Tuesday, May 30, 2006


Holy shit. This is just too fucked up.

I don’t like the drugs but the drugs like me

Davey Kinda-Sorta Havok

So I heard the new AFI song, the title of which I will not allow to desecrate these delicate pages of musical imagery. The song was ok, but I have heard it before. And I liked it, when it was by Green Day! Why in the hell is one of my favorite punk bands becoming Green Day? Now don’t get me wrong, I like Green Day. It’s just that I like them as Green Day, not as, say, The Clash. I would like AFI to stay AFI. ANYWAY, there will be no updates for the next three days as I will be in southern California for a funeral. See you when I get back, and stay sexy.

I can’t escape walking down these halls

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Hooray For Boobies

It is hard to imagine a world without boobs. What would Madonna have worn on her Vogue tour in place of road cones? Would she have replaced them with paper plates? I can only imagine the social ramifications that would ensue in the world of fashion. All of our models would flaunt the latest fashions from Dixie Cup and Bounty. Could women wear shirts without bras? And if so, would us men still look at them? I fear the day I look at my buddy and say the phrase “man that bitch has got a great set of Chinet’s on her!” That will be a dismal day.

I’m never talking to you again

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Bitch Magnet

Why are women so fucking weird? I mean, they used to be simple. Hell, I used to be able to figure them out. Now, I’m lucky if I get their name right half the time. Now don’t get me wrong, this is not only the woman’s fault. Men play a big role in this, and whether you like it or not, I am going to explain why. So grab a beer or two, a couple of smokes, and maybe a notepad, cause I’m about to get all preachy on yer’ ass.

In the beginning, men were men. They loved one woman, fought for their country, worked the family farm or business at the age of eight, and started driving by the age of ten. That all changed with the generation known commonly as the “baby-boomers”. When this generation hit, technology was at a boom. Computers were being invented, the cold war was raging on, and the economy was booming. With this generation came a new breed of men and in consequence a new edition of the woman was bred.

Men at this time began investing in stocks, buying land for profit instead of farming, and actually going to college. The new breed was not interested in plowing corn; they want to pillage Wall Street. The women, in turn, started to become more independent. They also started going to college, getting into technology, and started putting off having a family until they were financially stable, many times without the help of a husband. This eventually led to the birth of what I like to call the “Sex In The City Girls”. I know that is a horrible name, but hear me out.

This generation of women were (and still are I would imagine) the mothers of the women that are my age. Their independent instincts carried over into my generation. The problem is that the men who were transformed into yuppies have moved on, and the women who were transformed into independent women have not. Now this is not to say women should not be independent, quite the opposite in fact. But the women of the nineties still want the men of the eighties, and the men of the eighties want the women of the forties. We want women who will cook and clean and stay at home while we make a ton of money, and they want to work and leave us at home.

The reason women are so fucked up is not that their expectations are too high (although I am sure that plays some part in all of this); it is that they want a different breed of men. They want the men that can care for them without expecting them to be subservient. They want the house and the SUV and the 2.5 kids, but they don’t want to be thought of as having that kind of lifestyle. Basically, women don’t know what they want, and they probably never will. Us men get to keep guessing until one of two things happen; one, women will figure out what the hell it is they want and will learnt to tell us that, or two, they will just give up and give in. I myself am hoping for the latter, but that could be why I am single.

Can’t you help me as I’m starting to burn

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

K-Fed For Life Homeboy

Kevin Federline is an idiot. There is no doubt in my mind that he is the worst of what male celebrities have to offer, and he’s only famous for knockin’ up Britney. I am currently reading a small interview with him in the May edition of Spin magazine, and it almost seems like he goes out of his way to prove he is not a pimp. Never was his point made so clear than when he showed up at his wedding reception in a track suit with the words “Pimp Daddy” written on them. His logic, if there is any, I can not seem to follow.

The reason he is an idiot is due to his inability to accept who he is. He believes he has done something significant in life (Dancing in You Got Served?) and that he is owed respect by the media. He is not. At the least, he is a creepy man-whore who bangs hot chicks and wears camouflage track suits. At most, he’s a douche bag who has no musical talent. K-Fed informed the interviewer that the media is forcing him to make a rap record. Ok, if he had told the media earlier that their actions will cause him to make a record, I am sure they would have left him the fuck alone.

In the course of the interview, which consisted of eleven questions, he asked “y’knowwhatI’msayin’?” twice. He then proceeded to inform us of the fact that he is a gangster because he grew up in Fresno. Apparently, a lot of his homies got locked up or ended up dead, so he’s one tough mofo from the streets, y’knowwhatI’msayin’?

Why any respectable music magazine would feel the need to interview this dick tickler, I do not know. Any interview with him is essentially a waste of paper. Make some use out of those dead trees and paint them with naked pics of Britney. At least when she isn’t talking she is ok to look at. Every time I look at K-Fed I want to bitch slap him. And if you believe what the tabloids say, apparently so does Britney.

Kill me with a beat

Monday, May 22, 2006

Corny And Cheesy Like Nachos

So there I was, sitting in the bowling alley waiting to get my strike on, when this dame comes walking in with a dude on her hip. They sat down at the bar, obviously too cool for school to be hurling twelve pound spherical marbles at a collection of phallic-shaped pins. I grab my ball by the balls as I prepare to throw and establish my reign as the bowling king and, ultimately, God. I am Unaware of what Fonzie and the dame were up to, and god knows it could be anything; I toss and hit my strike. Then I look over to my left, and low and behold, their putting on some bowling shoes. It was clear that the Fonz was not enjoying this recreational activity any more than he would enjoy fucking a cactus. This struck me as funny for two reasons. The first reason, and the least important, is that he was no cooler with his girl than I was with my nachos. We were on the same level tonight. The second reason why this is funny and why this situation ultimately explains the way of the universe is that all she wanted to do was play with some balls, just not his. And you know what? Bitch got what she wanted.

Simply because you can breathe doesn’t mean you’re alive, or that you really live

Friday, May 19, 2006


The Deftones hosted a free concert in Downtown Sacramento yesterday, and as it is my civic duty to keep you people in the know of things, I attended. The show was pretty good, kind of short but they sounded good and seeing as how they have been in the studio for a while, it’s not too hard to imagine them sounding a little rusty. The new record is supposed to come out in the fall, which is good since it has been a while since we have had a record of new material from them. Now that I have covered the important details, allow me to gripe for a moment.

Beer lines suck. This is not news to anyone who has ever attended a concert over the age of 21, but let me reinforce some complaints. First, we had to stand in an incredibly long line to get into the beer garden. Ok, I can deal with that as it is a free show so there are bound to be people with a little extra money on hand since they did not have to purchase tickets. They will probably be thirsty. Then, we had to stand in a line to get tickets for beer. This is getting ridiculous, but ok, I can sort of understand that. Next, we had to stand in line to actually get the goddamn beer. This sucked. Every line was longer than the previous one we had just stood in. My question is this; was the ticket line really a necessary step? What the fuck was it there for?

Other than that there were no complaints, except that I almost ran out of gas and some dick tickler security guard told me I was too comfortable sitting down in a chair with a little foot rest in front of it. Apparently the foot rest is not for feet. This I did not know, but this go-getter wasn’t going to let me be too comfortable, as he would settle only for slightly comfortable and would not negotiate. Prick.

I watched you change

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Strongbad For President

So my ten year anniversary is coming up. I can’t fucking wait to NOT fucking go. Do I really want to see bloated versions of people I never actually gave a shit about ten years ago? The answer is no unless your some pathetic yearbook-toting social leach that graduated from an attention whore to a social/physical whore. I was a slacker, loser, skate rat and was looked down upon by the socialites that now serve  my food at fucking Taco Bell, and I have no desire to speak to or see any of them. Let’s face it, in two years, if I am still in this shit hole, I sure as hell am not going to remind myself of that sad pathetic fact by going to my fucking reunion. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll drown in a lake, god willing, before that time comes.

Goodbye, I never wanna see you again, so long, I don’t wanna be your friend

My Aim Is True

So something happened today that kind of made me depressed. I was at Starbucks, getting a refill of iced tea, when I was approached by the elderly gentleman at the counter in front of me. There were two of them and a lady who I assume was the wife of one, and they said hello and asked how my day was going, just generally being polite. Then one of them noticed my shirt, it was my Top Gun shirt that says “Wingman” on the back. He asked me if served in the military, and I said no, and the other asked me why I had not. Now they were in no way being impolite, and they were very friendly, so I took no offense, but I had never been asked this before.

I politely explained that I could not due to medical reasons and without elaborating
I explained that I could not get a waiver. This is all true. They both stated that they were surprised that I could not get a waiver and I stated I was as well, but there was nothing that I could do about it. We then continued to talk about military and the weather for a couple of minutes while we were waiting for our drinks. Once drinks were served, they politely said have a goodnight and take it easy and I responded the same, and then we parted ways.

The thing about this that depressed me was that I had realized something that I had previously forgot. I wanted to serve. Now I know that this may sound weird as anybody that knows me knows I am not the military type, but I really did want to serve. If I could, I would probably still be in right now. What made it worse is that these were two old men, and they were men in every sense of the word. They served their country in World War Two, Korea, Vietnam, and managed to still marry the only girl they ever loved and make a life out of everything after the military. I can only imagine that teenagers nowadays, as a whole, must look like a bunch of pansies with their eye liner and their cars daddy bought them. Kids today couldn’t survive a day in the life these old timers led and they did it with pride. And for some reason, that made me really sad as I could never measure up to that.

Alison, my aim is true

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Hippy Juice

I found this article to be quite interesting. For those of you who are lucky enough to have never heard of Ann Coulter, I will save you the lecture and just give you the comfort of knowing that she is a terrible human being. Anyway, like most extreme republicans of late, she is being investigated for voter fraud and could be sent to prison. Add another notch to the proverbial bedpost of indictments for the GOP.

Please help me cause’ I’m breaking down

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

I Am Using My Illusion

I am convinced that Chinese Democracy will be released this year. Now I know that G&R fans have been saying that for the past fourteen years, and it is not impossible that I could be wrong, but I have faith this time. Here is an article I read on the new record and after the internet leaks I am now more than ever convinced this record does exist in a world that is not confined to the physical dimensions of Axl Rose’s imagination. Anyway, check it out.

If you believe, they put a man on the moon

Thursday, May 04, 2006


I liked this so I thought I would repost it.

Things we all learn from watching porn.....

1. Women wear high heels to bed.

2. Men are never impotent.

3. When going down on a woman 10 seconds is more than

4. If a woman gets busted masturbating by a strange man, she will not scream with embarrassment, but rather insist he have sex with her.

5. Women smile appreciatively when men splat them in the face with sperm.

6. Women enjoy having sex with ugly, middle-aged men.

7. Women moan uncontrollably when giving a blowjob.

8. Women always orgasm when men do.

9. A blowjob will always get a woman off a speeding ticket.

10. All women are noisy fucks.

11. People in the 70s couldn't fuck unless there was a wild guitar
solo in the background.

12. Those tits are real.

13. A common and enjoyable sexual practice for a man is to take
his half-erect penis and slap it repeatedly on a woman's butt.

14. Men always groan "OH YEAH!" when they cum.

15. If there is two of them they "high five" each other. (and the
girl isn't disgusted!)

16. Double penetration makes women smile.

17. Asian men don't exist.

18. If you come across a guy and his girlfriend having sex in the
bushes, the boyfriend won't bash seven shades of shit out of
you if you shove your cock in his girlfriend's mouth.

19. There's a plot.

20. When taking a woman from behind, a man can really excite a
woman by giving her a gentle slap on the butt.

21. Nurses suck patient's cocks.

22. Men always pull out.

23. When your girlfriend busts you getting head from her best
friend, she'll only be momentarily pissed off before fucking the
both of you.

24. Women never have headaches... or periods.

25. When a woman is sucking a man's cock, it's important for him
to remind her to "suck it".

26. Assholes are clean.

27. A man ejaculating on a woman's butt is a satisfying result for
all parties concerned.

28. Women always look pleasantly surprised when they open a
man's trousers and find a cock there.

29. Men don't have to beg.

30. When standing during a blowjob, a man will always place one
hand firmly on the back of the kneeling woman's head and the other proudly on his hip.

Hooked On A Feeling

I have a problem. Ok, make that plural, I have problems. But as of right now, at this very second, I have one big problem; I can not stop listening to Rod Stewart. Now this would normally seem ok as he is a music legend (I guess) and has millions of fans. The problem is that I can’t stand his music. His horrid cover of Tom Waits’ “Downtown Train”, which is arguably one of the greatest songs ever written, destroyed any and all confidence I ever could have had for Stewart. Now I should point out that it is not Rod Stewart exactly that I am listening to, but merely two of his songs, and one was done by The Faces, which he was a member of. The two songs are “Stay With Me” and “Maggie May”. Now “Stay With Me” is a classic rock tune that anybody could enjoy. I mean, who could not enjoy lines like “in the morning/don’t say you love me/cause I’ll only kick you out of the door”. That’s a damn good line, bold and unapologetic.

The problem is with the other tune, “Maggie May”. Now this is also one of his best songs and is by far his most famous, at least to my knowledge. I hate the fact that I love this song. I can’t stop listening to it. It’s in my god damn mp3 player for when I go to the gym. I am listening to it right fucking now! I can’t stop it. The addiction is greater than that of my love for solitaire. I need help. Two words: therapy.

All you did was wreck my bed, and in the morning kick me in the head

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


I found this to be an interesting read, and I advise all of you to read it. To dumb it down to my level, essentially the Republican Party is falling apart and is facing great challenges in the upcoming primaries. The snowball will continue to roll into the upcoming presidential election in a few years, and if they don’t get their act together (which they wont) they face a Democratic take over. Now, if only the Democrats would actually DO SOMETHING. Seriously, the Democratic Party has a huge opportunity here, hell, they don’t even have to compete, all they have to do is point out the mistakes the GOP is making, and start pointing it out now. Anyway, take a look and tell me what you think.
Click here.

If you believe, they put a man on the moon

Spicy Nacho Epiphany

I just spent the entire duration of my trip home from work (6.5 miles, 22.75 minutes, respectively) deciding whether or not I should pull over into the nearest grocery store and purchase a bag of chips. I do not know why I desired those triangle-shaped taste assassins, but I wanted some Doritos. Bad. Now, I didn’t need the chips, and I certainly could have survived without them, but it seemed, at least for a moment, that no other food could substitute for the gift of deliciousness that is promised by a bag of spicy cheddar chips. I wasn’t even hungry. Obviously I decided not to cave into my crispy temptations, as I just went home and looked thru my barren cupboards for some alternative, only to find none. At least I had something to think about on my ride home, I guess.

Anyway, has anyone noticed that old Incubus sounds strangely like early Red Hot Chili Peppers meets Primus? I noticed that today. Damn that’s eerie. I’m gonna go find some chips.

In the morning, don’t say you love me, cause I’ll only kick you out of the door

Monday, May 01, 2006

A Spoony Kind Of Love

I want to live where soul meets body. I do no know why I want to live there, as I would assume my soul meets my body somewhere around the heart, the lungs, the brain, or maybe the colon. I want to live there because Ben Gibbard says he wants to, and as we all know, the lead singer of Death Cab For Cutie knows the exact location of all that is tranquil and peaceful. At least that is the message I get from their music, but I most certainly am wrong. I want to live where soul meets body because right now I live at the crossroads of foot meets mouth and hand meets wallet, and I gotta say it’s a crapshoot down here.

I bring this up because I have been thinking about the direction of music lately, which I blame in equal parts on The O.C. and American Idol. We are being bombarded on a daily basis with music that is supposed to make us accept our life as it is and realize it is a good life. The sad truth to this is that Ben Gibbard makes millions of dollars and gets name dropped in The O.C., thus making him 10x cooler than he ever could have been had he been publicly praised by the entire cast of Mork & Mindy. We are constantly reminded that if we sit back, relax, smoke a bowl and spread the love, everything will somehow work out, and that is just plain bullshit.

I hope I never live where soul meets body. Where soul meets body is where you come to grips with yourself, accept who you are, and live out your life in complete bliss knowing that you are happy just by humbly being you. I like the chaos that comes with not knowing who I am or where I am going. I like that when people think they have me figured out, I surprise them by doing something different than what they would expect. We don’t need to live in bliss and harmony and the comfort of knowing we are lucky to just be us. The day I accept who I am is the day I stop trying to advance as a human, and lets face it, we have all got a long way to go in that department. Where does soul meet body? Who fucking cares, I want to know where nympho-strippers meet Bryan. That’s where I want to live.

I want to live where soul meets body

Writing Excercise #3

The next project I am going to share was to write one to two pages about the first three memories I have as a child, and this is what I came up with.

If you never said you missed than don’t say you never lied

The first memory of my childhood that I can remember with any clarity is of when I was in the hospital for the first time. I may have been 5, but it seems to me like I was older, and I probably was. I was admitted for anemia, which they discovered I had at a young age. The reason I remember it vividly is because it set the course the next few years of my life, at least up until the age of 18. This was the first crack in my medical block of ice.

I remember my whole family, both sides, coming to see me. It seemed like they were all worried, as I am sure they were, but I am not used to worrying. I tend to not worry about much, as I learned so young that what happens will happen and I will have to deal with it whether I like it or not. I remember not having worried about it as I knew it was not much, I have always been very attuned to my body and what is going on with it.

I can remember clearly that my uncle Andy gave me some comic books, which I still have. I can remember that my uncle’s friend Valesca gave me a model of dinosaur bones that I built, because she was really into archeology and it gave me something to do while in bed. I can remember my brother buying me the Nintendo Final Fantasy game and bringing the Nintendo into my hospital room so we could play it. It seems odd that I would remember gifts people gave to me, but I still have them. I have always been a pack rat.

It may seem a little morbid that lying in a hospital bed, waiting to die is the first memory of my childhood, and I agree it does appear that way. But this was a major event in my life and in my family’s life as well. I remember it so well that I swear I could even recall conversations we had. I remember that my dad’s best friend Greg brought me In-N-Out for lunch one day because the food in the hospital was horrible. I can remember all these things, but can’t recall how old I was. That seems odd. I now believe I was probably closer to 10. Most of that time period in my life was one giant blur, so it is more than fathomable that I was that old.

The second memory from my childhood that I remember with any clarity is when I broke my arm. I do not remember how old I was, but I had to be younger than 10. I was playing on a slide in our backyard, and my brother dared me to jump off. Like the smart kid that I am, I jumped off, and landed on a pile of bricks. I remember going in to the hospital to get my cast on, and I remember the house it happened in, but I can not remember where that house was, what city it was in. I imagine it was somewhere in the San Fernando Valley, but I cannot say for sure.

I can actually see myself standing on the slide. This is the freaky part; I remember jumping, landing, the hospital, and afterwards. The strange part is that I cannot remember anything before the moment that I jumped. Now I naturally assumed that this is due to the human psyche and how we tend to only remember the important details of an important event, but with me I usually remember the details leading up to the event and not the event itself. The mind really does work in mysterious ways.

The third memory of my childhood that comes to mind would be the day of my aunts wedding. I remember this mainly for one reason; I had a cherry coke with my grandfather. Now I know this sounds weird but hear me out. Everyone was wearing tuxes and the normal wedding attire, and I must have been close to 8 or 9 years old at the time. People were dancing and doing the usual wedding routine, but I was bored. So I went up to talk to m grandfather and he bought me a cherry coke, and we just sat at the bar and talked and drank cherry coke. The reason I believe this memory comes to mind is that he loves to talk. He doesn’t talk a lot but he likes having conversations and that’s the memory I have of him the most, having conversations with him about anything and everything. When I was living in Northridge I went to Shakey’s Pizza for some of their famous potato wedges and he was there picking up some food and we just sat down and talked and waited for our food.

Every time I go to southern California I stop by and say hi to them, and we talk about history or whatever and that’s always going to be my memories of him. Just the two of us talking about god knows what while my grandmother makes dinner. I am not sure why the wedding conversation is the one I remember the most as I can not remember what that particular conversation was about, but that’s the earliest one I have of us talking.