santa cruz, you're not that far
Before I start, I have just one question. I was at
Pianos last night, and my friends and I noticed that there were several transgendered people there. So my question is; is being transgendered "in"? Is "post-op" the new "starting a blog"? I really hope not, because I don't even have the time or energy to get my hair cut, let alone...
Anyway.
So the big news of the day is that I'm going away next week. Yep. This is going to be my last post for about 10 days, and frankly the timing couldn't be worse.
Uncle Grambo over at
Whatevs has been linking some of my posts, and even upped me in his links section to the 'creme de la creme.' And yes, I did do a geeky, Corey Haim-esque fist-pump when I saw that. I'm sorry. The thing is though, now that I have more people checking out the site, it sucks that I'm not going to be updating for a week. I'm the blog equivalent of a band that starts out, begins to build some buzz and get some loyal fans, only to fall off the face of the Earth at the most critical of times.
I am The Libertines.
Speaking of heroin, we arrive in Vegas on Thursday.
(i just had to write that in case i have any family members that ever check this page out. i have to keep them on their toes) But, yes, I am incredibly excited about this much-needed vacation. We're flying out to San Diego on Monday morning, where we will spend 3 straight days doing nothing but laying on the beach, drinking beer, and drinking beer. Stay classy San Diego.
After 3 days of relaxation, we're shifting gears and going out with a bang in Vegas. I've only been to Vegas once (post 21) and it was for a bachelor party last year. I had the best time ever, and I learned three very important lessons:
1. I cannot win a hand of blackjack at The Palms, no matter how hard I try
2. Ghost Bar has magic lighting that makes unattractive people attractive
3. That stripper doesn't really like me
Of course I'm going to try to remember those when I'm there, but Vegas has a way of making you forget... everything.
On a sad note, my friend, Mike, has dropped out of this year's trip. He has a new job, and his orientation is on Thursday. Me, Dan, Brian, Greg, and Mike have been doing the summer vacation thing since junior year of high school, and this is the first time one of us has had to cancel. This sucks on several levels, but mostly because it's a harsh reminder that we are all in our mid 20's and no longer have the freedom we used to have. Sorry, I feel like I'm getting all
Reality Bites on you. I'll stop.
But anyway, here's the other thing about Mike not coming; Mike was kind of the moral compass of our little group. I mean, I tend to get fatherly at times, but Mike is generally the guy to say, "Hey, maybe we shouldn't do that." Every group needs that guy...
ESPECIALLY IN VEGAS! The four of us are headed out there with NO Moral Compass. We're fucked. Remember when I said that we were going to go out with a bang? Right now that means we're either going to end up at that skeevy brothel from
HBO's Cathouse, or laying face down dead in the desert. Either way, we're literally going out with a bang. I can't wait.
So, on that note, enjoy your week. I decided to link 5 of my older posts that people liked, for any new readers out there. If you read one a day, it'll almost be like I never left. And please don't go thinking I'm pretentious because I'm linking my own stuff. I know how starved you are for entertainment-- you would've never checked out a site called
My Blog Is Poop in the first place if you weren't. Right? Enjoy.
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
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b at 2:58 PM
two for thursday
I'm pretty busy working on the Buzzsaw today, but I'm gonna try for a legitimate update soon. In the meantime, go over to the
Yankee Pot Roast and enjoy their skewering of my profession, my life, and my employer. Most of the articles rip into VH1 (specifically I Love The 90's), but I'm particularly fond of
this one.
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b at 2:30 PM
All Stars To The Rescue
It seems like every day another band, or another celebrity is getting behind John Kerry. I mean, if you look at the star power the Kerrys have lined up, it's pretty overwhelming. Everybody from Jon Bon Jovi to those kids from the OC have voiced their support for the Democratic Presidential nominee. It's pretty intimidating stuff, especially if you're rooting for W.
If you're a Bush fan, you've gotta be thinking, "Wow, look at all these incredible celebrities over at the Democratic Convention. How will we ever compete?" You're also probably thinking, "Wow, that spoon is shiny. I like shiny things."
The point is, the common person probably assumes that the Democrats are going to dominate in the celebrity circuit. You would think that, but you'd be wrong. Because what you've probably forgotten is that the Bushes are in tight with a hardcore group of superstars, and have been for the past 14 years. Actually, All-Stars are more like it...
Cartoon All-Stars!
It's true, ever since George and Barbara Bush (the old one, not the hot one) hijacked our nation's television channels in 1990 and forced them to simultaneously air this hilarious cartoon about the dangers of drug use, the Cartoon All-Stars have remained in close contact with the Bush family. Specifically, George W.
Staff Advisors have noted that W. often seeks out the Cartoon All-Stars for advice on both domestic and foreign affairs. He tends to rely on Slimer and Winnie The Pooh for domestic issues, while Alvin and The Chipmunks are his go-to guys when it comes to things going on overseas. According to the President himself, "I saw that movie where Alvin, Simon, and Theodore travel around the world in that hot air balloon, and I figured that they were perfect for the job."
Nobody has had the heart to tell the President that the cartoon characters aren't real. This issue got particularly nerve racking after the President saw "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" on HBO, and demanded to know why we weren't searching Toon Town for "Cartoon Weapons of Mass Destruction."
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b at 4:07 PM
home vs. away
There are certain things that just make sense.
Quiznos is better than
Subway.
Crunk is better than
Red Bull.
Saved by The Bell is better than
Saved By The Bell: The New Class. While these statements can't actually be considered "facts," they aren't exactly "opinions" either, because they are "correct." They are statements that any sane, rational person would agree with, right? Right. They just are. I mean, if you overheard somebody saying "I think
The New Class was superior because Weasel was funnier than Screech," you'd just turn around and dismiss that person as an idiot. Because they are.
So what am I getting at? Well, last night, the roommate Eric had this to say about hooking up:
"I prefer going back to Her place. I like it better than taking a girl home."
Insane! The kid PREFERS Away Games to Home Games! Unprecedented! When he said that, I went nuts. I explained that the reason it's called a "Home Field Advantage" is because it's better. When you're busting your ass during the regular season (or at the bar) you're doing it because you want to play the important games at Home. Where you're comfortable. Where you know the turf.
After careful consideration, Eric listed his 3 reasons why Away Games are better:
1. Girls have nicer sheets
2. No worries about breakfast and/or morning entertainment
3. Sex toys (maybe)
Now truth be told, Eric's real main reason is that he's a pig. His room is a mess, so he prefers going back to Her place instead of cleaning it. Fair enough. Eric's also had the luck of hooking up with girls that live close to where he works, so it cuts down on his morning commute. Again, point taken. And as far as his top 3 reasons... well, the fact that #3 is on that list at all just goes to show you that the kid has had more luck on the road this season than San Diego's
Mark Loretta.
(who's batting .388 on the road, vs. .267 at home... you get the point)
Okay, so my argument for the Home Game is simply this... you're home. It's your home. Your pillow (singular), your sheets, your bathroom. You know the field. You're not going to run out of room chasing a fly ball because you know exactly how big foul territory is, you know? And when you're home, you don't have to worry about any unexpected surprises. Let's put it this way; if you're a pitcher, you're going to know exactly where the rubber is. And most importantly, in the morning, you're not doing any traveling. You're staying put.
I think the majority of people agree with me, that the Home Game is far superior. Eric completely disagrees. We argued about this for over an hour. It got pretty heated, but it didn't come close to approaching the intensity of our famous Professional Sports vs. College Sports argument of the late 1990's that nearly ended our friendship.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this. Eric and I are idiots.
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b at 3:21 PM
from shoes to dwarves
Way back in April I wrote a post about how I had to go buy some new shoes. To recap that post in one short sentence: I hate shopping for shoes more than anything in the world because I have flat feet and I hate them. That says it all. Well, yesterday, after 3 months of putting it off, I finally did it. I bought shoes. 2 whole pairs. So, going shoe shopping for the first time in a loooong time, I realized why else I hate it.
1) You're constantly being waited on. It gets creepy. If you look at something for too long, or God forbid you touch something, a Shoe Stalker swoops down, snatches it away, and immediately replaces it with a box that's your size. And then they stand above you, as you're leaning over and taking your shoes off. It's a very vulnerable position, and I don't like it one bit.
2) The mysterious 'shoe room.' That's creepy too. Most of these shoe stores don't seem so big, so when my Shoe Stalker heads into the dark room with a big sign that says "Employees Only" above it, I get uncomfortable. There's something sketchy going on back there, I just know it. How can they store all the shoes back there? And why does it have to be dark? And what are they employees
really using those foot measuring things for when we're not around. I don't even want to know.
3) You're constantly being waited on. I'm not done with that yet. The service you get at a shoe store is unlike anything else. When you're trying on shirts at a store, what do you do? You take a handful, you go into the dressing room, and you put them on and take them off at your leisure. Fine, no problem. But when you're shopping for shoes, you have to discuss every single shoe you put on your foot with your Shoe Stalker. "What do you think of these? Do you like these more than the others? How do these feel on your freaky flat feet?" There's no alone time. It's like having a waiter that asks you how your meal is after every bite you take. I don't like it.
4) Racing the Shoe Guy as you both lace up one shoe. I know that it's his job, and I know he's supposed to be faster than me, but I get very competitive when that shoe box opens. Once I realize that both shoes need to be laced up, it's on. He grabs one, I grab the other, and we're off. I end up trying way too hard to beat him, screw it up, and then I have to unlace it and start all over again as he offers to just do it for me. From now on I'm only wearing velcro.
5) They all look the same to me. I know I sound like your racist grandfather when I say that, but they honestly do. Shoes.
So writing about shoe shopping on a Monday morning probably indicates that I had the most boring weekend ever. Not the case. Saturday turned into a big old party, when Eric's friend Joe came up to NY, and my friend Brian returned to the city with his cousin David. David had a couple of other friends in NY, so by nightfall we were rolling 7 deep. I had been looking forward to attending a party in the East Village, which I had responded 'plus 1' to on the Evite, however being 'plus 6' I didn't want to be a prick. So, unfortunately I didn't go. I blame the entourage. And on that note...
Sunday nights are awesome.
HBO on Sunday is the new TGIF. I look forward to
Six Feet Under, Entourage, and
Ali G now the same way I used to look forward to
Full House, Family Matters, and
Perfect Strangers. My whole Sunday is just me killing time until the shows start. I have a feeling I'm really going to enjoy Entourage this season, and not just because David "Bud Bundy" Faustino made a cameo last night. I mean, it's starring the guy that played Chase in
Drive Me Crazy, my favorite teen movie ever, how can you go wrong? I do find it kind of funny though, that he's playing this huge sex symbol. I mean, the guy is really good looking, however I still think he looks like a fully grown
Hank The Angry Drunken Dwarf.
Doesn't he?
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b at 3:16 PM
another drunken thursday, hungover friday
Let me start by saying I'm not a starfucker. I'm not a starfucker, I'm not a namedropper, and I'm by no means a scenester. I prefer jeans to pants, dive bars to clubs, and real breasts to fake ones. Actually, come to think of it, all breasts are okay by me, so forget about that last part. The point is, I'm not very trendy. Okay, I had to get that out of the way before I talk about last night.
Last night I went to the coolest party I've ever been to in my entire life. It was for Axe Body Spray, and it was a "Dark Party." More on that later. I was on the list Plus One, so naturally I took my roommate Eric. Why would I bother taking a girl to a fancy event at a big mansion with free booze when I could take the guy I share an apartment with instead? Hey, at least I knew I wasn't going to go home alone.
Anyway, so the party was at the Guccione Mansion, billed on the invitation as the "largest private residence in Manhattan." You know what, I'm going to take their word for it, the place was MASSIVE. By the time we got to the front of the line to get in
(lines are a general bob no-no, however free booze was invovled, so we'll let it slide) a limo pulled up and
Jack Osbourne got out. I immediately turned to Eric and went off about how sick and tired I was of seeing guy celebrities. Working at VH1, and living in NY, I somehow ONLY see dudes. I never see Pam. I never see Sarah Michelle Gellar. Just dudes like Jack Osbourne. That has to change. Well, just as we're about to walk in,
Hillarie Burton arrived. You know, Hillarie Burton, the star of some show on the WB. Now, Hillarie is hot, no question about it, but I couldn't count it as a hot female celebrity sighting because I used to see her all the time when I was interning at MTV and she was a VJ. She was hot then, and she's still hot now, in case you were wondering.
So Eric and I walk in, head up the stairs, and make a beeline straight to the bar. I immediately decide that it's going to be a Sapphire and Tonic night, while Eric opts for Jack and Coke. Our drinks were handed to us with little red glowsticks inside, which turned out NOT to be straws, as Eric and I both discovered after looking like complete idiots. We set up shop in the middle of the room, and that's when things started getting interesting. Who walks by, but
Dr. Drew. "Holy shit, it's Dr. Drew," I yelled out, probably a little louder than I should have (and way more excited than I should have been). I told Eric I was 3 drinks away from making up some symptoms and asking him for some medical advice. "Yeah, I'm sure he never has to deal with that," Eric replied.
A couple of minutes later,
Adam Corrola walks in. THE Adam Corrola. Now this is exciting. I think Adam is a genius, and if you don't, well something's wrong with you. The Sports Guy over at ESPN.com once wrote that Adam could be the most successful comedian in the world, however he's just too damn lazy. Now that's someone I can relate to. Sadly, I don't see Dr. Drew and Adam interact at all. Oh well. So as I'm staring longingly at Adam Corrola, some "celebrities" arrive, including
The New Seven-Up Guy (Godfrey),
The Guy From Jackass (Steve-O), and
The Naked Cowboy. Um, cool.
So things were going well, when suddenly something happened that changed everything.
Stacey Kiebler walks in. Yes, Stacey Kiebler, the girl I included pictures of a few posts ago when I was talking about Towson. Stacey is a WWE girl, and more importantly, a Towson University alum. She was a mass communications major (as was I), she went to the same gym I went to, and we also had some mutual friends. Oh yeah, we also had crazy, drunken sex one night. Okay, that's a total lie. I think I talked to her like once, but that's not the point. The point is, Stacey was there, and there would never be a better time to pull out the "Hey, didn't you go to Towson" card, ever. It was the perfect in. Plus, Stacey was hanging out with another WWE girl, Torrie, so there was two of them and two of us. That's destiny. I decided that I was only 2 drinks away.
As I planned my move,
Mila Kunis and
Mekhi Phifer arrived. Their names were on the invitation, so it wasn't surprising to see them. Before the party I made a bet with Eric that Mila Kunis would be weird looking in person. I just had a feeling. Well, I was wrong. Completely wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong. Did I mention I was wrong? I was wrong. She was ridiculous. And so was Mekhi Phifer. Actually, seeing Mekhi led to this great exchange:
Me: Hey, there's Mekhi Phifer.
Eric: How do you know?
Me: (looking around the incredibly white room) Well, it's not Godfrey.
Moving on. While waiting on line for the bathroom, the girl in front of us turned around to make small talk, and proceeded to ask the greatest question ever. "So, who are you and why were you invited here?" Amazing. Naturally, I answered honestly. "I'm a famous Stand Up comedian." Eric also kind of answered honestly. "I play baseball for a living." This is a great line that we decided on a few months ago, when Eric was a professional Nanny and would spend most of his day throwing a baseball around with one of the kids. So it's technically not a lie. However, when he elaborated and said he played third base for the Brooklyn Cyclones, well, then it kind of became a lie I guess.
By now you're probably thinking, "Hey Bob, remember back in the beginning of the post you mentioned something about it being a Dark Party? What gives?" I thought you'd never ask. At around 10 o'clock we were told that it was time for everybody with the Yellow wristbands to eat dinner. We arrived at the dining room
(this is immediately after I mistook Jack Osbourne for a waiter and tried to hand him my drink, by the way) and were told that dinner was being served "in the dark." Interesting. We were taken by our hands and led into a pitch black room, where we were seated and proceeded to eat... food. I think. At least I hope it was food, you couldn't see a damn thing. Of course, that led to Eric and I throwing shit at each other, and at least one punch to the balls. Wearing their night vision goggles, the waiters either loved the show or wanted us dead. It was hard to tell, because you know, we couldn't see them.
Unfortunately, this story has a sad end. When we left the dining room and returned to the party, Stacey Kiebler was gone. She might have been eating dinner, or she might have left. Eric and I had to leave to go to The Affair's record release party at The Delancey, so we will never know. The "didn't you go to Towson" card will have to be put away until I run into Stacey again... or until I begin stalking her, which realistically could begin any day now. God, I love Towson. And Axe Body Spray.
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b at 4:44 PM
good protest buddy
The Toronto Blue Jays' Carlos Delgado is
refusing to stand up while "God Bless America" is being played during ballgames, to protest the war. He's also refusing to advance runners, hit with men in scoring position, and help his team win. Way to go Carlos.
Shouldn't there be certain requirements for an athlete who wants to protest? Like a minimum batting average, or your team has to be good. Something like that. Last year Delgado could have protested; the guy batted .302 with 145 RBIs. That's a man I'd listen to. This year, he's batting .208 and his team is awful. Who cares about him now? Now, if Derek Jeter was protesting the war, well that'd be different. Actually, Jeter is so incredible that if he started protesting the war we'd probably withdraw all our troops and give Iraq back. And nobody would have a problem with that, for one reason: Jeter is God.
But anyway. Delgado calls the invasion of Iraq "the stupidest war ever." He'd probably be right, had it not been for the
War On Drugs. But you know what else is stupid? Refusing a trade to a contender when your team is desperately trying to rebuild its farm system. I mean, c'mon Carlos. Get your priorities straight. Wanting to help your country is one thing, but you've gotta help your team first.
And I'm not going to end this (mecifully) short post with a joke about Delgado playing on a team in Canada. I'm not going to do it. I won't. That's not what this blog is all aboot.
Sorry.
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b at 6:01 PM
Party Time
Join
Vice Records &
The Affair tomorrow (Thursday)...At The Delancey, 168 Delancey (at Clinton) at 10pm in honor of the second release in the VICE Records Seven Inch Lovers Series featuring
The Affair and
Hominid
10pm-11pm complimentary Cerveza Aguila
Live performances downstairs by:
PARTY OF HELICOPTERS
ASTEROID # 4
SONOMA AERO
BLUE SPARKS
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I'm a huge fan of
The Affair. Go
HERE and download a couple of their songs and you will be too. Then the next step is to come by The Delancey tomorrow night and drink some free beer. Free beer and music? How can you top that?
I'll see you there. Make sure you say hi.
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b at 4:46 PM
how i know i'm warped
My friend Brian "Crusty Tummy" Zimmerman sent me a link to this picture today, completely out of the blue. I clicked on it, and the picture came up-- normal enough. There they are, four hippos sitting around, one of them seemingly passed out on its back, with that caption underneath. Okay, fine.
Well, it took me a good 3 minutes to figure out the joke. Now hold on a sec, I'm not that big of an idiot. I got the
Hungry Hungry Hippos reference right away, naturally. However, after reading the caption I spent the next two minutes trying to figure out where the humor was. I didn't see any Hippo dicks anywhere, there was no miming of masturbation or freaky sexual positions being assumed by the hippos, and the word 'marbles' was not meant to be slang for 'testicles.' What the hell was going on here??? I automatically assumed that there was some bizarre, freaky, S&M type "Real Sex" shit going on in the picture that was so advanced that even
I had no idea what it was. The following IM conversation ensued:
Buffoon668: i don't get it.
Schpadoinkezimm: I'm in a cute G rated humor mode right now.
Buffoon668: wow
Now what does it say about me that I couldn't even appreciate a stupid little hippo cartoon? What does it say about me that when I read the phrase "i just lose it" I immediately began to search the picture for some Hippo Cum? Where did it all go so horribly wrong? The easy answer is "probably high school," but I think it goes back much further than that.
I remember sitting at the lunch table in the fourth grade, telling jokes. I'm sure we told clean jokes here and there, but I doubt it. All of my favorite jokes revolved around sex, bodily functions, and nudity. I actually don't remember all of the jokes, but here's what I do remember:
- "Mommy, mommy, turn on your headlights, daddy's trying to park his motorcycle in your garage."
- Why did the condom fly around the world? He was pissed off.
- I don't remember the joke, but at the end the woman's breasts kill a Chinese man after he says "I beg you a thousand pardons."
- Me Chinese, me play joke, me go pee pee in your coke.
- There was one about a guy with a gigantic penis, but sadly that's all I can recall
- Hmm. There was an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' joke too. I remember I liked that one.
Well, I guess I don't remember the jokes too well at all. But the point is, I guess we were all warped back then too. Of course, at the age of 9 I probably would have laughed at the Hippo cartoon instead of searching for Hippo ejaculate, but what can you do? At least I hope I would have.
So I decided that I'm going to try to be G-Rated for a while. Well, not on stage, but in life. I'm going to start reading Garfield comics, watch Saturday morning cartoons, and not swear as much. Maybe after a month or so of living like that it will clean my mind out, and I'll be a better person for it. Hey, I think that's what that Mormon Jeopardy guy did, and look at him now. I'm next, bitch!
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b at 2:14 PM
computer problems
I'm having computer problems today, so I can't really post anything new. My computer problems are eerily similar to Britney's knee problems. I mean, we all know that her 'knee injury' was just code for 'poor ticket sales.' Now, by no means am I insinuating that my 'computer problem' is code for 'tired and unmotivated.' Absolutely not. My computer is fucked up and I can't post anything at all. Well, except for this.
It'll be fixed by tomorrow.
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b at 4:23 PM
not a siren
Since every other blog under the sun is talking about how amazing/overrated/hot/crowded/smelly/blurry the Siren Festival was on Saturday, I feel like I have to fit in. Now, this could be a problem since I didn't actually go to the Siren Festival this year. However, after reading blog after blog after blog, I think I know what's up. So here's my generic Siren post.
Okay, so
(insert name) and
(insert name) and I went to the Village Voice's Siren Festival on Saturday. Of course we pregamed first. Gallons of
(beer/jello-shots/whiskey/vodka/rum) were consumed before we made our way out to Coney Island. By the time we got there we were wasted! We headed over to the stage by the Cyclone to see
(insert any band) since we missed
(insert any band that played before said band). It was just like last year when we missed
(insert name of last year's hip band of the moment that nobody cares about anymore) because
(insert name) was puking in front of Nathans. That
(insert name) ... such a character.
Anyway, there were so many hot hipster
(boys/girls/chickswithdicks) walking around all day, and thankfully not as many
(trucker hats/ironic moustaches) as last year. We ended up leaving before
(insert name of last band of the night) came on because we were all too
(drunk/tired/sick/sunburnt) to stay any longer.
(Insert name) wanted to stick around to ride the Cyclone, but the line was too long.
(Insert name) ... such a character.
After the looooong subway ride back to
(Manhattan/Williamsburg/Reality) we all crashed. We were supposed to go the afterparty at
(Lit/The Hook/I can't tell you where, you have to know somebody) but
(insert name) said
(he/she) was probably going to throw up everywhere.
(Insert name) ...
(he/she)'s kind of a pain in the ass, actually. I don't think they're invited next year.
Overall it was a good time. I posted a Missed Connection on craigslist this morning to the
(guy/girl/chickwithdick) who was standing next to me during Har Mar. Har Mar sucked big time, so we kept looking at each other and making faces and laughing. Maybe
(he/she/it) reads this blog. If so, email me. I was the
(guy/girl) with the
("Jesus Is My Homeboy" T-shirt/Velcro Pumas/Ipod) that made you laugh. You were hot.
Great times. Can't wait till next year...
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b at 6:12 PM
sticking with politics
As of now I'm voting for Bush.
What are you gonna do about it?
(this is the best thing I've ever seen in my life, by the way. coincidentally, this is also why they hate us. god i love democracy)
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b at 5:52 PM
Jadakiss: Man, Poet, Visionary
You know, it's been a while since the Republicans have had something to compalin about. I mean, the Whoopi Goldberg tirade happened... days ago. Luckily, though, something else has gotten on their nerves. And that something is the rapper Jadakiss.
Apparantly, Jada (as I call him) wrote some lyrics that the Republicans aren't happy with. Now, not being a huge fan of the "rap music," I've never actually heard the song. In fact, I'm not exactly positive which song it is. After doing a google search on Jada (as I call him), I can only assume that these are the lyrics that have the Right all up in a tizzy.
Fuckin' Or What
All my stripclub honeys, is we fuckin' or what?
All my eat-pill honeys, is we fuckin' or what?
All my hoodrats honeys, is we fuckin' or what?
I just want to know one thing, is we fuckin' or what?
Upon first glance, it's easy to dismiss those words as just subtle sexual innuendo. However, if you dig a little bit deeper it's quite obvious what Jada is trying to say (I call him Jada, by the way). 'Fuckin' Or What' is a metaphor for the US occupation in Iraq. "All my
stripclub honeys is we fuckin' or what?" is Jada's way of asking "are we going to commit to rebuilding Iraq for the long haul, or is this just a temporary stay that was executed by our Commander in Chief. Of course, the stripclub honeys represents the United States military.
The "
eat-pill honeys" are meant to represent Congress, naturally. Where does Congress meet? In our nation's Capitol, correct? Now when you say Capitol with a thick blaccent, what do you get? Cap'll. Or "Pill," as Jada proclaims.Once again, Jada is asking our government, "is we fuckin' or what?'The man deserves an answer... we all deserve an answer.
So who are the "
hoodrat honeys?" Well, that would be us. All of us.Let me ask you this, America: Is we fuckin or what?
Strong words from a strong man. Of course, the Republicans don't like this one bit. Bill O'Reilly is fuming, and radio stations all over the country have been editing the song. Now as a blogger, and an advocate of free speech, I don't like that one bit. What he's saying is a
metaphor. Have you ever heard of a metaphor, people at the FCC? You shouldn't be able to censor metaphors. It's not like he's saying that President Bush knocked the Twin Towers down, you know? That would just be ridiculous.
Now, I know what you're probably thinking: "Hey, Bob, did you ever think that the song 'Fuckin' Or What' might actually just be about fuckin', or are you too incredibly good looking to realize that?" Well, people, I did examine that possibility. However I think these lines that show up later in the song put that question to rest.
Bring your girlfriend in the room shorty and lick her asscrack
And even though your tongue stuck in her butt
The only thing I want to know is we fuckin' or what?
I'll make this one quick. Girlfriend=Halliburton; Asscrack=Oil; & Tongue in Butt=Bush's promises to Cheney. Any questions? Didn't think so.
Listen, the man is obviously a genius. A modern day Dylan. Saying things through poetry that we're afraid to say on the streets. Sure, I'd like to walk down the street and ask people if we're fuckin' or what, but I don't have the guts. Do you? Jada does.
We should all be a little more like Jada. Ladies and gentlemen, I encourage you all to pick up a pen and paper, and to write to your local leaders, and to ask them the question that's been spreading all over this country and that's in the minds of men, women, and children everywhere. So... we fuckin' or what?
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b at 2:39 PM
and so it begins
Sorry for that half-hearted attempt of a post yesterday. I was busy making what will probably be the best episode of Best Week Ever since last week's.
Speaking of clip shows, I caught bits and pieces of I Love The 90's this week. More specifically, '92 & '95. I kind of agree with the reviewers that have been saying that it's a little too soon for the shows to be nostalgic, however that doesn't mean that it's not quality television. I mean, it's hard to feel nostalgic about Sony's Playstation when the last videogame system I owned was Sega Genesis-- actually, more specifically, Sega CD. You know what? This post is about to switch gears.
Sega CD.
What a mess. Sega CD will rank amongst the biggest disappointments I've experienced in my lifetime. I'm not even kidding. I'd say the top 3 disappointments in life, so far, have been:
1. Sega CD
2. The Nintendo Power Glove
3. My gay son
Okay, okay, so I don't have a gay son. I just wrote that because I couldn't think of a 3rd disappointment. I swear. Is it sad that the two biggest disappointments of my lifetime have been video game related? Some might say 'yes.' And of course by "some" I mean "everybody," naturally.
I remember opening my presents that Christmas morning years ago, and freaking out when I got it. I didn't think there was a chance in hell it would happen. I mean, Sega CD was like $300. Sure, I was a good kid, but not $300 worth of good. But there it was, under the Christmas tree in all its glory. My dad and I immediately hooked it up to my Genesis and started playing. It came with a couple of games, both of which blew me away. I mean, the graphics... wow. Sega Genesis was only 16 bit, but Sega CD... okay, Sega CD was technically only 16 bit too, but it was cooler! It played CD's! And yes, Sega CD was also technically my first ever CD player. Life was good.
Yes, life was good in 1992, and the sky was the limit. Over the next couple of years I purchased a bunch of Sega CD games, such as Sonic CD, the Jurassic Park game, and the bizarre game where Dana Plato runs around in lingerie the whole time. Was the video choppy? Yeah, sure. Were the games fun to play? Well, not exactly. Did I try to convince myself that I still loved Sega CD despite everything? Yes, yes I did. I tried and I tried and I tried. Even when I really wanted to play a game like ToeJam and Earl on my Genesis, I would force myself to play Silpheed on my Sega CD. "I'm enjoying this... I really am."
I couldn't keep up the charade forever, though. Even though Sega kept on promising to put out better games for Sega CD, they never did. Finally, they announced that they had given up on the system, a mere 3 years after its debut (and 2 years after I did).
Today, video games aren't a part of my life at all. My roommate owns Playstation 2, but I only used it to play the occasional DVD. I have a good computer, but the only game I play on that is minesweeper. While hanging out with friends, I still enjoy a game of Madden or Baseball, but it's not like how it used to be. And that I blame on Sega CD. In fact, the debacle that was Sega CD has affected my life in other ways too. It made me wary of technology. Like, I don't know who or what to trust. Like, sure I want an Ipod, but what makes me think that Apple won't trick me into buying one, then they just give up on it. Or the Ipod2 comes out and is so much better than Ipod1. And there I am, stuck with my brand new, out of date Ipod1, miserable, as everybody walks around with their Super IPod2's laughing at me. Damn you Sega CD, damn you.
Oh, and don't even get me started on the Nintndo Power Glove.
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b at 11:04 AM
the Post reads this blog
See, if the Post agrees wth me, then it must be true.
Quiznos rules.
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b at 10:51 AM
Musical Moments That Make Me Cringe
You know, I published this without an explanation, but I realized that I might have to clear something up. I enjoy-slash-love everybody on this list. These moments make me cringe, not because I dislike the artist, but because these moments are so awkward and so unbearable that it hurts you to hear it coming from someone you love. If I wanted to make a list of crap, I would just name 10 limpbizkit songs, right? Right. So without further adieu, here are the Musical Moments That Make Me Cringe.
1.
Robbie Williams rapping in "Kids."
2. "Don't you know you've got your daddy's eyes, daddy was an alcoholic." Thanks
Starsailor.
3.
The Killers "I got soul but I'm not a soldier." It's only a brief cringe, though, because the gospel choir makes it amazingly cool for some unexplainable reason.
4. All of
Ben Lee's "Household Name" from Something To Remember Me By. You cannot start off a song with the line, "Michael J. Fox was a household name, in 1985." There are laws against shit like that.
5. The part of
Jack Johnson's "The News" where he states that seeing people die on the News makes him cry (and yes, he does rhyme die and cry.)
6. "Hey, I have an idea. We haven't been able to capture the magic of our debut album in any of our subsequent releases... how about we get Ryan Adams to write a song on this one, add an orchestra, and belt out lines like 'Maryann, you're better than the world...' Maybe that would work. By the way, I nailed Courtney Cox." -
A. Duritz, re: Butterfly In Reverse
7. Has anybody heard the new
311 song? It doesn't make me cringe as much as it makes me laugh, then immediately change the station.
8.
Pete Yorn, I fucking love you. I do. I love you, and I love musicforthemorningafter. It's a testament to that CD that it's still amazing, despite 2 cringeworthy moments: (1) "Black / as a cat." and (2) The intro where you say, "This is a song called closet." Stop that.
9. You know, this musical moment almost didn't make the list, because it's gotten to the point that the actual band makes me cringe. But nothing hurts like loving a band in the 90's, and then once 2003 comes around they record a song called "Volvo Driving Soccer Mom." The moment that I read the name of that single made me cringe. Where did it all go wrong,
Everclear?
10.
Ryan Adams "Rock N Roll." The whole thing.
So did I miss any?
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b at 5:56 PM
you ugly
I got stuck on the
Ugly Train this morning. It happens at least once a week, and it's never the way you want to start your Monday off. I mean, with millions of people in the city, and with fewer than a dozen subway lines, you'd think it would be virtually impossible to ride a car with NO attractive people in it. Right? Wrong.
Riding the Ugly Train reminds me of college and being stuck in the
Ugly Class. The Ugly Class was the worst. See, I was an English minor in college, and it dawned on me early on that my English classes were going to be full of girls. And I was right; they were. Ugly girls.
Now this was an amazing phenomenon. I went to
Towson University, a school known more for its attractive female population than for any of its academic programs or sports teams. It's true. Students walked around bragging about how Towson was once ranked 3rd by Playboy for its girls, and new coaches that were interviewed by the school paper would declare that the "legend of Towson girls" was true. Well, they were right; the girls at Towson were incredible. However, somehow, every once in a while you found yourself stuck in the Ugly Class, and that sucked. For me, it happened more than once, but that was my own fault for taking poetry classes.
It always began on the first day of class. You're excited, you have high expectations. Maybe you get there a little bit on the late side so you can conveniently sit next to the hot people, right? You have the entire semester ahead of you, and you're bound to become friendly with somebody in your class... why not make sure that person is attractive? On the first day of class there is nothing but potential. So you get to the classroom, you scope it out, and then reality hits... Holy Shit, I'm in an Ugly Class. You start to panic. You eye the door, hoping some dumb attractive person accidentally went to the wrong room, or wrong building. You start thinking, "Wow, whoever comes in late must be REALLY hot because they're too dumb to even know where to go. Score!" But as the minutes tick by, and the door remains closed, you realize the truth: you are in an Ugly Class, and it's not going to get any better.
A shallow part of you considers dropping the class. But as is luck, the Ugly Class is always one that you need to take for one reason or another, so you know there's no getting out. So, since quitting is not an option, you try to adapt. By the end of the first week of class you're able to pick out the one Semi-Attractive person and you start to develop a crush on them. Sure, they're no great shakes, but they're better than the competition. You start to kind of glorify them in a way. Like, they probably have a great personality. Or you could tell by the way they chew on the end of their pencil and by the way they turn their cell phone off before class starts that they're really intelligent and sensitive. You think, maybe I was wrong about this being an Ugly Class, that person seems kind of special... yeah. Then, the following week you get to class and they're gone. It takes you a good month to come to grips with the fact that the Semi-Attractive person dropped the class, and it is ugly once more. Once you accept that, the Semi-Attractive person officially becomes The Hot Person That Dropped The Class. And you're heartbroken.
There is one plus side to being in the Ugly Class. By default, you're the hot kid. Hey, you may not have any eye candy to distract you, but well, at least your classmates have you. Lucky bastards. You start thinking things like, "You know, if I don't go to class today, those people will have to... pay attention. Poor saps." Or, "Uh oh, I think I might be getting a cold... I bet my class is praying I stay healthy. I am so proportionally attractive." That helps the ego, but it's still not enough. So what do you do? Start checking out the uglies until you find a favorite. It might take a while, but eventually one grows on you. Once again, you glorify the hell out of them until you're interested. You start rooting for them, like, "Come on, don't wear too much make-up today." Or, "I know you can dress like a girl if you tried." You kind of build them up a little in your mind, and everything is cool... until you point them out on campus to your friends and say, "Yeah, there's that girl I was telling you about in my Poetry class... what do you guys think?" That's when your friends smack you in the head and take you to a strip club in hopes to bring you back to Earth. That's also when they talk you into dropping your English minor, coincidentally.
And instead of ending this post with a clever paragraph wrapping everything up, I will leave you with another picture of Towson Girl Stacy Keibler, this time, posing on the Towson Tiger in the middle of campus. Enjoy.
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b at 4:41 PM
last night she said
I knew last night was going to be interesting. It had to be. Brian Levin is up visiting from Maryland, we were on 'the list' to attend the Paper Magazine party at Ruby Falls, and most importantly, it's been a long time since I've come to work hungover... a streak that was bound to end sooner or later. Let's start at the beginning.
After pounding a much needed
Crunk energy drink, Brian and I headed over to Ruby Falls to start the night off right. A loyal My Blog Is Poop reader, let's call her 'M' for anonymity's sake, got us on the list for this party. Of course, getting into a party with free booze immediately became the coolest thing to ever come out of this blog of poop. Well, aside from the tons of blog-groupie sex I've been having, naturally.
Anyway, the people at this party were pretty... trendy. A lot of good looking people, a lot of openly defiant smokers, and a solid mix of people dressed to the 9's and people in ironic T-shirts. I told Brian that I was feeling a little uncomfortable, to which he assured me that everyone at the bar felt a little uncomfortable- that's part of being trendy. Fair enough. We decided that the best pick-up line would be to just go up to a girl with a straight face, lean in and say, "I'm in a band." That's it. Then wait for a reaction. Ideally, you'd get a girl that realized it was a joke, and then the two of you would team up together and make fun of everybody in the room. However, chances are at a party like this, the girl would roll her eyes and turn to her friends. *sigh* Someday I'll find somebody that gets it.
When the free beer ran out, Brian and I said goodbye to Johnny Knoxville and David Cross and headed to
Joe Franklin's Comedy Club to recruit some comedians to go drink with. We arrived smack in the middle of the late show, and dammit I'm glad we did.
Sandy Kane, a disgusting ex-stripper that's appeared several times on The Howard Stern Show and Opie & Anthony was in the crowd. Shortly after we arrived, Sandy walked over to where the comedians hang out to bother us. She tried giving out lapdances, made awful jokes
("Yeah they're real. Real fake! Ha ha ha!), and acted as a perfect example of why you should never marry a stripper. Jason, the guy that was running the show, decided it would be funny to let her go on stage and do a guest spot. She got on stage with her boombox and sang a horrible song about Howard Stern's penis. Real topical. The audience was watching with fear in their eyes. I was hystrical. During the musical break in the song, Sandy turned around bent over, and amused the audience with this clever little antecdote:
Sandy: Hey do any of you guys want some crack?
Audience: (Silence)
Bob: (Hysterical)
Sandy: Well, you can't fuck me in the ass because I have a hemmerhoid!
Audience: (Silence, Horror)
Bob: (Tears flow down cheek; Dies)
After the paramedics brought me back to life, we headed over to the East side. Jason and Meghan, two great comedians (and people) accompanied us. We hit a couple of bars, but sadly, they were pretty empty. I guess our mistake was going to a neighborhood where most people had jobs to go to in the morning... we should've gone to the East Village instead.
That didn't stop us from drinking a ton, though. We ended up at The Bulls Head, and I decided to break out a great game we used to play in college:
Shotgun. What is Shotgun, you ask? Well, it's basically a dare that you have to act out for the rest of the night. Actually, it's not so much a dare as it is a character/ characteristic that you have to play. For example, I was once with my friend Sean and he broke out, "Shotgun you think you're 7 feet tall." For the rest of the night, whenever I would talk to a girl I'd have to say things along the lines of, "I'm sorry if you can't hear me down there, I'm really tall... It sucks being the biggest person everywhere you go... I sleep in a special bed." You get to see some amazing expressions when you break those lines out and you're not even six feet tall. Such confusion.
The first Shotgun last night was for Jason. There was a guy in the bar with a little dog, so I said, "Shotgun you're positive that that's your lost dog." Without missing a beat, Jason walked over to the guy and told him that he had his dog. He kept pushing the dogs hair back to check out his face, and saying, "I swear that this is him." It was amazing.
Dude: I've had this dog for years.
Jason: Yeah, I lost him years ago.
Dude: I got him in Pennsylvania.
Jason: I know. I'm from Easton, Pennsylvania. That's my dog... Puddles.
Dude: I'm sorry man... he's not your dog.
Jason: Whatever. I got my eyes on you.
What a great way to start. Other Shotguns included Brian thinking he was a Wilson brother- complete with that Owen Wilson drawl and everything, Meghan being the world's biggest Ladanian Tomlinson fan (there was a guy in a Tomlinson jersey), and of course I was a sleazy Blind Date producer picking out girls for the show. Good times.
We ended the night in typical from-suburbia fashion-- the diner. By this point in the night, we were all trashed. The diner experience is pretty blurry, but I do remember asking the waiter to send some buttered toast to a table of two girls sitting across the way, and say, "This is courtesy of those gentlemen right over there." The waiter suggested we send them cokes instead. So we sent them one coke with two straws. When the girls looked over at us we raised our glasses of water and shot them sexy glances. We are complete idiots.
So today I am hungover. Very hungover. Very hungover and tired. So hungover, in fact, that it's taken me about 3 hours to write this post. I promised 'mad updates.' I'll try for one more... if i don't fall asleep first.
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b at 12:38 PM
mad updates today
I owe you guys. Crazy mad updates coming soon...
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b at 10:37 AM
i'm still alive
I am, but unfortunately it's a really busy week. I'll try to update for real tomorrow, I promise.
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b at 5:45 PM
The Q
There are 2 things I love in this world:
1. Making analogies
2. Quiznos
And not necessarily in that order, either. I love Quiznos. Quiznos is, by far, the absolute best sandwich place in the world. I'm not including Panera Bread in the equation, because people constantly remind me that Panera Bread is "kind of gay," thereby eliminating it from competition.
I was originally introduced to Quiznos by my friend Howie about a year ago. He told me that he was taken to this amazing sandwich place, and he had to take me there. And then he said something that took me off guard: "Bob, it's better than Subway." Of course, I didn't believe him. I told him there was no way; Subway was the quintessential sandwich chain, and there was no way this 'Quiznos' place could compete. Howie was confident, and told me to just wait and see.
Well, Quiznos blew me away. In fact, I couldn't believe that Subway was Quiznos competition. There WAS no competition. It wasn't even close. Subway felt like the minor leagues compared to Quiznos majors. I mean, the sandwich was toasted! IT WAS TOASTED!!!
Since the initial visit, Howie and I have made dozens of trips to Quiznos. And we've noticed that most of our conversations at Quiznos are about Quiznos. Here are a couple of actual lines from Quiznos-related conversations:
(re: Cheaper By The Dozen) You know, I wouldn't normally want to see that movie. But knowing that Quiznos supports it, it has to be good. I'm going.
Imagine they sold beer at Quiznos. Would you ever leave?
So I'm going out to dinner with the girlfriend tonight. I want to take her someplace nice. I was thinking about Quiznos.
You know, stuff along that line. When I went to my cousin's wedding in Denver last year, my Uncle informed me that Denver was the birthplace of Quiznos. I immediately called Howie to tell him the good news. (And I believe Howie's response was, "Ah, Denver. The Sunshine State... Gorgeous!) In fact, when I was at the airport to fly back to NY, I found a Quiznos... with a bar! Even though it was only 11 o'clock in the morning, I had a Mesquite Chicken sandwich with a Bud Light, just to say I could. It was well worth it.
Okay, so to tie this into my love for analogies, Howie and I often tried to figure out an analogy to compare Quiznos to Subway. The first one was: Quiznos is Terrell Owens. Anybody would love to have Owens on their team because he's the best. Subway is Wayne Chrebet. Reliable. Dependable. But not spectacular. That one worked. However, we kept going. And that's when I came upon this analogy. Stick with me.
Subway is Judaism. It came first. There was a time when everybody loved Subway, mainly because there weren't any other options. Subway was pretty special, and there was nothing wrong with being a follower. Then Quiznos came along... Quiznos is Christianity. Suddenly there's this whole other sandwich shop that is sort of based on the same ideals of Subway, but expanded on them. People that went over to Quiznos LOVED it. They loved it so much, they went back to their friends who believed in Subway and tried to convert them. Because Quiznos was so special, they wanted everybody to know about it.
So with that being established, Blimpies is obviously Islam. It is. There are Blimpies everywhere, but to be honest, I don't know anybody that likes it. They must have a big, loyal following, because I see people go in and out... but I don't think I'll ever understand it. And there's something about Blimpies that makes me a little uncomfortable, you know? I'm sorry, it just does.
So anyway, go to Quiznos. Forget about the creepy commercials. Just don't tell your mom that you're converting, because she probably won't take it too well.
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b at 4:09 PM
I'm #1!!!
"Everybody, do what you can to keep my movie, Fahrenheit 9/11 number 1 at the box office. Forget about that Jew, Spiderstein, or Spiderman, whatever, and make sure to check out Fahrenheit 9/11 for all the action, adventure, and romance you need in a summer blockbuster. And make sure you pay extra close attention to the part about me not having anything to do with anything. Okay? Please.
"Alright, I have to go now. This is the President of Iraq... signing off."
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b at 4:11 PM
