Thursday, October 26, 2006

I Straightened My Slinky

So I was going to write a review of the new My Chemical Romance album, but I just don’t have the energy; papa’s been pretty busy lately. However, if I did write a review of the album, the review would include some choice words such as sexy, awesome, and maybe even delicious. What the hell, I probably will write one this weekend just because I finally have an album that I have a lot to say about, but in short; buy it.

Anyway, if you have not seen The Departed, there is currently a block of joy missing from your cerebral Rubik’s cube. It is as if you were rotating the rows and columns of intellectual colors and suddenly realized that you were missing a block of beautiful blue’s and reds. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the very idea of you missing out on such a delectable film fills me with a sense of sorrow for your corrupt and damned soul…and yes, I do way too many drugs.

The hardest part of this is leaving you

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Been Caught Stealin'

A list of possible scenarios concerning the whereabouts of B:

- Continuing the fat against anorexia, he ate Safeway.
- Got drunk, asked hot girl to show boobies, hasn’t been seen since.
- After having conquered Swaziland, Molly’s Ringworld, and Meso-po-tampon, he set out on his life quest to conquer Rhode Island…Got lost and drown in the ocean.
- Died of exhaustion after having mad kinky sex with 400 Roman goddesses.
- Accidentally bought Jewel album, drove car off cliff.
- Asked Oprah if she was hungry, she was. And by all accounts, he was tasty.
- Brain exploded after losing political argument to a four year old.
- Got to the center of the tootsie pop, hasn’t come back.
- Was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered by remaining Swaziland peons.
- Been Caught Stealin’…Punished accordingly.
- Body possessed by evil spirit of dark underworld lord Fancy Pants, forced to consume souls of a thousand virgin female nuns, and then forced by God to watch Golden Girls reruns as penance.
- Died of heart attack while jacking off to Golden Girls reruns.
- Death by Sexy!

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me

Monday, October 16, 2006

Holy Rusted Metal Batman!

So I was watching an old Batman episode tonight, and it made me wonder something; where did they get the ideas for some of these characters? I mean honestly, who dreamed up Robin? The guy is useless. All he does is ride shotgun and point out the obvious. And don’t even get me started on Batgirl. That silly bitch couldn’t fight her way out of a line at Wal-Mart. Between a dumb skank in tights and Captain Obvious bakin’ brownies and makin’ bad jokes, it’s no wonder Bruce Wayne is so fucked up. He’s got to deal with these two losers. And the Penguin? What the fuck is his super power? Is he gonna waddle me to death?

And the worst part is that it actually gets worse. Take the X-Men for example; why do we need Jubilee? Look out Magneto; she’s packin’ some serious razzle dazzle. Fireworks! The bitch uses fireworks to fight crime! What is she going to do, blow off some teenagers thumb? Not very useful, but I bet she’s handy during the 4th of July. I can’t believe I have to get angry about this shit. I never knew a single kid who aspired to be Robin for Halloween. That’s comparable to wanting to be President and becoming a member of the PTA. I bet he brings brownies to his PTA meeting too, fucking sissy. I HATE you Robin, fuck you and fuck your little green briefs.

If bein’ afraid is a crime, we hang side by side

Friday, October 13, 2006

Buried Myself Alive

Lots of awesome stuff to talk about, none of which is half as super-awesome as this video I found on Wired magazine’s website. Whoever created this little delectable bit of joy deserves an Oscar or a Peabody, or maybe some Cheetos. Anyway, check it out. Moving on, here is something that I think everybody should be aware of. It is called (RED), and it is a program created by Bono and Bobby Shriver to help fight Aids in Africa. It is a great program and I have already registered and plan on purchasing a few (RED) items to help the cause.

In other news, John Mark Karr should run for office. Honestly, this guy can’t even fuck up without fucking it up. How pathetic must you be to fail as a pedophile? Does he wonder what the other pedophiles will think? Does he hang his head in shame, knowing that he has forever lost his chance at the Sick Fuck of the Year award?

Anyway, apparently it is not bad enough that we have to lose Tower Records, but we also have to lose CBGB’s as well. What the liquidation company, and apparently the owner of the CBGB’s building as well, doesn’t understand is that they are killing off musical landmarks to make way for dollar stores and burger joints. Tower Records is the oldest musical chain in the country, possibly the world, not too mention a staple of Sacramento’s history. It’s sad that the stores are going to close just because people would rather have their music digitally infused into their useless brains within nanoseconds of a song’s creation.

Anyway, now that I am officially depressed, I am going to go and find some good news or some funny comics or crappy porn or something else to look at. So long CBGB’s, and Tower, you will be missed. And to John Mark Karr, go fuck yourself, you sick and pathetic pedophile. Oh, and go check out (RED).

Buried myself alive on the inside.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Brain Damage

So I was going to post a sequel to my last post regarding decisions about friendships, but I am not in the mood. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I am going to talk about me.

I am a freak.

Not just in bed, mind you, but a freak of nature. I seriously wonder what ramifications and repercussions would be bestowed upon any psychologist you attempted to analyze me. Personally, I think they’d cry. I have that effect on people, and it is not always intentional.

What I mean by stating that I am a freak is that I wonder about shit that I am confident will never happen. This shit keeps me up at night, even though there is no logical explanation for this to bother me. As an example, I wonder how my mind would work if it were in someone else’s body. Would I still be me? Would I still like tea and redheads? And more importantly, would I still wonder if I was a freak or not?

I spent an hour today wondering how I would look if I was short. I am six foot fucking two, I will never be short, but still I wonder, as if my height might have made a difference in my pursuit of women or clothing or money or fame or noodles. I need help. I always blame my lack of sleeping ability (my whole life I have averaged maybe 4 hours a night at most) on the fact that I drink tea. Well, I don’t put sugar in it and I don’t usually drink it at night, so that only leaves one possible explanation; my freakish brain is pondering freakish shit.

Maybe I need help. Maybe I need sleeping pills. Maybe I need a concubine to help me sleep so that I wouldn’t need the sleeping pills. Maybe I’m just a freak.

And that is why road cones are orange.

There’s someone in my head, but it’s not me

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Decisions Part 1

We are often left with choices that we neither want nor understand. These choices could be about anything really, and we as human beings tend to exaggerate the depth of a particular choice. We act as if this decision could determine the path of which our lives will from this point on tread. Now I am not naïve enough to think that every decision we make does not have its own ripple effect, because they do. All I am saying is that if we were to remove the emotion out of the decision making process, then that decision would be a hell of a lot easier to make. At that point it would boil down to simple mathematics, i.e. which of the choices has the greatest positives with the least negatives. We make choices everyday, every minute, without realizing it, much less taking the time to deconstruct the issue down to its lowest common denominator.

With that being said, I hate making decisions. Ask me where I want to go to lunch and I will almost always say Chipotle. This is not because Chipotle is somehow superior to all other restraints (although they do make some damn good burritos), but because I would rather just not make the decision. Apparently Bush has no problem being “The Decider”, but that is because in his eyes he can do no wrong and he’ll just blow up whoever questions him. I hear having God on your side helps, but there is no evidence to support that claim. I myself would rather leave those kinds of decisions to the people, but that’s not where this post is headed. My true intent for babbling on this topic is two-fold; one, I hate making decisions and I hate the fact that I have to. Two, because very recently a decision was presented to me that I cannot make for reasons which I will not specify here (but feel free to imagine any possible scenario).

When it comes to friends and family, the decisions get harder. The potential fallout of any choice made will always be far greater than you anticipated or even imagined when presented with that choice. We often think in terms of “I will cut this person out of my life and that will be it. I will never see them again and if I do I will be polite and say hi and walk away”. But we never do that, do we? This is because we convince ourselves that what we want to happen will always be the reality of the situation, and it never is.

Friendships are hard, and they never get easier. People change from when you first met them and sometimes your opinion of who they became is far different than their own. So, my question I am posting to you, and please feel free to comment, I want some communication, is this:
How many times, specifically, should you try and make a friendship work.

Now what I mean by this is that every time you and another end communication, for whatever reason, counts as an “instance”. How many “instances”, or periods of no contact followed by reconnection, should you go threw. What if you are the one responsible for the demise of your relationship with someone? Does that change the count? How about if they are to blame? And most importantly, what do you do when there is nobody at fault? No need to provide specific details on any given relationship or experience, just an opinion is all I ask.

You threw the bricks that built this wall

My Mascara Is Running!

I read an article today in the latest issue of Spin, by far one of the worst music magazines around (especially since they booted Chuck Klosterman), about the surprising drop in attendance at this years Warped Tour. The Warped Tour is generally one of summer’s biggest sellers, and I went every year for the first 10 years. Now here is my question; how the fuck is anybody surprised at this? I have been saying for months that emo is getting old, and the past two Warped shows have been built around emo bands and their ever-loyal fans. But those fans are getting older, getting jobs, and discovering (hopefully) that mascara and tight jeans really doesn’t make a dude look cool.

The market is oversaturated with emo and pop-punk bands. Turn on a radio at any given time of day and chances are you won’t go ten minutes without hearing a Warped act. Not only is the market flooded with emotionless lyrics about emotions, but the bands sound so damn similar that nobody cares about trying to figure each one out. “So tell me, what separates Fall Out Boy from Panic! At The Disco?” well, they have different names, does that count? Seriously, the whole The Academy Is…Panicking At The Fall Out Boy’s Bayside while Pink Spiders in Red Jump Suit Apparatus’ living in Hawthorne Heights try to Take Back Sunday thing is just played out. The last records to matter in this genre are about to come out (The Used and My Chemical Romance), and after that, it’s over.

Now I am positive that The Used and MCR will survive long after the emo scene slits it wrists, kind of like Pearl Jam after the end of grunge. The Used has too big of a fan base and their second record was too damn good, and it looks like MCR is right there with them. But other than that, it’s over. The next big thing (god I hope it’s not indie rock) will come around and have its moment in the sun. This is how music works, and it will never change. Rock has been around forever, in one form or another, and I am convinced that it will never die. Hip Hop I am not so optimistic about, but for different reasons. But emo is dead.

So, emo boys listen up; throw away your skin tight jeans, let your marbles get some air (assuming they have dropped, don’t worry, it will happen someday), wipe off the make up, and get a god damn haircut, cause I am about to give you the most important advice you will ever hear…remember, its down the road, not across the street, and make sure the sharp edge is pointed down.

Ok, maybe the second most important advice you will ever hear; when the last talent scout shuts off the light on emo, you don’t want to be the only broken-hearted metro sexual left in the room.

Did he leave your pretty fingers lying in the wedding cake?

Friday, October 06, 2006

I Wanna Be An Astronaut

I have always been interested in Einstein’s theory of relativity, and especially interesting to me is the Twin Paradox, which is based off of a study by Paul Langevin in 1911 on special relativity. The Twin Paradox, broken down into laymen terms, is as follows:

Step 1 – take two identical twins, at birth, and give them identical watches. We would assume that the watches have a never-ending battery life, and could never be broken or stolen.

Step 2 – set the watches to identical times, and shoot one of the twins into outer space.

Step 3 – the twin travels 86.5% of the speed of light, traveling towards the nearest star system (4.45 light years away).

Step 4 – mathematically speaking, the trip (both ways) would take 10.28 Earth years.

Step 5 – when the traveling twin returns, he would have aged 5.14 years, while the twin that remained on Earth would have aged 10.28 years.

I would calculate all of this out for you but I am hungry and lazy and my brain is fried from work, but I assure you it adds up. What interest me is the fact that, on paper, this is exactly 100% correct (based off of the knowledge of physics & astronomy we currently have. This is not taking into account experiments yet to have been made to prove our calculations wrong). I wonder if/when this will be possible to test on live subjects. Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to shoot an infant into space for 5 years, as I am sure they would lack the intelligence needed to survive. The last thing we need is a baby sucking on the door handle of the emergency exit just to get some milk.

But if this were to be proven correct, in a live experiment, do you know what that would mean? I a simple statement, time travel. We would have the ability to travel into the future. Granted, it would not be immediate, nor would our time capsule be a De Lorean, but the theory is sound. If we were not content with the way the world is working at this current time, we could just hop in our time machine (space ship) and jettison off for a couple of years. Now the downside may be that this only works one way, but that’s not what scares me. What scares me is that we try this (and somebody will), and the wanna-be time traveler returns home to a world that isn’t there. With the direction that this world is headed, it’s not that improbable.

This sugarcane, this lemonade, this hurricane, I’m not afraid

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Chick Magnet

I often wonder about the inventor of sliced bread. What were the words that came out of his mouth when he looked up towards the heavens and shouted “I have just created the greatest thing since…” what was there before sliced bread that he could have compared it to? Fire maybe, that was a good one. The wheel? It’s possible, but without the advent of cars or the horse and buggy, the wheel was pretty useless. Maybe he just stood up and shouted “I have created the greatest thing since time began, and therefore it shall be used to judge the level of greatness among all other creations!”

He probably used it to get laid too. If I invented sliced bread, I’d be one badass motherfucker. I would walk into a bar and all the dames would give me that “as if” look, but little do they know. I would then strut up towards the wench of my desire and whisper delicately into her soft and probably dirty ear “I am the man who invented sliced bread, and baby, I’m gonna butter yours all night long!” they would then uncontrollably throw their hairy and unwashed arms around me and shout “oh do me do me you sexy bread handling beast, do me now!” this would of course cause mass fits of jealousy amongst the other bar wenches, leading eventually into a ménage 30. So what does this say about the male mind?

Even when it comes to bread, we’re thinking about pussy.

So goodbye, so long, the road calls me dear, and your tears cannot bind me anymore

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Titty Power

I want boobs. I mean it, seriously. You chicks can get anything you want; all you have to do it show a little nip. If I had boobs, I would never pay for a drink. I would always get out of a ticket. Hell, I would even use my incredible titty power on a judge and get that damn Arson-with-intent-to-kill removed off of my record (the bastard ended up not being home, but all the same, I think I killed his lawn. Moral victory for me!). Just imagine all the possibilities that are beheld within the warm flesh of a nice rack. We could get all the world’s leaders together, ask every one of them how much they hate the United States, and all they would do is scream out obscenities in their own respective babble. But, if you then have Nicole Kidman strut down the aisles of the UN building, her nice features proudly on display, they would all loudly cheer “We love United States of Freedom!”

Imagine, for one day, all the leaders of the world in the same room, broad smiles painted on their otherwise grim faces, as they stare in awe and amazement at the gravitational pull of the eyes towards Nicole Kidman’s breasts. Ms. Kidman, your cantaloupes could possibly be the force that unites all countries in one common appreciation of the world; tits. Just imagine it. Titty power.

Never thought this day would come, you threw the bricks that built this wall

Your Hometown Hero

For those of you who haven’t heard, Microsoft is making an mp3 player. And while one would assume this product of the borg would contain technology comparable of that which comprises the electronics on the Starship Enterprise, it appears that its technology will actually be pretty limited. I loved my iPod, and my Creative Zen isn’t too shabby either, but this new device just seems to be a flagrant attempt to prove to the masses that they actually waited for others to create a device like the Zune just so that they could build off of their accomplishments, but it looks more like a model based off of their failures.

In other news, The Guardian came out. Why do Kutcher and Costner feel the need to continue making movies that suck? We have enough pain and suffering in the world without having to force our eyes to bleed due to the horrible display of acting by one has-been and one never-will-be. It may get good reviews (and I have heard it has), but I don’t care. Costner, retire. Kutcher, give up. Stop banging Demi Moore and start taking acting lessons.

You got to want to rearrange it, keep it off the record

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

The Forbidden Fruit

I have a confession to make. I have always been a Mac hater. My high school used Mac's, and I hated it. I am one of those who constantly bashed them, even though I never even tried to use them. I was, in essence, the enemy of the Apple.

But no more.

Having been using their latest Intel iMac machine for a mere two days, I have but one complaint…I can’t afford one yet.

But god dammit, I want one.

These machines are not mere computers; they are a blessing from the land of tea and redheads. They are incredibly fast, proficient, reliable, and so easy to use that it’s almost embarrassing. And that’s not even the best part. The best part is what they have included in their software. Little things that just make you wonder why Microsoft never bothered with them. Blue screen of death? Not a problem anymore. Viruses and Trojans and spyware, oh my! Nope. Not a problem either.

It’s almost as if Apple has taken windows, took out all the shit that doesn’t work, made it easier to configure and install and use, and then made it look cool. The way Mac OS X works is incredibly amazing, and I am disappointed in myself for never having given Apple a chance, much less the respect they deserve. Sure, people make fun of Apple because Microsoft has a 90% chunk of the market, but how many times a day do you really want to send them an error report when IE crashes or, god forbid, do that taunting “Not Responding” dance. I hate those two words. Hate ‘em.

I know I am probably going to get some slack for all of this, but I don’t care. Their new machines are amazing and I plan on getting one. I have always hated Mac’s, and it took only two days to completely change my mind. I am fully prepared to admit that in the electronic garden of computing, I have bitten the forbidden fruit. And you know what? It tasted good.

So, so you think you can tell…heaven from hell…blue skies from pain?