Saturday, December 25, 2010

Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats, The Wind Among The Reeds, 1899.

If you only knew...

Monday, December 20, 2010

Coming Soon...

As always, you fellow followers that maintain the courage to follow me down the rabbit hole of madness into the deep, dark depths of unexplored realms of the human sociopathic mind that I posses should know by now, I tend to recommend good, indie/unsigned music. No, recommend is not the word; Force. I force it down your throat like a gay dolphin pluggin' another dolphin's blowhole (Thanks for the image Ricky Gervais), until you finally learn to relax, and just let it happen. Anyway, I am working on a piece on a new band that I discovered two nights ago that may be the punk band Sacramento has been waiting for; has been needing. The band is The Left Hand. If Walk Among Us era Misfits had melodic sex with the Descendents and Alkaline Trio served as the part time nanny, this concoction would almost be as amazing as The Left Hand. They will be playing at The Distillery in Sacramento on January 8th, 2011 at 10:00 pm. It is not an all ages venue unfortunately, but in the profile and music review that will be seen here and in a few local mag's like Sac News & Review within the next week or two will give you a much better look at the music and influences. I will have the article posted here before the end of the week. Until then, check out their page, add them as friends, and be there on the 8th, as I will be and will be doing a live show review that I can only imagine is as amazing as the demo CD I received that hasn't left my truck stereo in the past 48 hours. Until then folks, check 'em out and let's help this city stop trying to push out the music scene that you can't stop from growing.

That's it we've had enough, put Walk Among Us on and turn it up!

Friday, December 17, 2010

The Sound Of Banging Coconuts

Dear fellow sociopaths, I have been unable to update recently as my mind is melting into what can only be assumed as liquid insanity. I am leaking brains and possibly toxic waste out of my nose and that is only the beginning of the dark, evil plague that has been cursed upon me by some witch of whom my ancestors probably burned alive after she turned one of them into a newt. But he did get better, so, you know, there's that.

Anyway, more paranoid and psychotic ramblings when I return to better health in a day or two. Until then, as always, stop touching yourself!

You just kinda wasted my precious time, but don't think twice, it's all right

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Accidently Like A Martyr

For the fella's (or ladies, whatever floats your boat);

I'm guessing Victoria's Secret, Spring catalog, 2009

I cannot think today as I have not been able to sleep for the past 5-6 days. I am starting to hallucinate, as pictured below:

Property of the great Tatsuya Ishida of the greatest webcomic, Sinfest.

Ambien works as well as turning off the news to feel like you were helping the fight against the Nazi's, unless you are Mel Gibson and/or his dad, in which case you probably still have your signed copy of Mein Kampf sitting on your bookshelf of other anti-Semitic literature. Assholes.

Anyway, my brain has now entered the "Quantum Entanglement" stage of Schrödinger's Cat Thought Experiment. My brain is neither alive nor dead, but it is arguing with me and it is winning. By the way, I use Wikipedia (Which I hate) for links as it is often the easiest way for those who do not understand some of the terminology I use to achieve a basic understanding of what the fuck I am talking about. Just a convenience, not an insult to anyone's intelligence. Except you, Michelle. (Yeah, you, the Michelle that "claims" she is my sister and actually from this planet, but I only do this because she is incredibly smarter than I am so I take the childish road. It's a moral victory.)

I would like to thank Cass and her friends for spreading the word about my little rambling sight here, as readership has increased quite a lot and that just inspires me to write more, which is something I need to do, so please comment what you love, hate, fear, offended by, or are aroused by (it's my grammar, I know. It's ok ladies, you don't gotta lie to kick it). Thank you to all the new readers and future new readers, and of course the old ones who never left.

PS - Cass...PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD when you go to this page, SIGN OUT. You are logged in as me and it makes me look like I am arguing with myself when you post comments. Which occasionally, I am, but really it's just the principle of the issue ;)

Accidently like a Martyr.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Biohazard Warning

I am currently helping Cass write an essay, as some believe I have magical powers...which I do, but if I told you...I've already said to much. People, grab your tin-foil crazy hats and sit back and wait for the Ragnarok. Also, I am attempting to help clean the place up, as a fav0r and for this I fear for my life. I am trapped in a personal hell which could only be compared to the Devil himself rising from the depths of his dominion, take one look, and say "Fuck this, you're fucked dude" If I do not return, I beg of you, bury me on House-Cleaning-Heavenly-Hill cemetery Bar Grill (WET T-SHIRT FRIDAYS!) so that I may rest in peace with my other fellow fallen heroes who have attempted to clean the house. There is nothing anyone can do, so I ask you to pray for me, tell my story, and tell my Mom I love her & sorry about most of my teenage years.

Because of the shame that I associate with vulnerability, I am numbing myself completely.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

The Killer And The Star

As you may have noticed, I tend to write about a lot of different stuff. Usually, whatever is going through my mind at the moment I sit at the keyboard, those thoughts of madness are leaked from the bowels of Hell, ripped through your worst nightmares and splashed onto the screen like the hallway scene in The Shining. Often, it involves the Swedish Chef, my balls, crepes, and/or duct tape. However right now, I am listening to the solo album by Scooter Ward, the front man of the band Cold. His album, The Killer and the Star, is unlike anything released last year. It has a haunting feel, with tragic and haunting vocals/lyrics that just make it standout above anything else I have heard in the last two years, save for the two highly underrated albums by Sirens Sister. So, as my mandatory musical recommendation from time to time, I suggest you pick up The Killer and the Star, and immerse yourself into some great music.

Friday, December 03, 2010

What A Shame

Don't ask, don't tell, commonly referred to as DADT, is stupid. No bother arguing this point, this will get you know where. The sad fact that we have the balls to ask our soldiers to die in wars they may or may not agree with but ask them to hide their true self's from their fellow soldiers is appalling to say the least. The funny (or not funny if you are one of the many personally affected by DADT) thing about DADT is that, speaking from a strictly psychological point of view, the policy has zero effect. Allow me to propose the following 2 scenarios as a demonstration, in the simplest way possible, as to how DADT does not work:

Scenario 1:

Soldier #1 (heterosexual)
Soldier #2 (Homosexual)

S# 1 - "Are you gay"
S# 2 - "Yes"

Combat - while being shot at from all angles, possibly about to die, neither is thinking of being tea-bagged by the other. They are thinking about working together to fucking survive.

Scenario 2:

Soldier #1 (heterosexual)
Soldier #2 (Homosexual)

S# 1 - "I will not ask you if you are gay as long as you don't tell me"
S# 2 - "I will not tell you, even though we both know you already think I am since you felt the urge to mention it in the first place"

Combat - while being shot at from all angles, possibly about to die, neither is thinking of being tea-bagged by the other. They are thinking about working together to fucking survive.

You see if you feel the urge to ask a fellow soldier if he is gay, the seed in your mind is already planted anyway, so you wouldn't need to ask. But the outcome is still the same; you both fight for not only your country but for your lives as well, and you trust each other. Neither of you is thinking about manberries and pork spears. DADT is nothing more than a useless and pathetic loophole for insecure Military personal and politicians to throw American heroes out on the streets because what they do in their personal lives makes them feel "icky". There are some stupid fucking rules in this country, but in my opinion, this one takes the cake. How dare we, as a country, insult and humiliate decorated war heroes who fought and died for our right to live our lives the way we choose while we simultaneously tell them they have no right to live their lives the way they choose. It's called "Freedom", look it up.

What a shame, to judge a life that you can't change

Monday, November 29, 2010

...And Don't Call Me Shirley

Leslie Nielsen sadly passed away last night at the age of 84. His brand of comedy can never be duplicated, and his classic roles never outdone. He will be missed.

Break up the concrete

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Sometimes the Hardest Thing and the Right Thing Are the Same

"So tell me now if this ain't love then how do we get out?
'Cause I don't know

That's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
That's when I told her I love you girl
But I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have"

Even God Hates Glenn Beck

It is 4 am, and I cannot sleep. I fear that this is not medically nor psychiatrically related, but merely a case of Glenn Beck haunting my worst nightmares. Let's face it, he does not have the eyes of a sane human being, and that chalkboard haunts my dreams. Freddy Krueger would kill me, but I think he as well fears the chalkboard of madness drawn from the clawed fingers and melted mind of a true sociopath. I am going to try and sleep now. Maybe Freddy and I can take him if we work together, me with my murderous rage and him with his claws and one-liners. If we fail, I fear the Ragnarok shall occur. If this happens, I am sorry, please forgive me and do not kick my ass while we all burn in hell for eternity.

Stand in the corner and scream with me

Friday, November 26, 2010

Tickle My Elmo

Somewhere, right at this very moment, two grown female parents are punching each other in the face; or the baby maker. Either way, this makes me happy. The Christmas tradition that has now become the economic clusterfuck of materialism and Touch-Me-Here dolls has reached staggering levels. It is because of you psychotic bitches that I cannot leave my house today. Not even for a cup of coffee, due to the fear of some crazy soccer mom assuming I have a hot new toy stashed in my truck and she is going to impale me with a stir straw to get it if she has to. I hate this day, but bitches are boxing each other out, and that does kind of help. Guys, just heal the hangover, watch some porn, eat leftovers and prepare for the heart attack you will receive when your next credit card bill arrives.

Hush my love a train now, but it takes me away from you

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


I think I gave my new soap dispenser a handjob yesterday. I'm not completely sure yet as to what transpired, but for some reason I feel like a whore. I bought a new soap dispenser, whom I would have named but he probably would have given me a fake name anyway, and filled it with liquid soap. I sort of have a thing with washing my hands; like all the fucking time.

Anyway, once I filled it with its joy juice, I had to pump it a few times to get the "soap" up the "tube" and out the "spout". This took far too many pumps than should have been necessary. So I began to pump harder and faster. This is where the "Dear Penthouse, I never thought it could happen to me" moment occurred.

As it finally blew its load of what I still pray was soap, I swear I heard a sigh of relief from somewhere in my apartment. My bathroom stank of sex and shame, and I washed off what I now doubt was really soap and more likely millions of tiny swimming dispensers. I then turned around and noticed a lit cigarette in its spout. I don't smoke, I live alone, and there are no cigarettes in my house. There was also what appeared to be cab fare on the counter.

So I did the only thing I could; I hung my head and did the walk of shame out into my living room, and I left my number on the counter. I doubt he'll call.

PS - This is the first, and hopefully the last time I will ever have to Google "Funny Handjob".

I created the sound of madness

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Thanks For The Dysentery

So as everybody but me knows (I am seriously the last to know anything), Thursday is Thanksgiving. My family has decided to have everybody bring a dish, that way we can all share the workload and/or all get food poisoning. Now my parents, my sisters and my brother (ok, more specifically his wife) are good cooks. My job, as it was described to me in my message that would self-destruct in 5 seconds once I chose whether or not to accept the mission, was to bring something not made by my hands.

Now they probably didn't mean biscuits made by God or Gordon Ramsay or the Swedish Chef, but they sure as hell know they don't want to eat anything I attempt to concoct. Simply put, I cannot cook. Not even Top Ramen. And I don't want to go to Safeway and have to pull a 'Is-Wayne-Brady-Gonna-To-Have-Smack-A-Bitch' to some poor woman over a can of generic cranberries. So what am I going to bring? I have but one idea;
Fritos. Fuck yeah!

The only thing that I still believe in is you, if you only knew

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Coconut Monkey Balls

I have a coconut monkey...let me explain. No, there is too much, allow me to sum up. Throughout the past few years, this coconut monkey has shown up, on my desk or TV stand, wearing the following: 3D glasses, Mardi-Gras beads, a woman's bra and panties on top of his head (which I am sure did not belong to one of my sexual conquests), an earring, a money clip, a bottle of beer and a keg tap handle, a gun and possibly an STD.

I have no idea how, but my coconut monkey seems to have a better social life than I do. I fear one day I will wake up and see him standing over me with my ATM card and the keys to my truck, no doubt heading off to Ensenada for the weekend. He has a slot for money, but I assume his belly is filled with girls' phone numbers, drugs, sun glasses and possibly a pager for his bitches & ho's.

I used to joke that my 'balls ride shotgun', but I am quite certain he has an invisible pair of man-berries too big to fit into a wheelbarrow. He is either the coolest coconut monkey in the world, or he is a demon drawn straight from my worst nightmares. If I die mysteriously, I guess we will know.

Another station, another mile

Friday, November 19, 2010

Danger Days

When the new album by My Chemical Romance, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys comes out on Tuesday the 22nd, buy it! MCR is a band that started out as the cut-of-the-mill emo band style much like their contemporaries, but managed to turn The Black Parade into A Night at the Opera meets The Wall. And now, they managed to top themselves again. The record is cut like a final transmission from a post-apocalyptic desert wasteland, and you feel as if you are on the dusty-road journey with them every step of the way. Congrat's guys, you proved the critics and nay-sayers wrong, and did it with talent, not distain and ego. Keep up the good work.

Gravity don't mean that much to me

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Wonder Bread

Have you ever dried yourself off after a shower, only to later wash your face and dry it using the same towel and ask yourself "Was my dick just there a few hours ago?" Obviously for you females, feel free to substitute 'dick' for 'sweater-puppies', 'muff', 'ovaries' or whatever the hell else goes on down there.

Don't lose touch

Monday, November 15, 2010


Sorry I haven't written lately, been through a lot of emotional and medical shit in the past few months. So, how do I start? How do I pick up where I left off? I don't. I am just going to throw this up there to remind you all that I am still here and plan on writing a lot more often now. Until then, check out the video and stop touching yourselves.

If you needed me so much then why did you leave?

Sunday, May 09, 2010

Breath and a Scream

These Twilight fans are out of fucking control. As if shamelessly attempting to bond with their teeny-bopper children by swallowing the verbal putrid inked on the parchments of evil known as Twilight wasn't enough, they are now condemning their demon-spawn bastards with titles of namesake taken from the one-dimensional soulless peons presented as characters in these trashy teen romance novels. If you ever desire to have a child who hates you with the fiery passion of a thousand burning sons, simply name them after one of these "characters" and join the ranks of millions of soon-to-be-lonely-on-Hallmark-holidays "parents" that were selfish enough to condemn their children to 18 years of ridicule and a lifetime of low self-esteem.

Yes, it is true; the new "in" thing to do to prove you are truly unqualified to breed is to name your child after a character from the abomination to literature that is known as the Twilight series. These parents must be playing an angle here; there is just no way that someone could desire that much hatred from their child by such a selfish act of parenting. I can only hope that for their sake the benefits reaped from naming your kid "Cullen" and hoping he is pasty and emo and writes bad poetry while listening to Morrissey outweigh the dead flowers and bad poetry he/she forces upon you every year for the rest of your life.

I don't want to limp for them to walk

Friday, March 19, 2010

Mrs. Potato Dick

I have fucking had it with SNL. It's not bad enough that it has become nothing more than the good version of MADTV, but now they only let bands/artists play one fucking song. Oh, and if you happen to watch it On Demand, because it is just too painful to not have fast forward as an option, you don't even get to watch that one song being performed. I sat through 55 minutes of Bill Hader trying to carry the rest of the cast while waiting to see Pearl Jam perform. But alas, I was disappointed. On Demand doesn't air the only part of the show worth watching; the musical performance. That's like getting the sex but not the climax. Ok, maybe not as bad, but it's fuckin' close.

this strange plan is random at best

Thursday, January 28, 2010

In On The Kill Taker

I haven't really written anything about music lately (maybe a review of Spoon's new record coming soon), so I figured I ask a question. What 5 bands would I reunite, should I have the power to do so and assuming all members are still alive/active? This seems a little hard, so I have decided to do two categories; bands of the past (the classics) and bands from my lifetime. Here's my list; what's yours?

My Generation:

The Replacements
Black Flag
Husker Du
At The Drive-In

The Classics:

Pink Floyd
Van Halen (excuse me, I meant Van Hagar)
The Clash
Miles Davis
The Band

Culturally Appropriate Post Script - Props to anyone who can tell me what that Gold disc in the picture is.

I want to conquer the world; give all these idiots a brand new religion

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Should Be Loved

Stop staring, you’re the reason I feel so unhappy all the time
I’ve given you everything I know how
Your standing on the top of my shoe
keeping me from gaining ground
I’m sorry if you feel like I let you down

Can you tell me what have I done so wrong
To you
Tell me what am I supposed to do

“I should be loved by you,
That I know is true
But I cant breathe when you’re around!”

“I should be held at night
That I know is right
But I cant breathe when you’re around!”

You’re too scared,
Scared of all of it …I get that feeling I’m talking to the wall
Can you hear me at all
My world was shaking my mind was quaking, my heart kept breaking
I threw it against the wall
Can anyone feel me at all

Can you tell me what have I done so wrong... to you
Tell me what am I supposed to do
I got a feeling, you’re falling out of love with me
Tell me who am I supposed to be

“I should be loved by you
That I know is true
I can’t breathe when you’re around!”

“I should be held at night
That I know is right
I cant breathe when you’re around!!
Look I can’t breath!”

Friday, January 22, 2010

You know you've fucked up when even the people who are obligated by family ties don't even trust you anymore. Everything you say is a lie, your friends slowly stop calling, nothing you do is ever good enough for pretty much everybody, and trying to fix things just makes them worse and you don't see an end in sight. Shit, at this point in my life, I doubt most people would even ask me the time of day, much less give it for fear that I would lie to them in order to further my selfish scheming.

I can't really blame anybody but myself, even if some it really was out of my control. Life just seems to go by so fast that eventually, when you actually decide to stop and take a look around, you realize you have worn out your welcome. Your friends are gone. Your family sees you as a burden, and what's worse is what you see in the mirror staring back at you. I really hope that reincarnation is a myth, because I sure as hell don't want to live this life again.

I don't belong here, I gotta move on dear, escape from this afterlife, 'cause this time I'm right to move on and on, far away from here. Got nothing against you and surely I'll miss you. This place full of peace and light, and I'd hope you might take me back inside, when the time is right.

Saturday, January 02, 2010

In my quest to find the perfect word or picture to define the cluster-fuck that was the year of 2009, I would like to thank Scott Ramsoomair of VG Cats for unknowingly doing the work for me.

So beautiful and so strange