nancy of my first rehab, think- they always had the perfect cut down disguised as a brutal back-handed compliment. George, a short, fat, George Clooney if you can imagine one, and Martha, maybe five pounds overweight with fake tits, who I had tried in vain to get alone since I first met her in rehab, standing here, in my house, who thought I had been sober for close to four years.

Moments before the doorbell rang however, I had been in the bathroom downing Lodine and Ultrasec like they were going out of style. I could barely hear the doorbell ring over my music playing, it was the new track "Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News. The person outside was hadling the doorbell with all the speed and dexterity of a morse code typist. I waited a beat, then let the door open. The daylight was not really applying itself; was not what one would call "brilliant", and was definitely not living up to one's expectations. The pills were drowning out any expectations I had had for the evening. I knew the only real way to regain focus would be to cruise the usual back alley haunts for human entertainment, but since that was obviously out, the only choice I had to focus on what was later to come.

I was getting irked: isn't evil suppossed to be early? A suprise, rather than an appointment. We stood there face to face sizing each other up as the drugs rushed through my veins and all I could think about was if this would be over in time for my late night rez at Dorsia. He smirked at me conspiratorially, and it was then that I knew that it would be impossible to return my DVD's (Videodrome and Gozu) AND get to Dorsia on time. I shook my head in confusion; I was not sure where those stories- those monsters I had made up and pressed into pulp- and where my memories had overlapped, but the process had become seemless and irreversible. I groped in the pocket of my sateen Stafford Collection bathrobe for a Klonopin, but my pez dispenser was empty, so I shook what I could of the heebie-jeebies from my head and addressed the hallucination before me with with what smug insouciance I could still muster.

As we sat down for dinner, George kept staring at me from the corner of his eyes, was he the monster I'd been searching for? I wonder if I should get him a drink or hit him until the answers fall out of him, followed by the questions. So I ordered a J&B straight and a Corona while looking over the menu. On the rim of the glass I noticed one of the server's curly, brown beard hairs; but I am far too dependent on alcohol to consider sending it back. As I removed the hair, made inconsequential by my third double bourbon, a vaguely familiar face moved into the amber haze under a stained glass lamp.

"Still throwing the word vaguely around your head like a raquetball, I gather." she snarled, her L'Occtaine-clad lips curled into a cruel rictus. I now knew, not too far off, slightly beyond this last drink, is the calm I desperately need to adjust to this sudden visit from my old friend. Just then my phone buzzed with an incoming text message. It said: c u in 4 minutes. Both shocked and flattered by the note, I made my way to the lavatory to expel the contents of my churning stomach. After I'm done retching, I'm thinking: 4 minutes is such a short space of time, if I had only 4 minutes left to live, what would I wish those 4 minutes to consist of? My mind immediately darts on my wife, and then darts on the cutie barista down at Starbucks. As soon as my head cleared from such inane thoughts, I went to the kitchen to look for the pitcher of Jimmy Buffet Margaritaville margaritas that I couldn't help but thinking that I had made earlier that day.

"You again" she snarled again; "George and I've been persuading one another that we didn't care whether you ever finished vomiting, you must have been in there for four minutes? Hey, I'm talking to you, were do you think you're going?" Her voice was like television static to me, a droning noise of a thousend wasps in my head. I couldn't make out the words she said, her mouth moved like a robotic abyss drawing me into her spell. Enraptured, I watched her hypnotic movements.

Sipping my J&B I reach into my coat jacket and pull out my tickets to Le Miz, it starts in two hours. The reflected figure of a lanky nordic-looking fellow passed by in the mirrored pillar I had been admiring myself in. Spinning on the heal of my opera slipper, I lunged at him with the stiletto end of my Montblanc rattail comb, and we collapsed into a well upholstered heap on the floor. Blood Rorshachs from his body making animal shapes in the tacky shag rug. I release the comb from my grip and feel my pulse steady. In examining my surroundings I see what has been done and I'm horrified and calmed by the gore. I also find it oddly compelling that a slinky was used to help facilitate the carnage. The slinkly grotesquely looked like a large bracelet around the body.

"Damn" I thought, I had forgotten to buy that David Yurman bracelet down at Neimans. Such a fickle thing memory is, especially mine. By the time I gather myself the Le Miz show has already started and I am in no condition to sit through that again, especially not with her, so I duck into a Swatch shop to pick up my nephew's birthday gift, not all memory is unreliable.

I peered over the top of my Ray Ban sunglasses at the vast array of overpriced timespieces, and began to feel my stomach turned with disgust as she reached for a black faced chronograph. She frowns when I mention it might say, "Patek Phillipe" on the outside, but on the inside it's just Japanese tin. I continue to play these childish games with her. She glances toward The Smiths poster, her fingernail pressed against my palm, flashes an unintended smile, sighs again as the wind is drown by the sound of Echo and the Bunnymen bouncing, like shadows, through the hall. She leans in close to whisper in my ear, my head is filled with her Calvin Klein perfume, but all I can think of is what her head would look like on a stick. Her Gucci sunglasses lay next to her, left lens cracked. Illumination of her face ghastly smiles from the shattered pieces?. This world no longer cares and the buzzing of flies sounds like brokers on a busy Wall Street day. Suddenly I hear a loud whoosing noise that causes me to spin around, looking behind me, there is nothing there. The noise is behind me again. I spin, but just as quickly it is gone again, like the cat toying with the mouse.

I suddenly realize that there is glitter all over me and everything around me, like confetti in the opening scenes of the Cliterati. Is that also an open box of Count Chocula? The thought went ripping through my mind like a glass shard. Nervousness became my best friend as cold chills ran through my body. It stood before me twitching and salivating like a meth freak coming off a three day binge. The Stoli in my guts turns to acid as I recognize its stench as one not connected to anything remotely alive. It came at me like a brand new Duccati in your rear view mirror, I knew at this point there were only two choices that I could make. Get a haircut at Sara Mills, or just push my fears aside and go on. I realize, I've lost my Rolex. Have I left it somewhere? Gym? Has it been stolen without me noticing? Too much Neurontin and Gabitiril? It must be Seroquel which I've been taking in quantities, because of nightmares. The Banshees! Oh god the banshees! I pulled at my hair in frustration. So much stress at one moment will do a toll on my facial that I just got yesterday not to mention my hair which I am sure is about to start graying any day now.

editor's note: This is the first part of this story post, the fucking story is like the Energizer Bunny. Anyway I tried to make a link to the story but blogger wouldn't publish the post so I couldn't make the link. I'll finish up this post in sections, probably this weekend. The shit starts to get weirder and weirder, and I keep writing shit that is dumber and dumber.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Bono's 80's mullet, out to get...YOU!

Had a comment today from anonymous that U2 "sucks donkey balls". I realize that U2's omnipresent cultural status (iPod commercial anyone?) and rock-stadium anthems may not be to the liking of the masses. And trust me, please keep leaving comments, like "sucks donkey balls", this isn't what this post is about, talk shit, I love it. I left two "sucks donkey balls" comments on two separate blogs yesterday alone (the first was a post from some douche who liked Coldplay, and the second was about the important role that condoms play in safe sex: Coldplay and condoms can both "suck donkey balls" in my book). So anyway I'm just here to warn you that I'm cool with people slagging on U2, we all have different opinions, but there is an entity of sorts that is totally uncool with comments like that...BONO'S 1980'S MULLET!!!!

Bono's mullet was kicked out of the band shortly after the release of The Joshua Tree album. My sources tell me that Bono's mullet pissed off Brian Eno in the studio and he threatened never to produce another song for U2 again. It stole a bunch of pot from Adam Clayton, it got in a fight with The Edge, and it tried to fuck Larry Mullen Jr.'s wife. So the band had a band meeting with Bono's mullet and kicked it out.

Bono's 80's mullet was super pissed for awhile, so mad that it even acted as a roadie for Echo and the Bunnymen shortly after the falling out. It got in another fight though, with Ian McCulloch this time, after he said that Lips Like Sugar was a million times better than With or Without You. Anyway the mullet was at a crossroads. What should mullet do?

What happened next is as terrifying and an inexplicable as anything I have ever witnessed (or recently made-up). The mullet pledged never-dying allegiance to U2 and vowed to brutally murder anyone who talked shit about the band. To this day the mullet is responsible for over 100,000 deaths world-wide. You think Hamas or Al-Queda is blowing shit up in your neighborhood? No my friend, someone on your block just said they think Larry Mullen's ear ring looks gay. A string of serial-killings unsolved in your neck of the woods? All people who thought Edge should consult someone before new hat purchases.

Anyway, just consider this post a warning or PSA if you will. Next time you're about to say, "Why the fuck did Adam Clayton dye his hair blonde again?" or, God help you, "Although I find Bono's lyrics somewhat inspirational, I really think they are heavy-handed and simple-minded" just remember this warning, Bono's 1980's mullet will kill you if you think How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb was a shitty album.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

A Don Hughes/Johnny Ballon movie pitch (#4)

The Golden (Shower) Girls
DH: The Golden Girls, a classic 80's sitcom about old broads sitting around bitching about knitting and cats.
JB: Fucking monster ratings though, ripe for a re-make, like now.
DH: Yeah, but who wants to see some menopausal chicks sunning in Boca Raton and eating dinner at 4 in the afternoon?
JB: Well some people do.
DH: That's right, I forgot, the old, well, in the previews we sneak some footage in from that movie On Golden Pond, show some clips with Kat Hepburn, fool the shit out of them. An easily fooled, and key market demo for this film.
JB: Yeah, shit if they're going to give all of their money to the televangelists and bingo, we may as well get a piece of that pie too. What the fuck else are they going to spend it on, shuffleboard? Fucking bocce ball? Fuck that, they can spend it on a film about a bunch of chicks who like to get pissed on! Am I right?
DH: Fuck yeah you're right, a bunch of hot-ass horny chicks who are total sluts and who probably already get pissed on anyway! I'm talking casting this shit now. We got two obvious shoe-ins for lead Golden Shower Girls, Tara and Paris. The third can either be Bijou Phillips or Nicole Ritchie.
JB: Yeah and the older Golden Shower Chick is Pam Anderson. I was at this party last year at Tommy Lee's place and he showed us all an extended version of the sex video that he and Pam leaked, and well, he pisses on her in that one.
DH: They were swimming in the water though right?
JB: Yeah, but I believe him, he's a solid guy. You've seen his reality show right, he's IN COLLEGE, he's got A HOT TUTOR!! It's HILARIOUS!!
DH: Fuck yeah, solid thinktank work by the FOX guys there. Anyway back to the golden shower broads. Fucking major hit here. Sure, we've seen most of these chicks get banged (or banged them ourselves) but have we seen them get pissed on afterwards? I don't think so!
JB: Well, Don, Tara Reid is in the movie.
DH: OK, excluding Tara Reid, most of us haven't seen these chicks get pissed on or pissed on them ourselves.
JB: But who wouldn't really like to see Tara Reid get pissed on again?
DH: Great point. We've got some more creative casting too! Original Golden Girl Bea Arthur! According to everyone at the Pam Anderson Comedy Central Roast, she's got a dick! We can have her piss on the Golden Shower Chicks, cinematic history here.
JB: Besides old people, who would want to see this you ask? Have you by any chance had to use the bathroom today? Oh, really you have. You had to take a piss? Oh you've taken a three!!! already!!!
DH: This is what we're talking about here, everyone has to piss, like every fucking day, there isn't a bigger demographic than that! Everyone is included!
JB: Even if you're one of the few people who haven't pissed on Tara, you've still taken a piss, so you can relate too!
DH: Exactly, I can see it now!! I think I'll buy a golden toilet with the points I score off this hit!
JB: Were you just reading my mind? Fucking psychic shit going on here.
editor's note: Don and Johnny would like to apologize to any member of Tara Reid's immediate family. Not for their insensitive comments in this post, but for the fact that they (the family, not Don and Johnny for heaven's sake) are related to her in the first place.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Recently unemployed


The doorbell rings and JONATHAN answers it to find SVETLANA wearing a black sequined black cocktail dress. He is wearing an expensive Armani suit. He shakes his head in disgust when he sees SVETLANA.

What are you wearing?
I'm wearing my black dress.
Don't you have something more, I don't know? Classy?
I thought this would be OK.
It's got fucking sequins on it!
Svettelana pushes him aside and walks in the apartment. She lights up a cigarette and sits down on the sofa.
What the fuck are you doing?
I'm smoking.
Well get up! If we don't leave now we're going to be late.
Svettelana gets up and her and Jonathan walk out of the door.
JONATHAN and SVETLANA are sitting in the back of a cab. The plastic divider is closed so the cab driver cannot hear them.
I'm not very happy with that dress.
I heard you before.
I mean it's fine if were looking to give someone a blowjob on the street, but I'm meeting clients.
You're overreacting, and you're an asshole.
Those are sequins, am I right?
I don't know.
Well, I know, and they are fucking sequins.
So what if they are! Huh?
I just hope the people at the bar don't think you're working a double or something, because I'm sure my clients will. What I'm trying to say is...I hope everyone in the place doesn't think you work there.
You left instructions, I followed them. The dress is black? No?
I said black and classy, not black and escort service.
You get what you pay for.
Obviously so. Next time I'll be more specific.
So what, what are these clients of yours?
Rich dirt balls. Important though, and rich. Did I say rich?
They aren't going to be pinching my ass?
How could they not? That dress absolutely screams pinch my ass. It'd probably be awkward if they didn't.
If they pinch my ass that's extra for the tip, and don't get any bright ideas of me sleeping with these clients of yours, you don't have enough money for that to happen.
Ummm...actually you're wrong. I do have ample funds, but don't worry about any of that. Just an exotic piece of eye-candy tonight. For them at least.
You're so fucking smug all the time, with your suits and your Rolex.
I work hard for this stuff, now could we maybe cut the chitchat? I don't know if I've ever told you this but your voice really starts to get on my nerves after extended periods of use.
Such a big shot.
Something like that. What happened to quiet time?
Let me ask you this then big-shot. Why do you have to pay for sex?
Listen up sweetheart, I don't have to pay for shit. I just prefer to.
Why do you always ask for me then? Huh, big-shot? There are plenty of girls at the service, why always pick me?
You're an animal in bed.
This is true, but that's not why you pick me.
Of course it's why I pick you, why the fuck else would I pick you?
How about if I said no next time? If I refused to come with you?
You can't refuse to that, they'll send you anyway.
Maybe I quit, and you can never see me again?
Oh yeah, like you'd do that. I'm sure you've got a sparkling resume, maybe I could pass it along to some friends of mine. You make too much money to quit.
Oh yeah!
Svettelana beats on the plastic divider, the cab driver slides it open.
Pull over here, now!
The cab pulls over to the side of the street.
You can't leave me! I've already paid tonight!
Jonathan reaches out to grab Svettelana to try to keep her in the cab. She grabs his tie with both hands and slams his head into the plastic cab divider. He lets go of her as blood starts to gush from his nose.
You fucking broke my nose!
(to cab driver)
Let big-shot here pick up the fare.
(to Jonathan)
Tell the clients I'm sorry, but something came up!
Svettelana slams the door and walks down the street.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Warning: Never ending shrimp

Currently Red Lobster is running their Never-Ending Shrimp fest. I like shrimp, this sounds enticing. I mean you can get popcorn shrimp, coconut shrimp, shrimp scampi, butterfly shrimp, fried shrimp, peel and eat shrimp, shrimp kabobs, shrimp on a stick (similar to the kabobs, but on a stick not a skewer), shrimp gumbo, shrimp jambolaya, steamed shrimp, sauteed shrimp, shrimp sashimi, shrimp rolls, re-fried shrimp, extra crispy re-fried shrimp, etc.

You get the picture, and I know what you're saying to yourself, "Holy shit, thanks cgpop, I'm going to run my ass over to Red Lobster tonight and get the never-ending shrimp deal!!" HOLD UP!!! STOP THERE!!! Do not, I repeat Do not go to the never-ending shrimp fest!!! If it was all you can eat shrimp, I'd say go ahead, I may even join you, but never-ending shrimp implies something much more sinister.

Never-ending shrimp means that those sadistic Red Lobster bastards will keep bringing you shrimp long after you've had your fill. To full to eat? Too bad, they'll strap your ass down and force feed you extra crispy re-fried shrimp until you can't see straight. They have cocktail sauce gun shooters too.

Basically what I'm saying is that for $14.99 of your hard-earned cash Red Lobster will basically feed you shrimp until you explode and die. And I don't want you to die at never-ending shrimp fest, because that would make the place smell really bad when I go to Lobsterfest.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

"Asses of Fire" the movie review (of sorts)

Most of us have probably seen the film South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut, but I'm sure no one out there has had a chance to view the film Asses of Fire, the Terrence and Phillip vehicle that started the U.S. and Canadian war in the film. Recently I was lucky enough to view Asses of Fire and I'm going to give my thoughts on the film. I was able to see a version with commentary from Terrence and Phillip, so I'll also be giving you guys some of their comments on the film.

Just like in the SP movie the opening scene of Asses of Fire starts out with the immortal line, "What did the Spanish priest say to the Arabian gynecologist?" Of course, the answer is a loud fart in the face. This is quickly followed up by the immortal improvisational jam epic "Uncle Fucker", the extended fart soloing can only be matched by Charlie Parker's classic be-bop jazz stylings. So most of us have probably seen this part of the film but I'll give you a take on how Terrence and Phillip feel about this masterwork of a song...

Terrence: Yeah buddy, it wasn't supposed to be so improvisational. But I really had to take a shit.
Phillip: You had a hamster rammed up your ass. That's why you had to shit so bad.
Terrence: Fuck you buddy.

Words of wisdom from two of our greatest TV and film icons. Anyway, most of you probably haven't seen too much more of the film so I'll give you a brief synopsis. The film really takes off into a mix of Soviet Montage, 1940's Film Noir, Italian Neorealism, French New Wave, and 1970's pornography that is literally groundbreaking and utterly repulsive at the same time. Says the director...

Terrence: Yeah guy, I was really interested in the editing techniques applied by Eisenstein, did you fart buddy? Because it smells like those Budweiser Clydsdales crawled up your ass and died.
Phillip: Fuck off, you cockeating shitmaster.

The basic plot is very hard to follow but it revolves around many key elements like unicorn breeding, cannibalistic zombies, the devastating effects of global warming, people eating feces, a nasty uncle raping scene, multiple scenes of torture and execution involving prominent Canadian TV personalities who aren't Terrence and Phillip (committed by Terrence and Phillip), the problem with the widening gap of wealth distribution between first and third world countries, sitting around on couches, a Will Ferrel cameo and of course, farting...

Phillip: A lot of people have given us heat for the Ferrel cameo, they said it was too obvious, I still thought it was funny... fuck you buddy!
Terrence: AHAHAHAHA, I farted, I farted on his face, some shit spat out and got on his face.
Phillip: Fuck off cockmaster, take this.
Terrence: Oh my god, that smells so bad (puking noise)
Phillip: AHAHAHAHAHA my fart smelled so bad Terrence started to throw up (puking noise)
Terrence: AHAHAAHHAAAA Phillip's puking from his own fart.

Words of wisdom to live by. So overall I give this film 31/2 out of 5 stars. While it was funny the whole way through, I was just too grossed out by the whole thing, but I recommend that you see it if you ever get a chance.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Doves "Snowden" video/Coldplay "Speed of Sound" video

In my last post I dissed Coldplay, and I got a ton of hate mail today (lie). Anyway, I totally stand by my correct opinion that Doves are a far superior band than Coldplay, but I've been wrong before. Here's Coldplay's "Speed of Sound" video and Doves "Snowden" video. Listen to both and see who you like better. Of course these are the videos and I'm asking about the music, but I do hope that it is evident that the song is played in the video.

editor's note: I had a long weekend of drinking in Cancun, last weekend, and another one ahead of me this weekend. Point being, alcohol has zapped my creativity so yet another music video post. Those Coldplay dudes look hard, don't you think?

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Doves "Sky Starts Falling" video

Check out this cool video from tragically under-rated band Doves. In my opinion these "blokes" put Coldplay to shame, unfortunately none of them are vegetarians who are married to Gweneth Paltrow.

Over/Under: Broken Social Scene/Fiona Apple

This was called over/under, but now it's called "guess the pitchfork review". I still put over/under as the post name not to confuse you guys as to the game we're playing here. Not that many of you would get too thrown off considering only about three people participated last time, but that's neither here nor there. Also the people who didn't play probably are confused after reading the previous three sentences, so I just blew the whole not trying to confuse anybody thing anyway, fuck it, here's how we play. I set a number that I think the pitchfork review will be for a record that is going to come out in the near future. Originally you were supposed to guess over or under the number like in a line on a football game. I changed it to just trying to guess the correct number of the pitchfork review. If you guess it correctly, I owe you drink of your choosing (That is if you know me and are in the local ATL area, you then get the drink bought for you by me, if I don't know you and you guess it correctly I suppose I could try and mail you the drink? I don't think it would work out all to well though, so if this happens you can tell your friends that you're a psychic or something). Onto the game, two opportunities this time.

Broken Social Scene (self-titled) release date: October 4th;
The hell you say!!! A fucking 9.3!!! Well here's a link to the pitchfork review (9.2) for their last album You Forgot It In People. And boy did Pitchfork really stroke them off in this review (for good reason, the album is amazing). This won't be their backlash record either, these dudes are too talented and it's not their time to crash and burn. Pitchfork loves them, but you go ahead and make the call, it could earn you a fuzzy naval or a whiskey sour.

Fiona Apple (Extraordinary Machine) release date: October 4th;
He's going seemingly high again, you say? Let's check Fiona's stats here, a very talented and unique musical persona, who also happens to be a freaky-ass recluse of sorts. Also is was rumored that her record label shelved this release b/c it was too uncommercial. Here's the link to the pitchfork review (8.0) for her last album When the Pawn... She's too much of a talented weirdo with a large gap between outings to get a really low score. Also, does anyone thing that she looks like Angelina Jolie with a crack habit and eating disorder? Anyway, guess it correctly and maybe get yourself a frozen Strawberry Margarita with an umbrella in it.

editor's note: Anyone who guesses the correct score and orders either a fuzzy naval, whiskey sour, or frozen Strawberry Margarita will instead receive a double shot of Wild Turkey.

Monday, September 05, 2005

Daft Punk "Technologic" video

Click here to watch Daft Punk's Technologic video. These dudes just keep getting fucking weirder by the second. I hope all that Matrix shit is wrong.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Gorillaz "Dare" video

Click here to see the "Dare" video from the Gorillaz. Yeah, that's really ex-Happy Monday Shaun William Ryder, he's amazingly not dead.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

The "WAR ON DRUGS", a personal reflection

Oh geez, where to start. How about, "This is your brain, this is your brain on drugs". Cue pissed off lady breaking an egg on a frying pan and cooking the everliving shit out of it. "Any questions?" Well yes miss, I have a couple for you. First off you must realize that this is the 1980's and I'm about eight years old and of course watching Television unsupervised. See, the thing is, we haven't quite studied metaphor in the second grade yet, so when my mom tries to to serve my breakfast of bacon and eggs I run screaming from the room and lock myself in the upstairs closet. I'm really hoping that this obvious devil-woman, mom, doesn't try to force-feed me any drugs, eggs, see. I feel I may be already addicted is the problem, I just love omelets and quiche. I hate my parents, they've turned me into an eight year old junkie.

Fast forward to third grade. After much expensive therapy, I'm not longer convinced that eggs are drugs. We have a "Just Say to Drugs" rally at our school. It's some sort of ultra-expensive government program to deter kids from using drugs, headed by none other than cool incarnate, Nancy Reagan? Nancy Reagan, isn't she like a 110 years old? lagjfjwaof;jfoi;jFJLFIFJA (excuse me, a slight coughing fit there, where was I) Not exactly Corey Haim or Jon Bon Jovi in my book, I wonder if those guys do drugs. Anyway I guess I'm missing class and all. What the fuck is this? Is this a headband? I know my teacher is telling us all to put these on, but forget that, it looks gay. Plus, I know I'm only in third grade but what thinktank came up with the slogan "Just Say No"? I could have thought of that in about two seconds. Plus I'm supposed to just say no to about everything in my life, like strangers, and too much candy, bad manners at the dinner table. It might be fun to say yes to something. I wonder how much this all actually cost?

Ten or so years later. Wow, I've really got to take a piss. Man, I may miss the start of the second half if I go now. Fuck it, I've really got to go. Good, no line. Let me unzip, there we go, whew, feeling better. Good game, may as well glance down at the old buddy check out how he's looking. What the fuck is that? What the fuck does that say? Does it say, SAY NO TO DRUGS, on the pissing mat? It fucking can't say that. Let me finish up and get a better look. HOLY SHIT! It does says, SAY NO TO DRUGS, on the fucking urinal mat. And I just pissed on it. And everybody who had and has to piss (still unbelievably today) in a urinal pisses on an a mat that has an anti-drug message on it. I always like to ponder this important message of saying no to drugs before unleashing a two minute piss all over it. This is an even worse idea than those stupid headbands from third grade that eventually made me want to take drugs so bad.

Eight years later, chilling in my living room watching some TV. What commercial is this? Is that a car at a fast-food drive-thru window? Wow the sidewalk in this commercial is directly in front of the drive-thru, the cars leaving this drive-thru pretty much have to drive over the sidewalk to go anywhere, never, in my life, have I seen a drive-thru like that before. Is that smoke coming from the car? Are the kids in the car supposed to be smoking pot? Yeah I think they are. Oh man they took off pretty quick, wait there's a five year old riding a bicycle down the sidewalk that's directly in front of the drive-thru. The kid's five years old and riding down a busy street past the most dangerous drive-thru exit in the history of mankind? This must be the worst case of parenting I've ever seen in my life. Someone should call social services on those parents. Oh wait the the five year old on the bike got hit by the kids smoking pot in the car. The government is now informing me this will and does happen to people who smoke pot? Hmm, insulting people's intelligence will probably make them stop smoking pot, or doing any drug for that matter, yeah, works like a charm. I bet people all around the country who see this ad are flushing their 8 balls down the toilet. I wonder, how much this ad campaign cost? Fuck, I'm kinda hungry.


September is here, so time to change the tagline. I went with one of my favorite jokes from comedy genius Mitch Hedberg (RIP). Unfortunately he died last March, but at least we'll always still have his classic hour standup routine Mitch All Together to remember him by. If you've never heard this before I implore you to purchase it immediately. A bunch of shit on the schedule this month like football, gambling, music shit, funny shit, pop culture shit, etc.shit. And also, if you ever got an ant farm and were pissed because they didn't grow shit, well, Mitch is right there with you.

Don't want to have to do this again

New Orleans got hit with a standing 8 count. It's much worse than originally expected, caused by the breaking of the levee. If you want to help go to the American Red Cross.