you too can help

Someone please come get me. Please, I’m beggin you, just come take me away from all this. I just spent the last hour arguing numbers with a former rocket scientist, and all I wanna do now is squat on my hunches with my thumb in my mouth and wet myself. I don’t want to know how the numbers are achieved; all I care is that they work. I’m not on a quest for higher knowledge, I’m just happy when the books balance. I enjoy numbers as long as they’re nice and neat and know their roles. I don’t really care to know what spatial event caused the numbers in the beginning; I just care about the end result they tell me. I don’t care to be at point Z and have someone ask me to backtrack to point D and then tell em what the events were at that point to make the number’s what they are. At that point all you get from me is a numb look, which quickly turns into rabid desperation. My body tenses up and my shoulders hunch over as I start darting my eyes around the room looking for an escape. I snap out an answer that only brings forth another question. My beetled brow is now shiny with the sweat of fear and I can feel my bladder begin to loosen. I try another answer as I scramble for time, and then I excuse myself to run to my cubicle. But he follows me and with pencil in mouth he shuffles some papers in the folder he’s holding. “Greg, so if we take the ending figure for the past two physical years and divide it by the number of months we used this unit, then sub-divide it by the annual cost…do you come up with this figure? Hmmmm”? Now I’m openly sobbing as I stab at the calculator which is blurred because of the tears in my eye’s “Is this the figure”. I ask, as I hold up my calculator in my trembling hand as a slave would his master’s dish. He rips the calculator from my hands and stares intently at it for a couple of seconds. “Yes, yes it is”.

I'll do anything for a dollar

I spent the day home sick, I woke up this morning feelin like something the cat coughed up. So I called in my option and stayed home and didn’t do shit. But tomorrow’s a different story, I gots to be on top of my game and all that good shit. It’s a good chance I’ll be facing one of the most difficult days of my career. So after a good night’s sleep I’ll wake up at o’dark thirty and begin my preparations for the day ahead. Rub one out, evacuate my bowls, shave my head, and take a nice long shower, then off to be a minion of the Man. Cause this is the day that most refer to as All Hollowed Eve, and it’s also the same day that all the Fememites mark down as our annual Halloween party. Tomorrow is the day that my co-worker’s dress up in the costume of their choice and all the departments face off in a war to raise funds for the social committee. There’ll be bad food, cheesy things for sale, and in the middle of all this will be yours truly. Sitting in the middle of our plush conference room whilst my co-worker’s line up to pay a dollar for the opportunity to take a muthafuckin pie and smash it into my fuckin face! What the fuck is my goddamn malfunction? I normally refuse to take part in this sort of nonsense but in a moment of weakness and because only one chick had signed up, I broke down and decided to be a man about shit and do what needed to be done. So, there it is, what do you muthafucker’s think? Would you pay a dollar to hit me in the face with a pie without fear of retribution? Hell yes, you muthafucker’s would line up around the fuckin block. Fuck I’d pay a dollar to hit my own self in the face with a pie. At last the Man can’t say I’m not a team player.

Hi Mito!!

I'm only doing this cause it bugs the hell out'a her.

burning down the house

I don’t fuckin get it, I can cook shit at home that’ll make a dog cough up, but let me eat anything out’a the stinkin cafeteria in this fuckin building and I’m wearin a path in the carpet running back and forth to the fuckin bathroom. Then when my crownin ass gets to the bathroom I gots to waste time inspecting the stalls cause my co-worker’s take this insane delight in pissing on the fuckin floor. And muthafucker’s ain’t seen anger until a cat’s dropped his fuckin pants onto a puddle of someone else’s piss. And then on top of all that I’m forced to listen whilst other muthafucker’s take a fuckin shit. And goddammit that’s just wrong. I’m a quiet crapper; I enjoy the peace and quiet of one’s own bowl movement when I’m in the comfort of my own home. But not these rude muthafucker’s I work with. They come stomping in and slam the lid down and as soon as they plop their asses down they start grunting like they’re climbing fuckin Pikes Peak and shit. Some of em even make like a car engine, all revving up like it’s gonna make a difference. Then you hear this noise like paper ripping and then it’s the sound of shit bricks hitting the water. It sounds like the stinkin Japanese bombing goddamn Pearl Harbor and shit. And you gots to know that some of these cats are older then a muthafucker and that their ballsacs gots to hanging in the fuckin water. Wrong wrong wrong wrong! That’s all I’m sayin.

black black black black black black black!

Craziest shit I’ve heard all day.

“I skimmed a few of this guy's articles he's written. I almost don't think he's black. He uses way too much irony and satire and his sentences. Black people really don't do that. It's not that they're mentally incapable of this sort of thing, it's just that satire and irony and are a part of the white speech pattern. It's just alien to blacks. They have no reason for it. I just don't detect an ounce of black in this guy. I think he's lying”.

I found this on a site whilst checking my site stats this morning and backtracking URL’s. What the fuck is it with some people? This muthafucker even implied that I didn’t have the speech patterns of a black man? What? Because I don’t go “you know”, “you know”, fifteen fuckin times in one sentence? Or I don’t overuse the word “bitch” when it comes to talkin about the womenfolk? Fuck, when I looked in the mirror this morning I saw a black man staring back at me. Not a very attractive one, but one never the less. Been a proud card carrying member of the Black race since nineteen fuckin fifty-eight. Jesus, some people and their fuckin kids!

Rosario Dawson makes me wet

broke assed music moguls

I’m at the supermarket this morning and inside the cops had this cat all handcuffed and shit. Looked like his ass got busted shoplifting, which brings me to this question. Why shoplift in a fuckin grocery store? What, you’re gonna stick that honey baked ham down the front of your pants? Anyway, I couldn’t stop staring at this joker cause when he turned around it looked like Suge Knight, CEO of Death Row Records, same build, face, hair, the fuckin works. Hell, I didn’t even know Suge was in Kansas City, and why he’d be shoplifting is beyond me. But whoever he was they led his broke ass outside and shoved him into the back of the paddy wagon. Poor Suge, I would’a lent him a few bucks. Fuckin music moguls are all over the fuckin place, it must be the bad economy. The other day at the Hurricane the bar phone rang and it was some cat from Bad Boy Records wanting to book one of their acts. Hell, we got all excited and shit and started screaming for Puffy. “Puffy! Puffy come to the phone! Puffy, No, sorry! P-Diddie! P-Diddie!! We love your ass muthafucker, give me a fucking dollar! Send us nekked pictures of J-LO! Fuck, he could’a been in the room, you just never know.

Ha! Did you read the part about black people.....Wait, I'm black!

I thought I’d stick up a few things about my job here at FEMA/DHS you might not be aware of, and apparently I wasn’t aware of either. Goddammit, you’d think that after 13 years I’d at least get the secret handshake and the cool decoder ring. You’ll see below that Mount Weather is mentioned; I’ve been there more then a few times for training. The airs clean, the foods not bad, but as far as the other shit, who knows.

There are over 600 prison camps in the United States, all fully operational and ready to receive prisoners. They are all staffed and even surrounded by full-time guards, but they are all empty. These camps are to be operated by FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) should Martial Law need to be implemented in the United States. The camps all have railroad facilities as well as roads leading to and from the detention facilities. Many also have an airport nearby. The majority of the camps can house a population of 20,000 prisoners. Currently, the largest of these facilities is just outside of Fairbanks, Alaska. The Alaskan facility is a massive mental health facility and can hold approximately 2 million people.

Just 46 miles from Washington DC, a mysterious and secretive underground military base exists, located deep inside a mountain near the rural town of Bluemont, Virginia. Here lies Mount Weather, also known as the Western Virginia Office of Controlled Conflict Operations. Mount Weather is a virtually self-contained facility. Aboveground, scattered across manicured lawns, are about a dozen buildings bristling with antennas and microwave relay systems. An on-site sewage-treatment plant, with a 90,000 gallon-a-day capacity, and two tanks holding 250,000 gallons of water could last some 200 people more than a month; underground ponds hold additional water supplies. Not far from the installation's entry gate are a control tower and a helicopter pad. The mountain's real secrets are not visible at ground level. The mountain's "real secrets" are protected by warning signs, 10 foot-high chain link fences, razor wire, and armed guards. Curious motorists and hikers on the Appalachian trail are relieved of their sketching pads and cameras and sent on their way. Security is tight.

Some people have referred to it as the "secret government" of the United States. It is not an elected body, it does not involve itself in public disclosures, and it even has a quasi-secret budget in the billions of dollars. This government organization has more power than the President of the United States or the Congress, it has the power to suspend laws, move entire populations, arrest and detain citizens without a warrant and hold them without trial, it can seize property, food supplies, transportation systems, and can suspend the Constitution. Not only is it the most powerful entity in the United States, but it was not even created under Constitutional law by the Congress. It was a product of a Presidential Executive Order. Though it may be the most powerful organization in the United States, few people know it even exists. But it has crept into our private lives. Even mortgage papers contain FEMA's name in small print if the property in question is near a flood plain. FEMA was deeply involved in the Los Angeles riots and the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area. Some of the black helicopter traffic reported throughout the United States, but mainly in the West, California, Washington, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and Colorado, are flown by FEMA personnel. FEMA has been given responsibility for many new disasters including urban forest fires, home heating emergencies, refugee situations, urban riots, and emergency planning for nuclear and toxic incidents. In the West, it works in conjunction with the Sixth Army.

The first targets in any FEMA emergency would be Hispanics and Blacks, the FEMA orders call for them to be rounded up and detained. Tax protesters, demonstrators against government military intervention outside U.S. borders, and people who maintain weapons in their homes are also targets. Operation Trojan Horse is a program designed to learn the identity of potential opponents to martial law. The program lures potential protesters into public forums, conducted by a "hero" of the people who advocates survival training. The list of names gathered at such meetings and rallies are computerized and then targeted in case of an emergency.

power tool abuse???

I was outside having a couple of smokes for lunch and I got mentally involved in these cats doing some jackhammer work around the building. I might be wrong but it seemed very relaxing, yes, no? But oddly it kept bringing to mind this San Francisco lesbian porno I watched one day. I guess the reason why was that I’m sure as a muthafucker if you got the right chick with a jackhammer it’d make for some fine entertainment. In this porno I saw there were chicks using air chisels with dildos stuck on the ends of em, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives. You had half a dozen oiled up nekked women in the middle of the room and off in the corner was this bigassed air compressor hooked up to all these pneumatic tools. Air chisels, impact wrenches, all kinds of shit. There’d be some chick strapped to a huge cross frame and after covering her in lube oil the other chicks would plug in one of the tools and have a go at the chick’s cooze for a while. And during all the time the chick’s getting ramjammed up the cooze by an impact wrench set on warp speed she’s screaming, “YEAH! YEAH! HIT THAT MUTHAFUCKER! YEAH!! OH MY GOD, BEAT THAT PUSSY!!! BEAT THAT PUSSY! THAT’S MOMMY’S PUSSY! YEAH! YEAH”! And I’m here to tell you, seein a woman enjoy herself so much was kind’a touching. The look on the faces of the other chick’s in the movie were almost frightening though, after the strapped up chick was done they turned on each other. It was like some fucked up carnage and shit. They’re all crouched down staring at each other to see who’d blink first and suddenly one of em would bum rush one of the other’s and forearm her ass down and next thing you knew, that chick had a Dirt Devil or some such shit getting shoved up her ass. It was like goddamn, I’m glad I’m not a lesbian living in San Francisco getting all frisky with the Snap-On tools and shit. But then again, a cat can’t buy that kind of fun.

40 acres and a mule

It’s Friday again so that means its time to sweat the small stuff. And away we go. As a “black” man, I’m always interested in shit that deals with other “black” folk. On this site I’ve never made it a secret that as a people, “black” people that is, I’ve always felt that we need to come to the fact that no one owes us nothing. The only way we can go forward as a people is as a people on our own. No handout’s, no woe is me shit, no I’ve been held back for 400 years and it’s the Man’s fault for all my problems. Call me an Uncle Tom; sell out, what the fuck ever, I don’t give a rat’s fat ass. Which brings me to this, over in Richmond, Virginia; a Robert Foster was sentenced to thirteen years in jail for defrauding the IRS. He did his daughter’s taxes and claimed $500,000 for slavery compensation. He achieved this lofty sum by figuring what the modern day equivalent of 40 acres and a mule would be. This was the deal that Congress wanted to give all former slaves after the Civil War, until President Andrew Johnson told Congress to go stick in up their asses. This also was the same president that was impeached by Congress later for being a fuckup, go figure. On his daughter’s tax forms Bob claimed she had overpaid taxes on long-term capital gains and listed “Black Capital Investments” as the source of the gains. His daughter received a fatass refund check and brought herself a brand new Benz among other things. So the IRS nabbed her ass too, claiming she was a willing partner and knew what was up. Now I’m all down with our government payin for it’s past sins and fuckup. Be it slavery, locking up certain ethnic nationals during time of war, Bush, whatever. But dumbassing your way thru shit ain’t the way to get things done. All that’ll get you is down time in somebody’s federal prison or worse.

this is a test

local shit

Last night I went to the DanderCroft magazine benefit that was held at the Hurricane. Muthafucker’s might remember that DanderCroft is a local magazine featuring local music being put out by this local cat who himself plays in local bands. Seemed like a decent turnout, mostly local musicians who turned out for a good local cause and to hear three local bands. Whilst there I had a few people come up and say hi and to tell me that they were reader’s of the site, which was very nice.
I see that Fred Barry of What’s Happening fame has died at the age of fifty-two, which is too bad even though Fred suffered from the old fat rocker syndrome. He did his thing in the seventy’s and was somewhat successful at it, bit in later years he wouldn’t or couldn’t let the ReRun persona go. Whenever he appeared in public he had to sport his trademark red beret and suspender’s. Even into his forty’s and fifty’s he refused to let it go, and at the time of his death he was pimping himself out by lending himself to a cheesy call you up service. “Hi, this be ReRun from What’s Happening! I’m callin to wish you a happy birthday and whilst I sing you the birthday song I’ll be lock stepping and jumpin up and down and shit”! Sad sad shit. And in what must’a been an acid induced decision another seventy’s icon Jimmy JJ Walker is writing for the Jewish World Review? Well at least he’s not still running around wearing that stupid Kango hat and screamin dino-mite!

I need a new drug

Let’s see, what’s tweaking my head as of late, hmmmm. Anyone seen the DC Sniper movie playin on the TV as of late? Fuckin studios, they broke some ass getting this muthafucker out. I know, you know, we all know the muthafucker’s are guiltier then shit but what ever happened to due process and all that legal shit? Damn, I hope when I decide to start offing whity, the muthafucker’s at least wait till jury selection before they air it as movie of the fuckin week. And what’s up with fuckin Ron Jeremy hosting the new edition of the WB’s “Surreal Life” with Tammy Faye, of Tammy Faye Baker fame? If I were a betting man I’d put money on ole Ron that he tags that ass before the seasons over. It’s not like he’s above that kind of shit you know. I’ve seen a lot of his movies and he’s ram jammed more then his or anybody’s share of skuzzy cooze. I’m just sayin is all. And on the other side of the spectrum Liza Minnelli is getting sued by her soon to be ex gay husband David Gest, cause according to him she was all about kickin his ass on a regular basis. What a pussie, muthafucker wants ten million muthafuckin dollars. Shit, I’d let Tyson punch me out for half that.

Cell Phone correction

Mito has informed me that her cell phone weighs in at a mere 3 oz, not the 3.5 as I had stated earlier. Jesus, give em the right to vote and jobs and they get all uppity and shit.

Help me, please

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea"?
"SpongeBob SquarePants"!
"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea"?
"SpongeBob SquarePants"!
"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea"?
"SpongeBob SquarePants"!
"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea"?
"SpongeBob SquarePants"!
These muthafuckin lyrics have been in my fuckin head for two fuckin goddamn day's. Someone please put me to sleep. I'm not askin, I'm fuckin beggin!

another great ice-breaker to try at your next party!

Talk the chick with the big rack into takin her shirt and bra off, then turn off the lights in the room and shine a flashlight under one of her breasts. If she has a natural setup nothin will happen, but if she's had the job done or if your asses want to get all PC and shit, enhanced, her titty will light up like a Colemen lantern.

I'll do anything to score free swag

This morning the local rock station was doing stories from listener’s who have died and come back to life. So since I knew the dj, Johnny Dare, I decided to call in my own story. I ended up winning some free tickets to their annual Freaker’s Ball rock show featuring Marilyn Manson. I know I’ve told it on the site somewhere, but it still makes for a good read.
Back in 1996 the Old LoneStar in Westport had a double bill featuring Fishbone and BioHazard. The fuckin place was packed stupid with people and Fishbone kicked off the show. In anticipation of shit to come we had scored a top-flight stage barricade from one of the big auditorium’s downtown, cause we knew that the mosh pit was gonna be in full effect and we really wanted to keep muthafucker’s off the main stage area. Fishbone did their thing then after a set change BioHazard lit it up. Now the way the barricade worked was that part of it extended onto the club floor whilst the working end of it was braced with a sawhorse type of arrangement against the stage. It was designed so that the more people pushed up against it, the stronger it became. And between the barricade and the stage stood me and three other guys. So like I said BioHazard lit shit up and had muthafucker’s moshing and screaming and all that good rock shit when suddenly they announced to the entire crowd to come join em up on stage. We found out later that fuckin BioHazard had it in their Rider that audience members were to be allowed on stage at the band’s discretion. And to farther fuck shit up some of the band ran to the edge of the stage and started kickin the fuckin barricade over from their side of it. The fuckin barricade fell over and six hundred sweaty stinkin screaming muthafucker’s started bum rushin the goddamn stage. It was like fuckin Custer getting mowed down at Little Bighorn, I actually tried to move em back and was doing a damn good job of it when I felt something pop inside me, it was almost audible. I gave it no more thought until a few minutes later when my legs refused to hold my fat ass up anymore. By this time the show was over and I made to my truck and got myself home. As soon as I got home the heart attack hit, it probably happened earlier but I wasn’t aware of it. Now here comes the good part. I’m laying in the ER all tubed up and shit with my mother and sister at my side. I’m freakin out and shit telling my sister who to call at work and freakin out cause I was scared shitless. My mother was trying to get me to shut the fuck up and lie still, but I was agitated like a muthafucker. All the medic’s had moved down to the other end of the ER and it was just us three when suddenly this huge wave of peacefulness hit me like a warm soft blanket. All the pain was gone, the freakin out, everything. And this thought came to me; “it’s ok, it’s really ok. If the Man wants me to die I’m cool with that”. I looked at my mother and sister and felt really ok about what might happen. Now I’m not sure how much time had passed but suddenly doctor’s and nurses and shit came running up to where my bed was. “What just happened? Are you ok? What just happened”!? I guess what happened was that my life vitals had gone flatline. You know, instead of beep, beep, beep, and beep.
It was beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep like a muthafucker! Now you tell me what you think happened? Cause besides the feeling of peacefulness and the ready to go shit, I never noticed a thing. But according to the doctor’s? Shit happened, and my ass had stepped out for that long smoke.

road trip (a short one)

Last night I walked in and had just taken a sip of my delicious Hurricane coffee (three sugar’s and shot of half & half) when Steve Tulipana appeared at the bar askin me if I was going with him to Warrensburg, Mo. I had spaced off the fact that the Pornhusker’s were doing a show there tonight and Steve had asked me if I wanted to tag along. It was such a hard decision, fresh hot coffee, or Pornhusker’s and semi nudity. I said ok and off we went. Me, Handsome Rob, Billy the drummer and Steve plus the guitar player piled into a Navigator filled with band gear. Yeah, we rolled out of town in a big pimpin Lincoln Navigator, who says punk bands don’t know how to ride. We got to Warrensburg and found the club, a place called the Set-List sittin downtown on the main bar drag, just a few blocks from the CMSU campus. The place was kind’a small, had an upstairs balcony along with an outside deck. We found out when we got there that the place sold only beer cause it was an eighteen and over bar. So after we loaded in all the equipment we headed across the street in search of a real drink. We walked into this bar catty-corner from the Set-List and they set us up with drinks and shots. Rob remarked to me how everyone we saw looked alike, which made me remark that if I lived in a place like this I’d either kill myself or would end up being a god amongst men. I’ve never been college material. We got back to the club in time to see Sunday Revolution start their set, nice sound with some great drumming and a killer singer slash guitar player. The bass player kept losing his strap until Steve slapped some duct tape on it then he was good to go. Next up was Vibroluix, (hope I spelled that right) they rocked harder then shit as always, with their pretty glamed out asses. Go figure that the band featuring men wearin the stockings and mini skirts seemed to pull all the women in the club. I scored myself one of their CD’s but I lost it on the way back in the huge confines of the Navigator. The Pornhuskers closed out the night and I thought they sounded great but Steve seemed disappointed in the way they played. Maybe it was the fact that the crowd was so small. But we left town to make the drive back at around two thirty in the morning. All in all it was a cool way to spend a Saturday night. I for one had a great time hanging with the band and all that, got to see some nekked titties, and hear some loud rock.

vibeoliciously good time

Happy hour at the Hurricane was very cool yesterday. Let’s see, Mito was working the bar, Matty was dealing with a serious issue of sleep depravation. My gal pal Angela showed up as did Sara and Sonya plus Chad and Michelle and Cory, also Quincy and Brian. All the girls with the exception of Michelle were sipping Martini’s, Michelle was knocking back a Slippery Nipple whilst the guys were either doing beer or hard whiskey. It was one of those periods in time I love, no one there but a few good friends and before the bands or the crowds. All of us sitting there enjoying each other’s company and getting pleasantly buzzed. Angela and I decided during the course of things that we were soul mates cause we’ve been in love with each other since we first met years ago. You know, not a knock that ass kind of love but a past life kind of thing. Cause you know that all of us have lived past lives in some capacity. But I did feel the urge to announce to her that in a past life I’ve had her, again and again and again and again and again. Then I told Mito I’ve had her in a past life, and Sara and Michelle. I don’t know what I was in a past life but I must’a been a busy muthafucker. Angela suggested maybe we were all rabbits. Than all conversation came to a halt cause Chad sittin a few stools away had just announced that I’d had a go at him in a past life…………………………”Chad, that’s just gay”. He went on to say that he was a woman in a past life,……………………………”Chad, that’s still gay”. But I did make it clear to everyone that I’ve never had Sonya in a past life, mainly because I didn’t want Sonya stickin her little foot into my nutsac. Certain things you don’t fuck with Sonya about, bless her heart.

What a fuckin ice breaker at parties!

the infamous can crush!

Question number one

So if a chick walks up to me on the street and starts hitting me up for money, and I notice that thru all the grime she’s sportin a great big ole set of titties, is it cool for me to go, “sure, I’ll lay a couple of bucks on you, but you gots to show me the rack first”. Bum’s hit me up everyday, so I might as well get something out’s it. Right? Yes, no? It’s not like I’m asking for a blowjob and shit.

dream weaver

Maybe some of you medical types can answer this, does sleeping in the cold make a person sleep better or deeper? I’m just more then a tad curious about this sort of thing cause since it’s been cold here at night and I sleep with my bedroom window up, I’ve been sleeping good as a muthafucker. And the dreams have been really fucked up, like last night in one of my dreams I slipped on some ice and the next thing I know I’m waking up scrabbling for traction in bed. And I know of at least a couple of times where there must’a been some serious ass whippage going on in my dreams, either that or I tried to fight off the big headed Grays when they came to get me. Yeah, I woke up one day from a deep sleep and the bedroom was just all fucked up. Shit was ripped off the walls, lamps were broken and furniture overturned and shit, plus there was blood all over the bed. It’s times like that when a cat goes what the fuck? But that was also during the stinkin eighties when I had the ghost hanging around me all the time. I never did find an explanation for that shit.

things

Mito got herself a new phone, the muthafucker weighs three point five ounces and has a color camera plus web access and the capacity to store fifty pictures. It makes me want my own cellphone, except for the fact that I can’t think of a reason why, well except outside of the cool shit factor. I gots a cellphone issued to me by the Man, and back in the day I had a car phone in my truck. But the car phone got gone because all I ever used it for was ordering take-out. And the phone the Man issued me stays in my glove box unless I’m traveling. I’m just not a phone person, as a matter of fact if you were to ask around you’d most likely get told I hate talking on the phone. I got a home phone but that’s only because the Man made me get one, plus me having one makes my aged mother and sister happy. But the camera cellphone weighing only three point five ounces? That would be worth having simply for the stealth factor.
Oh, and I’m rambling here so this might be a while.
Some time ago I talked about all the assholes in suits that tend to power walk their way thru life and the fact that I’d like to play chicken with em and see who’d flinch first. I told one of my female co-workers about it and she thought that it was such a great idea that she reached up and grabbed my punk card and ground her spiked heel into it and told me that I didn’t have the nerve to shoulder block a woman out’a my way. So for weeks after, every time I saw her she was either carrying shit like hot coffee or something of that nature. And after I pass her by she’d turn around and call me a pussie cause I didn’t do it. Well today I was in her section checkin my mail and here she came, and this time she was free and clear. So I shoulder blocked her and after she picked herself up she got upset and offered to nark me out for being a rude bastard. I remarked to her that you don’t let the dog out of the yard if you know he’s gonna bite, and that snitches get stitches. She just looked at me then smiled and told me to wait till next time. I think I better cover up my nutsac next time I see her coming. But she’s a very cool woman. One day she popped into my cube to talk to me about some paperwork. And as she talked I found myself staring at her tits that were nipping like a muthafucker thru her pink blouse. I was so busted. But again she was cool about it and told me she was glad she knew me so well. Michelle just left a few minutes ago, she brought over dinner and we ate and watched a movie for a while. And since I seem to be on the subject of women, I’ve been told by more then a few that I’m not aggressive enough when it comes to women. I don’t know how to take that. I’ve never been a pushy person, well except when I’m getting paid to be, and I can’t imagine myself being pushy around women. That includes making overt advances and all that shit. It’s just not my nature to do so. But pushy and aggressive are two different things aren’t they? So anyway I find all that kind of talk somewhat confusing, especially when it’s hot women telling me that. Do I take their advice and hit on the ones giving it? Do I turn into a grabby handed masher? I don’t think so, not my cup of tea. Ooh, maybe the talk is true, and that I’m a metrosexual. And for those of you slower muthafucker’s reading this shit out loud, that’s metrosexual, not homosexual. Read a book for fucks sake or look it up. But now that I think about it being a metrosexual wouldn’t have shit to do with hitting on women, in fact that would be a plus. It’s not like I have issues meeting women, cause I don’t. But it’s like a friend told me one time that happened to be a psychiatrist. She told me I was like a man panning for gold, except that when I found gold in the pan, instead of keeping it, I’d look at it then throw it back into the water. Food for thought huh?

the masturbation song

Damn, I just heard the Foo Fighter's cover Prince's "darling nikki", and the muthafucker's rocked the shit out'a it. That song was always begging for hard rock touch. Now you got band's all over going "Dammit! why didn't we think of that"? I'm just sayin is all

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Damn, a muthafucker mentions cancer and blowjobs in the same sentence and shit gets sticky doesn’t it? But moving on, lets sweat the small shit today. Is it just me or has anybody else ever gotten a reply back from one of the money letter’s like I did? Some of us were talking that over the other day at the bar and we all figured that the fact they actually replied was really weird. Maybe it had something do with that Satan thing? What the fuck ever, moving on. You know, maybe it’s my age and shit but I can’t believe that American society has become so pussiefied that….hold on…read this shit for yourselves.

“The Supreme Court said Tuesday it will decide whether the Pledge of Allegiance, which has been recited in public schools for decades, is an unconstitutional government endorsement of religion because it contains the phrase "under God."
This has got to be some of the most sanctimonious bullshit ever! We gots a muthafuckin president that evokes God’s name every time he opens his mouth, and now they’re bitchin about the fuckin Pledge of Allegiance? Fuck me running! Now I understand the separation between church and state and the reason why, but fuckin jesus on a stick! Muthafucker’s need to use a little common sense and shit. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Just leave shit alone. I don’t have a problem with the Pledge of Allegiance, or the Lord’s Prayer, or even the stinkin Confederate Flag, which is a whole nother story. Confederate flags are part of our history, as are Confederate graveyards or statues. But now because we live in such a pussiefied pc society, the Man wants everything that even remotely reeks of shit like that taken down. Black folk are to be called African Americans, lets change the name of sport teams because we don’t want to piss off the American Indians, who now insist on being called Native Americans. But whom the fuckin Government still insists on fuckin over every chance they get. The bitch on the fuckin front of Aunt Jemima syrup gets a makeover because she offended some black folk. Stinkin assed kids can’t play dodge ball cause it might cause one of the little bed-wetter’s to feel inferior. You got fuckin monkey’s in the zoo wearin diaper’s cause the Man don’t want the fuckin kids and woman folk seeing em yank their cocks and shit. Hey! Cover that dog’s balls up cause it might turn my daughter into a raging ho from watching em lick his balls and shit! And then in a cultural backlash fuckin Hollywood and the fuckin TV churns out mindless drivel at the blink of an eye. Which brings me to Arnold, this non-pc-homophobic-womanizing muthafucker with no political background what so fuckin ever wins the governorship of California by a landslide. The closest muthafucker to him was a million votes away. Tell me this isn’t a backlash action, cause shit’s so fucked up on the coast that people will vote for a jacked up muthafucker like Arnold. It just goes on and on. Peace

I wanna be a soldier in the fight to combat breast cancer!!! Who'll join me?

(BW) -- Women who perform the act of fellatio on a regular basis, one to two times a week, may reduce their risk of breast cancer by up to 40 percent, a recent study found.

Doctors had never suspected a link between the act of fellatio and breast cancer, but new research being performed is starting to suggest that there could be an important link between the two.

In a study of over 15,000 women suspected of having performed regular fellatio over the past ten years, the researchers found that those actually having performed the act regularly, one to two times a week, had a lower occurance of breast cancer than those who had not. There was no increased risk, however, for those who did not regularly perform.

"I think it removes the last shade of doubt that fellatio is actually a healthy act," said Dr. B.J. Sooner of the Hopkins School of Medicine, who was not involved in the research. "I am surprised by these findings, but am also excited that the researchers may have discovered a relatively easy way to lower the occurance of breast cancer in women."

The University researchers stressed that, though breast cancer is relatively uncommon, any steps taken to reduce the risk would be a wise decision.

"Only with regular performance will your chances be reduced, so I encourage all women out there to make fellatio an important part of their daily routine," said Dr. Inserta Shafteer, one of the researchers. "Since the emergence of the research, I try to fellate at least once every other night to reduce my chances."

The study is reported in Friday's Journal of Medical Research.

In 1991, 43,582 women died of breast cancer, as reported by the National Cancer Institute.

Dr. Len Lictepeen, deputy chief medical officer for the American Cancer Group, said women should not overlook or "play down" these findings.

"This will hopefully change women's practice and patterns, resulting in a severe drop in the future number of cases," Lictepeen said.

Sooner said the research shows no increase in the risk of breast cancer in those who are, for whatever reason, not able to fellate regularly.

"There's definitely fertile ground for more research. Many have stepped forward to volunteer for related research now in the planning stages," he said.

Almost every woman is, at some point, going to perform the act of fellatio, but it is the frequency at which this event occurs that makes the difference, say researchers.

The reasearch consisted of two groups, 6,246 women ages 25 to 45 who had performed fellatio on a regular basis over the past five to ten years, and 9,728 women who had not. The group of women who had performed fellatio had a breast cancer rate of 1.9 percent and the group who had not had a breast cancer rate of 10.4 percent.

"The findings do suggest that there are other causes for breast cancer besides the absence of regular fellatio," Shafteer said. "It's a cause, not THE cause."

classic reading

I feel that my entire life to a great degree has been influenced by the books I’ve read as a kid and the hero’s I’ve met thru them. From Edgar Rice Burroughs and the mighty Tarzan to Louis L’Amour and his steadfast cowboys of the old west. Men who never took the first shot and hated violence, but who never shirked from it when it came calling. Arthur C. Clark and Isaac Asimov showed me that there were worlds out there that staggered the imagination. Robert E. Howard introduced me to Conan the Barbarian, who walked his world thousands of years ago as a thief, warrior, and then king. Fighting and loving and slaying all before him. Harlan Ellision, Piers Anthony, and others took me to fantastic worlds where I walked among strange landscapes looking up at nighttime skies filled with multiple moons. And I’ve even walked the tall bridges of Gor with John Norman’s Tarl Cabot. I’ve read and studied all the Greek and Norse mythology that I could get my hands on. I’ve fought great battles and after I slew my enemies I quenched my manly lust with the soft embrace and willing body of a lissome wench. I’ve ridden across the Pecos in search of stolen horses, with only my gun and the night sky as my companions. I’ve piloted great starships in the many intergalactic wars I’ve fought. In the rustic ruins of a great castle I’ve conversed with hoary demons and have sat astride the mighty dragon. I’ve swung thru the great jungles of darkest Africa with naught but the pelt of an animal girding my loins as I leapt upon the young gazelle drinking at the pool below me with a speed that would shame Sheeta the leopard. And as the warm blood spurted between my teeth I could feel the veneer of civilization slipping from me. All these lives I have read and lived. These were my classics, my required reading.

Hi Mito!!

The Rev. Pastor Samuel Francies repies to my reply!!

Greg Beck,

Am sorry, you are not the best for this transaction, I as A Man of God cannot handle the soul of this children to you and your master satan okay, we are sorry to have came to you. I will let these day to bear me withness that you heard about the One and only God who can save. Do not think that He(God) can not forgive you, He will if you come back to him God LOVES you okay. May the Good Lord have marcy on your soul today and bring you back to His Kingdom Life.

Bye Bye, while we wait for your trip back to the God that made you.

From today I will always pray for your change.

Yours Brother in the LORD GOD.

Pastor Samuel Francis

Oooh! I got a special e-mail!

Subject: Urgent Help Needed.

Dear Confidant,

Suddenly you got this mail and may be wondering who must have mailed. I am Rev. Pastor Samuel Francis, the Principal Pastor In charge of Redemption Camp and Grace Mission Abidjan Cote D'Ivoire.

We have in our camp two war displaced children of the Late William Keita a famous cocoa merchant who was killed at Bouaké along with the wife by the rebelling factions that are still at the moment in Control of the northern zone of the Country. The two Children were lucky to have escaped the war torn zone and are today in our Mission's house in Abidjan the economic capital of the country were they are seeking refuge.

We have in our possession two documents presented by them attesting that their late father deposited a metallic box containingUS$10,000,000:00(Ten Million United State Dollars) with a Security Company here in Abidjan which he declared to the Security Company to be photographic Materials meant for his un-named Foreign Partner for the purchase of Agro-Industrial Equipments. We have in our capacity verified this claim and the Security Company attested to its authenticity.


These children are now seeking for a foreigner who can be their “Guardian” and also represent them as their Father's Foreign Partner by assisting in the withdrawal of the box and also providing a Foreign Account where this fund could be lodged for onward investment as would be advised by you.

Your assistance to these hapless children would be in no small measure a blessing to you which you will never regret at the end of this transaction, as you must have succeeded in saving their future that is being threatened by the mal-adventures in the political environment of the country.

You can reply to this call for assistance if God touches you through the Mission's email box.
Remain Blessed.

Rev. Pastor Samuel Francis

MY Answer.......

Dear Pastor Samuel Francis

Being a student of Satan "hail Satan" I don't usually commune with your ilk, but being the lover of small children that I am, I feel the urge to help. And since my unholy lord "hail Satan" loves the little wee bitches also, "hail Satan" my brood and I will do what we can. But in return for his help "hail Satan" my dark master "hail Satan" will require both the children's souls. My master "hail Satan" await eagerly your reply.

Much love and all that good shit.
Death
Hail Satan

Burnt pizza balls

I might stretch this one out a bit so a muthafucker might wanna get a glass of water and shit. Like I said earlier, Wednesday was my last day at work this week; and I’ve been really feelin the need to take a break from the Man. So after work I came home and watched Smallville and Angel and then headed down to the Hurricane for Metal Night. My pals Lumpy, Chris and Brock’s band “Circle of Trust” were playing and I really wanted to see what kind of shit they put off. So me, Mito and Sonya settled in at the bar to have a look-see. I was impressed, very nice and heavy and with Lumpy on vocals they reminded me a bit of Paulie’s band “Sheer Terror”. Not a large turnout but I got to see some people I don’t get to see very often. So after more drinks and a couple of rounds of shots with the girls I figured I better get my ass on home. Once here I decided to throw a pizza into the over for a dinner and such. But with me being the lazy bastard that I am I neglected to use a pan. Just ripped the fuckin pizza out’a the plastic and threw the muthafucker into the oven as is. So there I am some time later standing in the kitchen nekked, stinkin of Jim Beam tryin to form a coherent thought long enough to figure how to get this pizza out of the oven. Suddenly a thought forms and I grab a couple of spatulas, pop open the oven and makes a grab at the pizza. I get it clear of the oven and I’m thinkin shit’s ok when the son-of-a-bitch slips. Now with me being all nekked and shit the last thing I need is a stinkin hot pizza landing on my exposed ballsac so I backpedal as quick as I can. The pizza ends up all over the top and insides of my oven. What a fuckin mess, after that all I could do was go to bed.
This morning I woke up at my usual time of o-dark thirty till I realized I had the day off and went back to sleep. But can I tell you what? I popped awake sometime around ten and it was like what the fuck? I was hornier then a muthafucker, all I wanted to do was fuck something, and in the shape I was in I wasn’t too goddam particular who. Warm body, cold body, young, old, it didn’t matter. Hey, you know what necrophilia means don’t you? Never having to say you’re sorry. Anyway I’m stomping thru the house looking for something to stick my dick into, I’m looking out the fuckin window, I keep pickin up the phone trying to figure out who can I call. It was somethin horrible I tell you. I’m banging my dick on the kitchen counter, I’m banging it on my desk, where’s all the freaky street chicks when I need em? So I went and laid back down and rubbed one off and fell back asleep. Next thing I know it’s around one and my phones ringing and it’s Michelle on the other end asking me what the hell am I doing. So after talkin to her I get up and take a shower and head out. It’s about two and since I know she’s setting up the bar I head to the Hurricane to see Mito. She puts on a pot of coffee for me and I hang out there enjoying a stress-free day drinkin coffee lookin out the window and talking her up and later Matty and Brian. Not a bad day off.

And I'd like to thank my................

Steve Tulipana is the man that got me started back in 2000 writing on the internet. He walked up one day and informed me that he took the liberty of making space on his website for me, and then he told me to go for it. I can’t hype this muthafucker enough, and apparently others can’t either. The accolades below are from our local scenester magazine, “The Pitch”, and their yearly “Best of edition”. He’s been a great friend and inspiration and he was one of the first to believe.

Best Tuesday Night Fallback
Tulipana Tuesdays at the Empire Room
Because touring bands often reserve weekend slots for larger cities, Kansas City gets more than its share of off-night entertainment options. But even during dry spells, the out-and-about set can always enjoy indie, electronic and avant-garde sounds both fresh and obscure at the Empire Room. Season to Risk singer Steve Tulipana plays DJ, running through a massive collection of interesting yet unobtrusive records and discs that set the mood for bar-stool interaction as well as cushy booth lounging. And Tulipana spins late, so those who have already rocked arrive in late-night waves to form mellow post-concert after-parties.

Best Cover Band
Unknown Pleasures
As modern music's leading distiller of depression in danceable form, Joy Division makes for a hard act to imitate. It's particularly difficult to capture the dual nature of the band's late frontman, Ian Curtis, whose choppy choreography thinly disguised the crippling pain that ultimately led to his suicide. However, Unknown Pleasures, named for a Joy Division album and featuring members of Season to Risk and Dirtnap, pulls it off to an astonishing degree. The covers sound as good or -- blasphemy! -- better than the originals, and Steve Tulipana nails Curtis' glum vocals and tortured presence.

Best Local Artist
Steve Tulipana
As a founding member of Season to Risk, the group that redefined intensity for local audiences for more than a decade before going on indefinite hiatus this year, Steve Tulipana already deserves permanent hall-of-fame status. But this award recognizes the stunning tear he's been on just in the past year, outdistancing him from any other local artist. Last Halloween, he unveiled Unknown Pleasures at the Madrid Theatre, blowing away the highly touted informal Joy Division cover band (Interpol) that had recently played the same venue. Sticking with the devil's night spirit, he continued to provoke with the Pornhuskers, a group whose outrageously offensive stage antics often overshadow its raw-nerve garage-thrash glory. He joined Onward Crispin Glover as a second guitarist and took that KC indie-rock staple's sharp sound to new, jagged peaks. This year, he would have come full circle with another uncanny '80s revival (the as-yet-unseen Psychedelic Furs tribute Ghost in You), but duty called when Reggie and the Full Effect recruited him to man the ax on a major club tour. Oh, and he sent Season to Risk to sleep with one of the finest farewells in recent memory. In a two-night stint at the Hurricane, the group split its output into two eras, assuring seamless set lists, while passing the torch to up-and-coming experimentalists (and likely future recipients of this plaque) such as Ad Astra Per Aspera and Hot Children.

The happy Negro

You know what’s pissing me the fuck off? McDonald’s new advertising campaign with the sucky hiphop theme. McDonald’s is worse then an inner-city liquor store the way they push the dancing Negro and shit. For years it’s been the same old assed shit, you turn on the stinkin TV and soon enough a McDonald’s commercial comes on advertising their fuckin big Macs. Suddenly the screen is filled with happy nimble dancing and singing Negroes. What? Are happy Negroes the only demographic that eats this shit? This is like some old step and fetch it from back in the day. In thru the door of McDonald’s walks the happy Negro who steps up to the fuckin counter and with a huge toothy grin starts looking up at the menu. Behind the counter waiting with an equally large grin is the happy Negro running the counter, “Hi cans I help you, my happy Negro brother”? “Well, I be starving like a muthafucker and shit so how abouts layin on me one of those juicy delicious Big Macs, and a cold refreshing Coco Cola, my happy Negro sister”. Whilst all this is going on, in the background can be heard Old dirty Bastard singing the McDonald’s theme song to a catchy hiphop beat. Suddenly thru the door come fifteen more happy Negro’s, dancing and doing summersaults and break dancing, cause being at McDonald’s has uplifted their normally depressed spirits. And to farther prove that McDonald’s is the place for the happy Negro to go eat, all the happy Negro’s behind the counter rip off their smocks to reveal choir robes. And they start singing the muthafuckin Hallelujah Chorus and swinging to and fuckin fro as the manager stomps out to reveal that under his uniform he’s really fuckin Ronald McDonald who then moonwalks out the fuckin door and starts passing out cheeseburger’s and fries to all the happy Negro children who just happen to be hanging outside the fuckin building which instead on being on a busy street is now in the middle of a scenic woodlands scene with little furry animals running underfoot and shit. Goddamn I hate this happy Negro bullshit!!!!

Shameless band plug

They killed in Las Vegas where they opened for Siegfried & Roy, “I’d tear my own throat out just to be able to sing like them” says Roy Horn of the famous tiger training duo. And they tore down the house at the Minnesota State University where they wowed the homecoming crowd. “Yes, the roof certainly is on fire, and the cars, and the barricades”, says Mike, a 21-year-old grad student at MSU just before being maced. The Hurricane’s Metal Wednesdays is proud to present for a one-night engagement only, the Band! The Myth! The Legend! The dulcet tones of “Circle of Trust”!

I'm so fuckin out of here!

I’ve just developed a killer headache, the woman that works the front desk has been deployed to Maryland and she just got back. Now this is a hardcore church lady and very proper, but when I saw her I was happy to see her that I just grabbed her and told her how muthafuckin happy I am to see her ass back. Cause this is the women that usually deals with the dumbass mailroom chick, and since she’s been deployed I’ve had to deal with Miss. Half a Brain, which has been putting me thru some changes. And with all the giggling and laughing, and with me not used to being all happy and giddy all early in the morning and shit, I’ve come down with this serious pain in my tight temple. I should be happy though, cause after today my fat ass is out’a here for five days. Five days of no news, no government, no disasters, no paperwork, no getting up at o’dark thirty in the fuckin morning, and no Federal Emergency Management Agency/slash/Department of Homeland Security’s fist up my muthafuckin ass. Thursday I’m not doing shit. Friday I’m not doing shit, Saturday I’m not doing shit, Sunday, I’m seeing my mother and then I’m not doing shit. And Monday I’m not doing shit, but I plan to have a few cocktails over the five-day period. Hell, I might even have an adventure or two, and hell, if it don’t involve breaking the law or underage women I might even be inclined to write about it. But then again, that underage women thing is something I’ll most likely stay away from. Can’t be too much a freak and shit, don’t you know. I see Arnold made governor in California, I don’t even know what to say about shit like that. Another reason for me not to live there.

this just ruined my fuckin day

Our local newspaper, the fuckin Kansas City Star can fuckin blow me! Who do they fuckin think they are? The goddamned New Your Times? It was bad enough that they changed their original on-line format from something friendly and unique to a format that not only copies every other fuckin online piece of shit out there, but is damned difficult to navigate thru. But now when you bring their piece of shit site online and click on some news you wanna read, the muthafucker’s want you to register and get a fuckin password before you can read the fuckin articles. Well fuck them muthafucker’s, I’m not fuckin doing it. “We need you to register so that we can serve you better”. Fuck you; you bunch of pious dog pussy lickin cocksuckers. This is Kansas City goddammit, not Hong Kong, not New York, not DC; this is a medium size city in the middle of the fuckin Bible belt. Fuck you, fuck, you, fuck you!! I can’t even begin to express how fuckin angry this makes me feel. What? Does this make em feel more important, or that the drivel they serve up will come off better? “ Oh, this story about the poor bum that saved the homeless puppies must be Pulitzer caliber shit since I had to fuckin log on to fuckin read the fuckin story online”. This is Kansas City goddammit! I wanna read local stories, I wanna check out to see what movies are playing around town. I wanna read about what’s going on here in my fuckin hometown. And-I-don’t-want-to-muthafuckin-have-to-log-in-to-fuckin-do-it! You sacless sanctimonious out of touch ham and egger bunch of cocksuckers!

Captain fuckin Video!!!!!!!!

I cleaned up most of the house, but then I got distracted and shit and started watching the TV. I’m not anybody’s football fan but the Kansas City Chiefs are now five for five. Yeah, today was jock heaven here in town, at the speedway was Winston Cup racing and at the stadium the Chiefs played Denver. All kinds of shit to do for those so inclined. Me? I hung out nekked in the house all day. Now I’m sittin here bored like a muthafucker watching the Sci-FI series, Taken. I’m all about alien abduction and shit, hell, that might explain some of my odder behavior. I remember being in a farm house in the middle of West Texas as a small child, when I heard this strange sound outside. I rushed to the door and looked thru the cracks and saw a huge glowing red face with these huge black eyes staring back at me. But in all reality it could’a been nothing more then a drunk Indian, the farmhouse being just a few miles from the reservation and all. But the way I figure, the worlds too big not to believe. I always dreamed as a kid about piloting some huge space juggernaut or some small two seater ultra-light scout ship whilst sportin the fancy one piece suit with matching disruptors hanging from the hand tooled belt around my supple waist. Sittin next to me is my trusty confidant and all around girl friday, Sheena of the space lanes!!!!!!!. We are in fast pursuit of the dreaded enemy, the fearsome Jungar Hoard. Sheena reaches between my immensely muscled thighs to arm the atomic disruptor’s. I could’a done it but that’s just her thing you know. She gives a husky laugh cause she knows that’s what I’m thinkin. Either that or the mighty hum from the space power plant just behind our seats is getting her off. I look at her with an appreciative grin as I walk my eyes up and down her lithe frame. And of course I’m always happy to see that she hasn’t forgone her people’s custom of swearing off clothes once in space. I reach up and caress the red button that will unleash the disruptor’s fearsome force. Sheena places her hand on top of mine in mute agreement of what I’m about to do. We push the button together and watch thru the twin viewports as the Jungar spaceship explodes into millions of pieces. This challenge done we turn the ship toward the twin suns of the Magish star system in search of more hero type shit to do.

just a normal saturday?

Saturday’s breakfast consisted of home made hash browns, thanks to Cassie cause she taught me how to make em and left me the thingies and shit to do em. I love those muthafucker’s; I also had bacon and sausage plus eggs and biscuits. But as I was getting shit together I realized I had no eggs, so I threw on some clothes and went to the store. As I stood at the counter the chick behind it asked me how I was doing. I said fine and how you doing? But instead of my normal voice I found myself speakin in this uber deep Michele Clark Duncan/ Barry White voice. The chick nipped up and replied, “damn baby, how yoooooou doing”? Fuck, somewhere during the night my voice decided to drop a few octaves, and all that was left was a cross between my come fuck me voice and my anger voice. Which is so strange considering that both voices are almost the same? So I cooked breakfast and tried to figure out how to spend my day, I had planned to give my place a good cleaning but after thinking it over I went back to bed. Must’a needed the sleep cause when I woke back up five hours had passed. And ain’t it something the dreams you have when you sleep during the day? Or is that just me? Most likely me, cause I’m always surprised the shit I do that I consider normal that nobody else does. Like take for example the fact that when I sneeze my eyes stay open, or the fact that when I eat apples and pears, I eat the whole thing, cores and all, but nobody else does? Their loss I guess. As I’m sitting on the couch after waking up, somebody started beating on my front door. Now being that I live in mid-town plus the fact that I’m not a very social fellow, not withstanding what the fucking tests say, I just hollered out, “What is it”? Some chick replied that she was conducting a survey and could I let her in. I told I wasn’t interested and she said that if I took the survey I’d get a gift. Now here’s the deal, besides being anti social and shit, there’s been a huge rash of home invasions in town as of late. Plus this being midtown Kansas City, muthafucker’s just don’t be opening their doors and shit unless they know a muthafucker, so I told her to forget it and take a walk. Plus I was nekked, and that wouldn’t be right opening my door like that. Funny as a muthafucker, but not right. Plus how fuckin embarrassing if a gang of muthafucker’s broke in on me whilst I was all nekked and shit? I’d have to do the teapot song nekked just so I could distract em long enough to get to the weapons and all that. Peace

But what does it mean?

I took this silly assed test I found on Narcissy's site. Hell if I know what the fuck it means. So if one of you higher education muthafucker's knows, please enlighten my ass. Results are on the left hand side, just page down a wee bit. Fuck, take it your damn selves. Opps, after checking I guess I didn't get it fron her site, fuck, where did I get it? I hate when shit like this happens, anyfuckinway, take the test. Goddammit!!

Whose your daddy!

I’ve had this song stuck in my fuckin head all day long, so instead of letting it drive me nutty, I’ve been walking up to select ladies on my floor and singing it to em. Wanna hear it, here we go, “oooooooooooooooooh, I’m a happy teapot, short and stout, these are my handles, this is my spout”. And of course whilst I’m singin the song I’m doing the teapot dance and shit. One women freaked, another one accused me of callin her short and stout, and a third who was in the middle of a phone call just laid the phone down and stared at me getting redder and redder until she lost it. Poor woman had tears coming out’a her fuckin eyes. Yup, some days you just gots to nut up and be a man about things.

HEAVY FUCKIN METAL!! DUDE!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

For hanging out late on a school night I’m not feeling the pain today, I just wish it wasn’t so goddamned busy around here. Yeah, after watching the season opener of Smallville (how come I don’t remember Lex Luthor getting the big screw job and shit?) and Angel, I headed to the Hurricane or as the stinkin Hip-Hopper’s call it, Club Hurricane, to hook up with Mito and hear some loud music. I walk in the door and the fuckin place looked like the Goth short bus had run it into. Damn! But I sat down and Mito came over and kept me company. The first band to go on-stage were the Corpses, I found myself very unimpressed. You know? Here’s the thing with me and bands. Even if they suck I give em props cause I know what they’re trying to pull off, but these cats were too far off keel to even attempt that. The lead singer had a nice voice, well suited for their shtick. But you all know how I feel about cats that rather talk then sing? Well, this cat was another talkie muthafucker. Plus at first I was surprised that the soundman wasn’t blasting the volume thru the roof until I turned to Lumpy and Chris from Circle of Trust who had turned to me. “What the fuck is that?” “That would be none of them muthafucker’s in tune”, plus the drummer was so drunk that he couldn’t find his way to the stage much less a song”. But up front dutifully manning the camcorder was a band mom, which was very cool. Cause a muthafucker knows, even though you suck, your moms will still love your stinkin Goth ass. By this time me and Mito had retired to the seminal comforts of the couch just in time for Descension to fire it up. I like these guys, heavy metal old school style. I always get a kick out’a watching em do their thing. Plus you gots to dig a cat that has a mike stand with a female mannequin head rammed on it at ball sac height. The last band up was Shotgun Idols, stright up no frills rock. I had met the lead singer earlier who knew of me from the website and the fact that we both frequent the same message boards. Very nice cat, plus I do loves me the female musician’s cause on lead guitar was one. I really enjoyed their thing. But after a while I checked the clock and saw that it was getting on Midnight, so I had to make like a fairy and split. Did I say that right? I had a nice laid back evening with Mito and getting to hear some loud crunchy music. And thank you Mito for getting me out. You gots all the cake.

giggle like we're nekked

The new Smallville and Angle fuckin rock, the only sad part about the new WB season is no Buffy. So sad go cry now. And all my old shit is now posted, in one form or nother. Now I just gots to everything all nice and neat and shit. I’m going out and hang out with Mito, hear some heavy metal and jeer at the weak and infirm, well maybe not the weak and infirm, but certainly the stupid and assholeish. So if you walk into the Hurricane tonight and see us sitting on the couch giggling and suddenly we pull the straight face as you walk by, you might want to reevaluate A. what your ass is doing, B. what your ass is wearing, C. or all the above. Love your stinkin asses. Peace