Life goes on

I've spent all day packing my stuff up for the imminent move out of here, but a minute ago, I decided to take a little break. I laid down on the bed and just kind of relaxed, when the cat ran up and jumped on my chest. It was pretty cool, since she's uisually the crazy, bite-you-for-no-reason kind of cat, and this time she was just all sweet and nice. I rubbed her and petted her and for once, I finally managed to have a tender moment between me and my cat.


And then, the globe fell off the cieling fan and clocked me right in the nuts.

Short, Bald, Australian Song O' the Day

Rose Tattoo - "Nice Boys"

She hit town a rose in bloom
Smell the sweet, sweet perfume
The color faded and the petals died
Down in the city no one cried

And in the streets the garbage lies
Protected by a million flies
With roaches so big they got bones
They moved in and made themselves at home

I say nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
I'm not a nice boy!

Sweet sixteen she was fresh and clean
Wanted so bad to be part of the scene
She met the man and she did the smack
And now, she pays the price layin' down on her back

Want so bad just to please the boys
Ended up bein' just a toy
Played so hard burned her life away
Lies were told no promises made

Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
I'm not a nice boy... and I never was

Young and fresh when she hit town
Hot for kicks just to get around
And now she lays in a filthy room
She kills the pain with a flick and a spoon

And in the streets the garbage lies
protected by a million flies
With roaches so big they got bones
They moved in and made themselves at home

Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... don't play rock'n'roll
Nice boys... they never play rock'n'roll

Thy Infernal SONG O' THE DAY

Crashing through the night
Comes a fearful cry
Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!
Armies of the night
Evil taking flight
Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!

No where to run
No where to hide
Panic spreading far and wide
Who can turn the tide?

GI Joe- A real American hero
Yo Joe!
GI Joe is there

GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe is there
Fighting for freedom
Wherever there's trouble
over land and sea and air
GI Joe is there

Can the world oppose
Deadliest of foes?
Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!
Joes will risk it all
To end the evil call of
Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!
They never give up
They never say die
Walking tall with banners high
They sound the battle cry-
Yo Joe! Yo Joe!

GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe will dare
GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe is there

Fighting for freedom
Wherever there's trouble
over land and sea and air
GI Joe is there

GI Joe is the codename for American's daring, highly trained
special mission force.
It's purpose, to defend human freedom against Cobra-
a ruthless, terrorist organization determined to rule the world.

GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe will dare
GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe is there
Fighting for freedom
Wherever there's trouble
over land and sea and air
GI Joe is there
Cobra! Retreat! Retreat!

GI Joe- A real American hero
GI Joe is there
GI Joe

OH, FUCK THIS GUY.

*sigh* Now, this is probably why why people hate convervatives. Via Blabbermouth, this piece of filth was posted on the small-time conservative website, The Iconoclast: AESTHETICS OF HATE: R.I.P. DIMEBAG ABBOTT, & GOOD RIDDANCE
Here's a sample. read the rest and try not to throw a brick through your monitor:

"It was highly amusing, and also terribly sad, to watch on television fans conducting a "vigil" for the slain Mr. Abbott outside of the Alrosa Villa. It was an assemblage of ignorant, semi-human barbarians who were filthy in attire and manner, intellectually incoherent and above all else, hideously ugly to the point of physical deformity. Here is a definite case in which the outer appearance of these "fans" accurately represented the hideousness of their souls. That the physical deformity of their ugliness was self-inflicted makes the spiritual tragedy of their misspent lives all the more tragic.

But one can see why the heavy metal fans so closely identified with Mr. Abbott. He was an ignorant, barbaric, untalented possessor of a guitar and large amplifier system. Freakish in appearance, more simian than human, he was the performer of a type of "entertainment" that can be likened only to a gorilla on PCP. Lacking subtlety, wit, style, emotional range and anything approaching even the smallest iota of intellectual or musical interest, Mr. Abbott was part of a generation that has confused sputum with art and involuntary reflex actions with emotion."

Here's the email I sent the guy, which probably won't be read, after he gets sick of all the "FUCKK U PUSSY PANTERA IS STRONGER THAN ALL DIMEBAG 4EVER!!!!1!1!!!1" emails he's probably getting from the Blabbermouth crowd:

I'll try to keep this relatively short, since your inbox is probably getting flooded right now, and it might not get read, anyway. But anyway, your article was one of the most ignorant, classless things I've ever read. Did you bother to actually research the subject, or did you just skim a news story, and think, "Hmm. Heavy metal... Drug reference in name... Must have been a horrible person who deserved to die"? Whether or not you liked his chosen style of music, what he looked like, or whatever illegal substances the man chose to partake of is no reason to write him off as no big loss. Stripping away all of that, all you have left is a kind-hearted, devoted husband whose main goal in life was to entertain people and make them happy. This isn't exactly violent criminal we're talking about here. And as for the incident itself, the shooter, Nathan Gale, was completely insane, regardless of what music he listened to. If he had been an ex-florist and a Mary Chapin-Carpenter fan, instead of an ex-Marine and Pantera fan, he probably would have ended up trying to run on stage and shoot Mary Chapin-Carpenter. Saying Darrell asked for what happened to him by playing heavy metal is along the same lines of saying Phil Hartman got what he deserved for being a comedic actor.

I can only draw one of two possible conclusions from all of this. The first is that you were just trying to stir people up on the internet, like some sort of ultra-sophisticated message board troll. If so, good job. I'm sure you're enjoying giggling at all the profanity-laced emails typed in all caps that you're getting right now. The other possible conclusion is that you are an elitist of the worst kind, the type that makes all the liberals point and say, "see, they're all like that. Vote Nader!" You're doing more harm than good.

Oh, and by the way... Dimebag Darrell was a pretty hardcore conservative and staunch Bush supporter.

I'll let you know if it gets any sort of response.

Neat.

A few minutes ago, I decided to call it a night, but right as I was heading over to turn the light off, the dog started squeaking, which is his signal that he needs to take a leak. So I'm all bummed, seeing as I was all ready to pass out, and I slip on some flip-flops, put Ike's collar on him, and take him outside. He's sniffing around this one spot for a while, looking for just the right spot to take a vicious dump, when for some reason, I decide to look up at the sky. This is rare for me, as usually I just kind of shiver, tell the dog to hurry up, (as though he understands English) and keep an eye out for that dog that tried to rip his throat out a little while back. So anyway, I'm kinda star-gazing, trying to make out all the constellations I know how to make out, and getting all stumped on one clump of stars that I knew was a constellation, but I couldn't remember which one. I think it was Scorpio, but I need to look it up. So I'm just staring up there for a while, while the dog discharges his payload, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I see a shooting star. What makes this even more awesome, is that it's the first one I've ever seen, and to the best of my knowledge, there wasn't an expected meteor shower or anything tonight. Just a random little streak across the sky that I wouldn't have seen if I hadn't taken the dog out right when I did and if I hadn't been staring at the sky in just that spot when I did. Neat. Sometimes, in between eviction notices and dead guitar heroes, life finds weird ways of being awesome.

Meanwhile...

In some other heavy metal-related news that's (rightfully) been lost in the shuffle in the last few days, Anal Cunt frontman (and guy so legendary for being a total prick that it's the reason people love him) Seth Putnam has emerged from his two-month coma.
Reports that he immediately called his doctor a "dumb stupid fag" and busted a pee-bag over his head are so far unsubstantiated.

Later, Dude.

I posted this on Sac's site a minute ago, and it kinda summed everything up for me well enough for me to copy and paste it here. So here you go:

I won't try and erase the shit I've said over the years or retroactively change any opinions I might have had. I didn't really care for Damageplan, I didn't like anything Pantera did before or after Cowboys From Hell and Vulgar Display of Power, and you can throw in an Exhorder reference here somewhere. But all that aside, no one can ever deny that Dimebag Darrell was one of the baddest motherfuckers ever, as far as guitar goes. There are a lot of really good guitar players, but not a whole helluva lot where you can hear a solo and immediately know who it is, even if it's a song you've never heard before by a band other than their normal one. I can't tell the Dave Mustaine solos apart from the Chris Poland or Marty Friedman ones, and all those guys who make livings more off their sheer guitar-wankery than what band they're in or what their songs sound like (Vai, Satriani, Malmsteen, etc.) all kinda blend together for me. But aside from maybe Jimi Hendrix, Darrell was the only guy where I could hear something like an Anthrax song he guest-starred on, and without reading any liner notes or anything, go, "hey, that's a Dimebag Darrell solo." Someone like that doesn't come along very often.

But honestly, who gives a fuck about bands or guitar solos or whatever. The big, goofy, Texan fucker I saw swapping joking insults with Billy Milano on that S.O.D. video, the guy whose dream was to have "Cowboys From Hell" being played when the Dallas Cowboys came out on the field, and the guy who I've never heard anyone honestly say anything about isn't around anymore. And he's gone for no fucking reason. And that SUCKS.


1966-2004

In happier news

I ate Hamburger Helper with ground beef last night instead of ground turkey for the first time in months last night, and now my farts smell kinda like steak.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

COLUMBUS, Ohio -- At least five people died and two others were wounded after a shooting at a Columbus nightclub on Wednesday night, NBC 4 reported.

The shooting took place shortly after 10 p.m. at Alrosa Villa, located at 5055 Sinclair Road.

Two members of the heavy metal band Damageplan were reportedly shot and killed, including Dimebag Darrell, formerly with the band Pantera, NBC 4's David Wayne reported. The other band member's name was not released. The alleged gunman also died at the scene, Wayne reported.

Shortly after the band began playing its first song, a man reportedly ran onto the stage and began shooting, according to a witness who identified himself as Sean. Some members of the audience reportedly thought the man running onto the stage with a gun was part of the band's act, NBC 4's Erin Tate reported.

Witnesses said that several shots were fired at the band. Witnesses said that a bouncer at the club tackled the alleged gunman before that person was shot and killed. It was unclear as to whom shot the alleged gunman.

NBC 4 reported that of the surviving victims, one person was in critical condition while the other was in fair condition. Several others were treated at the scene, suffering from various injuries.

Alrosa Villa is a popular north Columbus nightspot for young adults, featuring rock and heavy metal bands, NBC 4 reported.

According to the band's Web site, Damageplan was touring nationally. It performed in Buffalo, N.Y., on Tuesday night and had a concert scheduled in Flint, Mich., on Thursday.

Damageplan featured former Pantera artists Dimebag Darrell and Vinnie Paul. The pair were joined by vocalist Patrick Lachman and bassist Bobzilla, according to their Web site.

This is not bullshit. Word on the street is that at least one other band member died too, with most saying it's Vinnie. Jesus fucking Christ. I'll be honest. I never liked Damageplan, and for the most part, I never was too big on Pantera. But this is fucking HORRIBLE. It's like the heavy metal equivalent of the John Lennon shooting, except with more victims. A lot of people seem to be bummed about no more Damageplan or no more possibility of a Pantera reunion. Well, fuck that. There's no more Darrell Lance Abbott, and his fucking brother might be dead too. I could care less about bands and reunions right now. Shit. I don't even know what to say here. If anyone's reading this thing, I'll pass along an update when more news comes along.

1:16 AM - UPDATE: Here's some info from a guy who posts on a message board I frequent. Apparently, he knows a guy who's close to their manager: Darrell survived the shooting, but bled to death about an hour later. Five shots to the gut at point-blank range. Also, his personal security guard and a club bouncer were killed, and the dickhead who did the shooting was taken out by a cop on the scene. Also, a tour manager and Bobzilla were shot, but as of now, they're alive. I can't confirm any of this, but it's supposedly from a very reliable source. I suppose it could go down as relatively good news, since every news report has said two band members were dead, and the more recent rumors were that Bob was the second one killed.
Anyway, that's all I know right now. R.I.P. Darrell Abbott, and here's hoping that I don't have to put up an "R.I.P. Bob Kakaha" update on here any time soon. Fucking A. Kind of puts minor crap like getting evicted in perspective. A but too much fucking perspective, if you ask me.
9:28 AM - UPDATE: Now, there's conflicting rumors that Patrick Lachman was shot and killed or that the second band member shot was someone from one of the opening acts (Shadows Fall and The Haunted, if I remember correctly) who jumped up there and tried to shield Dimebag. Hell, I dunno. I should just wait for something official to come up.
On an unrelated note, they found out the reason that Ol' Dirty Bastard died was because he was apparently working as a coke mule, and the balloon in his stomach started leaking. Cocaine is a helluva drug.

Um. WOW.

I can remember saying things about how I hoped Kerry lost the election, but I still wouldn't be happy that Bush won. And for you Republicans out there who haven't found a reason not to like the guy, here's one for you. He signed off on THIS. It's not as bad as they make it sound initially, as it's intended to just monitor what happens to the kids after normal household chemical use, but the problem here is that there will probably be parents who intentionally start using more poisonous shit in order to qualify for this.
Still, though, as a former Mississippi (the place where the tap water kills boll weevils) resident and exterminator, (where I would sometimes be armpit-deep in Malathion for pump-unclogging purposes) I wish this wasn't limited to kids, so I could sign up. Shit, I'd drink Windex for $970, a t-shirt, a video camera, and a framed certificate of appreciation. Especially if this was the shirt:

Fun.

I just got evicted, and there's a chance I might be out somewhere around $460 bucks on the deal. I might also bludgeon my roommate and steal her dog that she neglects.
Wheeee.

Damn, dude...

This was copied from a recent issue of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and pasted at a message board I go to...

"In a major tragedy on 11/27 at a show in Neza, wrestler Espiritu de la Muerte tried to do a psychotic flip dive, but his leg got stuck on the ropes, and he fell head-first on to the cement floor. His head nearly split in half, and he probably died upon impact. Worse, the person who was supposed to catch him (even though it's not his fault at all) was his brother, and his father was the referee of the match."

There's not a whole helluva lot I can add to that. Jesus fucking Christ.

Holiday Song O' the Day

The Crispeymonkeyproject - "Andrew's Christmas"

Jesus did something today
Don't really know, probably something real important
Jesus did something today-ay
Don't really care, long as I get my fuckin' presents

My name's Andrew
Shut the hell up
My name's Andrew
Beeyotch, beeyotch, beeyotch, beeyotch

Jesus better shut the hell up
Gonna whoop his ass if I don't get any presents
Jesus better shut the hell uh-up
I heard he's gay, gonna whoop his ass anyway


My name's Andrew
Shut the hell up
My name's Andrew
Beeyotch, beeyotch, beeyotch, beeyotch

Quickie Update

Got all of a my and the dog's cuts peroxided up, and drunk neighbor guy basically apologized to me for being drunk, shook my hand, and offered to pay any vet bills I might have, (and there won't be any) so everything's cool now. Except roommate's phone is off, so I can't ask her where the leash is, so when I finally took Ike back out to crap, I had to make a leash out of some rope I'm not sure why I have. Anyway, the situation has been defused. On a sad note, though, according to neighbor dude, his dog didn't have a scratch on him, so Issac basically just got his ass kicked. Poor guy. Also, I just noticed that one of my only two pairs of publicly wearable pants got clawed, too.

Fuck.

UPDATE: According to further reports from another neighbor, Drunk Dude was trying to be diplomatic and neighborly when he said their dog didn't have a scratch on him, and in reality, he damn near got his ear Mike Tysoned.
GO ISSAC!

There's Always a Party After Dark in the Meth Lab Trailer Park

Let me set this story up, by saying my roommate has this really cool dog. And usually, he's pretty well-behaved, to the point where you can walk him without a leash. This is good for me, because said roommate basically hides the leash from me for some reason, so just letting him run around is my only option. Usually, this isn't a problem. Usually. You see, we got some new neighbors, including a chick that's been convicted of aggravated assault, her sister that's been convicted of arson, and a couple dudes shacking up with them who are the kind that hang around arsonists and aggravated assaulters. And they got this big-ass black lab. Well, I was unaware that they had the dog till now. I am quite aware now. The dog we have, Issac is usually a pretty laid-back kinda guy, and with the way he's been babies his whole life, he's usually a pussy who does the whole "here, I'll roll over, so you can have my throat" thing when a bigger dog comes around. But apparently, he occasionally remembers he's a pit bull. Like perhaps tonight.
So I hear the dog whimpering like he wants to pee, so I throw on a jacket, slip into my flip-flops (yeah, it's too cold for flip-flops, but I'm hardcore) and head down the steps with Ike a few steps in front of me. He peeks around the corner, and I notice he gets that "oh shit, something's up" look a dog gets sometimes. I figure he's going to start chasing after a cat, (he fucking loves cats, and when they hiss at him, it pretty much breaks his heart) so I do a half-assed "no, Issac," and yell for him to come back over here. Then, I see the big ass lab. Immediately, there's one of those doggy stare-downs, and I know I have to intervene before something - Fuck. Too late. The dogs pretty much latch on to each other and start those sick-ass dogfight growls, and I start chasing them down, trying to grab Issac off the other dog, (for the record, and to the lab's credit, it seemed to be a draw the whole time) as Drunk Redneck Guy storms down the steps and starts yelling at me, like this was my idea, saying he's going to stab my dog, and trying to get a lab that's easily 100 pounds to stop fighting by pulling on his tail. Yeah, that'll work. Finally, with a new sense of urgency from drunk guy actually pulling a knife, I grab Issac in a headlock and take him down, then lay on him, while the assaulter and the arsonist try to calm the situation down, with one pulling their dog upstairs, while the other tells dude to stop yelling and that their dog's okay. After drunk dude assures me that I'll be paying his vet bills, (while arsonist continues telling him there's nothing wrong with their dog) I head up to the top of our stairs, where Issac has that look smart dogs get when they know they've fucked up, and the situation is over. I did make sure to lock the doors, though.
Anyway, my feet, hands, wrists, and one knee are all clawed up, and Ike looks like hell, but he looks like hell in a pretty superficial way. Just a few little scratches on his nose and below his ear. And the shitty part of all this? I still don't know where the leash is, and this dog still has to take a shit.

El Song O' The Day

Anal Cunt - "I Ate Your Horse"

Your dad took out a second mortgage to buy you a horse
You loved it, and took better care of it than yourself
You combed it, cleaned it, and fed it apples every day
I was broke, drunk, and hungry, so I killed your horse and ate it

I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE

When you came to the stable next morning
You found a pile of hair, teeth, and hooves
I hid around the back to listen to you cry
Then I beat an old lady to death with the leg bone.

I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE
I ATE YOUR HORSE

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye

Roomate Situation 2004 Update:
According to reliable sources, the eviction notice drops sometime tomorrow. I need to call the landlord and see how this is going to work out; whether we both are out on our asses, or if it's just her, and I can move in someone new that will actually pay bills and not be unsanitary (most likely my brother) in her place. I'm hoping it's the latter option, which seems possible, since I always paid rent right on schedule, and my landlord is a nice guy who seems to like me and even feel sorry for me. Either way, it's a bizarre situation: Never in my life did the prospect of eviction actually have me totally pumped. Ever since I got the news, I've had a big grin on my face, while the music from "The Message" by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five has been on an endless loop in my head. It's just totally awesome. After the dumbest decision I've ever made has left me with like four months of absolute hell, that bloodsucking bitch will finally be out of my life. Oh yeah, I also found out today that she used my dead kitten's vet bills as a way to scam a neighbor out of 150 dollars. She later tried to steal a hundred dollar bill off his desk, but got caught. Nice. Needless to say, if I get to stay here, when she starts moving out, I might take the day off to make sure all my valuable shit stays put. And there's a lot worse than that, but I'm sworn to secrecy. At least I'm not going to blab it on the internet, for now. Heh. But anyway, it's almost over... Praise the fucking Lord.

That's Not a Duck! That's the SONG O' THE DAY!

George Carlin - "Your Wives are Having Sex With Other Men"

Your wives are having sex with other men
They're lying in your beds and having orgasms
While you're in here a-waitin'
They aren't hesitatin'
Your wives are having sex with other men

The men are coming to your home
They know your wife is all alone

First, they drink your whiskey
Then, they smoke your cigarettes
And then, they fuck your wives
And then, they fuck your wives

I Don't Watch Wrestling Anymore, Part One

Let's put this right out on the table: Professional wrestling, simply by the mere fact that it exists, insults our intelligence. It's dudes with ridiculous characters pretending to do ridiculous crap that no one would ever in a real form of competition. But I can live with that. Hell, that's what makes it fun. If it was just two straight-faced guys in black singlets rolling around in amateur holds for three hours, it would suck. So you have to have wrestling hillbillies, selectively blind referees, and iron-faced supermen who can get punched right in the mouth like twenty times, and not be as affected by it as you would be if I punched you once. I can dig that. I can take having my intelligence insulted just a little bit; that's what "suspension of disbelief" is all about. Honestly, it's no so much having my intelligence insulted, as it is sort of relaxing my intelligence enough so it doesn't care that there's a guy wrestling who's supposed to be an undead cowboy, even though he was an outlaw biker last year. But lately, pro wrestling (or should I say "sports entertainment?") has gone so far to where it doesn't so much insult my intelligence as it kicks my intelligence in the nuts, hits it with a sock full of quarters, and then goes after my intelligence's family. The main part - and it's not something esclusive to the WWE anymore, hell, I think I saw NWA Wildside do it a few years ago - is the stupid-assed Invisible Backstage Camera. See, the thing about wrestling is that while none of it is "real," so to speak, it needs to portray itself as being real, or the whole damn thing breaks down. If you're going to hit us over the head with how fake it is, why should we give a damn about who wins the match, or even if there's going to be a match? So if you want to have some wrestlers interacting outside of a match environment, just have a guy come down to the ring and grab a microphone, or have a guy doing an interview, when the other guy shows up and starts shit. It's as simple as that. Your crazy-ass storylines get to play out, and no one feels like an idiot for watching. But the way it is now, everyone backstage seems to have a camera on them at all times, and no one ever knows that it's there. Furthermore, they freely talk of all their deepest secrets and most sinister plans in front of this camera, which is being shown on live TV and little monitors throughout the building, yet anyone involved in a storyline off-camera is never aware of any of this happening. You mean to tell me that after Lita blabs to Stacey about being pregnant, Matt Hardy STILL doesn't know about it, a week later? Of all people, shouldn't he be at least watching a tape to scout opponents or something? Now, you can tell me some crap about "the soap opera aspect of the show" or whatever, but goddammit, I'm sorry, you can't have it both ways. You can't have s soap opera where Actor A plans to kill Actor B, and when they have their final confrontation, have a voiceover trying to tell us that it's a real, 100% legitemate fight to the death. People would feel like idiots and change the channel. And in wrestling, when you have Jim Ross trying to tell us that there's a real athletic competition going on, followed by invisible camera footage of Kane and Shane McMahon in a restaurant, exchanging menacing glances, people will feel like idiots and change the fucking channel. As such, I don't like feeling like an idiot, so that's one reason I Don't Watch Wrestling Anymore.
Suggestion of how to fix it? Go back to the old ways of doing stuff. When a guy needs to talk, have him do it in the ring or with an interviewer backstage. Then, you have the other guy come up and start shit. If you show someone backstage, have them acknowledge that there's a camera there, and have a reason for there to be a camera. Do the thing where there's a backstage reporter telling you what's up, then go for the earpiece, say something like "there's something happening in the locker room!" and have the camera man run with the reporter guy to where the guys are beating each other up. And hell, if you want to have the backstage secret-revealing, sinister plan-sharing stuff, bring back something like GTV. Just say we've put hidden cameras in all the locker rooms for "total access" or something, and have the crazy shit go down when someone forgets the camera's there. You keep your "edgy" bullshit without making everything look ridiculously fake. Whatever you do, just make sure you don't switch camera angles in a goddamn backstage segment. Nothing says quality TV like "we didn't know this would happen, but we had three cameras there anyway!" Put all this into motion, and you might be able to get me back, Vince, Jerry, and anyone else who does that crap. It'll at least be a start.

I Don't Watch Wrestling Anymore: Intro

Yeah, you heard me. I've been a wrestling fan ever since I was five, and Hulkamania first began running wild. And for a while there, it damn near became an obsession, where for a couple years, I would record any minute of wrestling TV that I came across, be it WWE, TNA, an E! True Hollywood Story on the Rock, or spending twenty minutes adjusting an antenna to see NWA Southwest. But now, I pretty much don't watch anything at all. I still try to keep up with what's happening, and if I think about it, (which isn't often) I'll sometimes watch the last 30 minutes or so of Raw after work, but that's pretty much it. I no longer go out of my way to watch the stuff, and when I do, I usually get annoyed or bored and change the channel. To put it bluntly, I've been beaten over the head by too many people's shitty ideas of what good wrestling is supposed to be for too long, and I simply can't take it anymore. Wrestling should entertain me, not frustrate me and piss me off in a real-life way, and not an "oh no, the bad guy won" way. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm still a wrestling fan. Every day, I look at the illegal downloading type websites (and don;t ask me where those are, jerk) for any good old stuff, and when I have forty bucks to spend, I'm getting the Eddie Guerrero and ECW DVDs that the WWE put out. I still have that "pro-wres love" that The Great Muta is always talking about. Wrestling in its current form just hasn't loved me back in the last few years, and now more than ever. And in the next few days/weeks/whatever, I'm going to tell you fuckers exactly why wrestling hates me. And if it's any good, remember that I'll put it all together on the main website when it's done, so you don't have to flip through blog archives to find it. Heh. I'll start typing part one in a minute.

Now More Than Ever: SONG O' THE DAY

This is dedicated to the aforementioned roommate:

GWAR - "Sick of You"

Your socks they smell, your feet they stink,
You never take a bath.
Your nose it runs, you bust your buns,
You always finish last.

[Chorus:]
Sick! (Sick) Of!
(Of) Youuuuu.
I'm so sick, so sick of you.
Sick! (Sick) Of!
(Of) Youuuuu.
I'm so sick, so sick of you.

Your face is gross, you eat white toast,
You don't know what to do.
It's just your luck, you really suck,
That's all - I'm sick of you

[Chorus]

(Bring it down... I said bring it down! Thank you)
Don't ya know? So sick of you.
Things you say, and all the things you do. [x6]

[Chorus x3]

Human filth.. Sick!

The Definitive Roommate Grievance List

Anyone who's read the page, the message board, or anywhere else I go online, you've heard me beitching about my roommate. Well, now that it's become an almost certainty that either she or I will be out of here soon, here's the definitive list of bullshit I've had to put up with. Bet I have all your crappy roommates beat:

• Spent hundreds of dollars on bullshit like decorative pillows and spice racks, (why not just use the cabinet?) then told me after the fact that this stuff was for the house, so I have to pay for half of it. Then tells me she needs money by Friday, or she can't make her car insurance payment. If buying shit means you can't afford car insurance, that means you can't afford it. A sign of things to come.
  
• We moved in the first week of August. There's still a pile of boxes, bags, and similar crap taking up most of the kitchen. Close to four months, and she still hasn't unpacked. Also, she was already buying some of the aforementioned buying stuff for the new place before she had even started packing stuff at her old one. Here's the pile:
  
  
  
  
• Made a deal where I do dishes and take out garbage, and she cleans the bathrooms and the floors. The floors have been cleaned twice, by me. The bathroom has been cleaned only once, by me, and I'll get to that in a minute.
• After a month where she almost daily brought home at least three bags from Big Lots, Wal Mart, Target, Hot Topic, or a host of other places, informed me that she didn't have money for rent or to help with bills. Gee, that's a shocker.
  
• Not long after telling me there was no money for bills and borrowing rent money from a guy she already owed close to $200 to, brought home the fucking computer from The Fast and the Furious. $100-ish (I'm guessing) speaker system, (That she didn't know how to hook up, as far as I can tell - The 5.1 surround speakers are all just randomly arranged, pointing straight at her from the front, and the subwoofer is unplugged, so it sounds like a $100 clock radio. Jeez.) $356 (with shipping - I checked the packing slip before I threw away the box) 17-inch flat-panel LCD monitor, and the thousand-dollar (according to her) CPU tower. which is a transparent cube with neon lights, a DVD burner, and the top-of-the-line in processors, graphics cards, etc. And basically, all she does with her computer is regular internet crap and occasionally playing Everquest, like once a week. So AFTER telling me she was broke, she brought home about $1500 worth of computer that she pretty much doesn't use. Nice.
• Told me if I bought the ingredients, she'd make lasagna. Being a hungry dude, I obliged. And after waiting over two months, she finally took all the stuff I bought to someone else's house, and made one for them, which I didn't even get any cold leftovers from. There's somewhere around 30 bucks down the drain with nothing to show for it.
• I'm a slob, and I admit that freely. But I am Martha Stewart compared to this woman. She is fucking unsanitary. I decided to stop cleaning up the living room, since I never go in there. Here's what it looks like right now.
  
  
  
  If it just looks like a big pile of crap, that's because it is a big pile of crap. You can't see the floor, for the most part. It's like living in an unsupervised six-year-old's bedroom. Also, if I had a better camera, you could see the Dr. Pepper can, cup from Long John Silver's, and Capri Sun pouch thrown on the floor that have been there for at least three weeks and counting. But you haven't read about anything truly nasty yet. Heh.
• After a second month of telling me there was no money for bills, she took a trip to Minnesota to see a fucking Ani DiFranco concert that was probably going to be much closer at some point in the next few months, anyway. According to the reciept I found in the floor of the living room, (where else would I find it?) the flight and hotel room ran her somewhere around $450. Also, while she was there, she got a wild hair up her ass and decided she would drive to Canada to get medicinal marijuana. No wait, this gets funnier. First, she calls me and asks me to look online for the locations of any nearby "marijuana shops," followed by me explaining to her that you can't just walk in somewhere and buy weed for no good goddamn reason. She then tells me that she'll just say it's for her asthma. Yeah. Breathing in toxic smoke. For asthma. Indeed. After I look some shit up and explain to her how they only give it to people with cancer, HIV/AIDS, arthritis, or multiple sclerosis, and that even if she had that shit, they wouldn't just hand it out to a foreigner who walks in off the street without a prescription, she gets all frustrated, and just keeps asking me to get Yahoo driving directions to the nearest semi-large city in Canada. Finally, she gives up, and by her tone, she clearly thought I was the idiot here. The next day, she drove to Canada. Needless to say, she didn't bring home any prescription pot. And this woman is a fucking law student, and from what I've heard, gets good grades at it. And she's dumber than a sack of hammers. Hammers with learning disabilities. I'm surprised she can tie her shoes on a semi-regular basis. Jesus Christ.
• Oh yeah, while she was in Minnesota, she invited a guy I didn't know to stay here for the weekend, without even asking me first. Luckily, the guy never showed up, and just took a weekend-long joyride in her car. That was great.
• Now, the nastiness I alluded to. I'd like to preface this by saying that this isn't her fault, was done with no ill will, and doesn't count as any wrongdoing on her part. But just the fact that it happened should be cause for me to move out. Basically, while I'm at work, she has a near-fatal asthma attack, falls and hit the toilet so hard that she actually breaks the seal and moves the toilet a few inches to one side, and passes out for a while, before finally waking up and getting someone to take her to the hospital, where she stays for two days. Well, then there's the other little thing. I get home, and the house smells really bad. Then, practically before I can take three steps, the phone rings, and it's her explaining what happened. She finishes the call with, "oh yeah, sorry about the mess in the bathroom." Curious, I walk over to the bathroom... And... I see... The horror. To make a long story short:
  Ever spend three hours cleaning an insane amount of human feces off seemingly every surface of a bathroom?
  
  Well, I have.
  Of course, you can't just politely go to someone who almost died and say "so, why'd ya poop everywhere?" so the cause of this remains a mystery. The respiratory and digestive systems aren't connected, so the asthma attack didn't do it. And I suppose the concussion from falling could have done it, but it doesn't explain why it would be EVERYWHERE. Personally, I'm working on a "second shitter" theory, where someone with an axe to grind came in, saw her there, and said "HA! REVENGE IS MINE!" I'll let you know if the theory pans out. Either way, that was the most disgusting thing I've ever been a party to, and aside from the "sorry about the mess in the bathroom" over the phone, I never got any sort of apology, thank-you, or other show of recognition for that shit. Meanwhile, she quit smoking cigarettes to help her asthma, which is a good thing. But she still smokes weed like a chimney, with the explanation that "weed smoke is good for you." I should explain to her that marijauna's only medical uses are as a pain killer, a depressant, and a way to make half-dead folks totally high, and that just in general, inhaling chemical-laden smoke from burning leaves is never good for you, but it's just not worth the trouble. Refer to the previous "sack of hammers" comment. Maybe she should have tried medical school, instead of law school.
• Current total of money she owes me is right around 170 dollars, which is just a little more than what I'll need to keep my cable, internet, and phone from getting cut off. (So if I go missing for a couple weeks, that's why) And she hasn't paid rent yet, to the best of my knowledge. And yesterday, got her third box in two days, marked "here are the DVDs you requested!" Way to prioritize.
• Has a wall of the living room covered in original art she's gotten from people she knows, which would normally be a neat thing. However, one of them is apparently a framed ball-point pen-on-napkin drawing (with creases) with a bunch of shit like giant Cadillacs, giant-titted topless women with their hands on their crotches, and other things along those lines, which basically looks like something you'd see on a wall in grafiti-form, as detectives were investigating their third gang homicide in five days at that particular streetcorner. It might be the sleaziest thing I've ever seen. Then, there's the artsy-fartsy-wannabe colored-pencil drawing that's basically an undetailed extreme close-up of a poorly-drawn, rainbow-colored chick with her legs spread, Hustler-style. If I asked whoever drew it about the picture, they'd probably tell me something about the power of women and male-dominated society being oppressive or some shit, when in reality, it's just a bad drawing of a twat. Needless to say, it's not something I'd be happy to have there if someone like my grandma stopped by. I'd have pictures of these, but my camera sucks.
  
• The dog ran out of food, and I had already told her the day before that after a month where an extra $170-a-month in new bills started, (had to get a new car when the old one died) and another $400 or so in unexpected stuff came up (down patyment on the car, and vet bills for a dead kitten, which is an example of how great my month has been) and killed me financially, I didn't have a dollar to my name. A normal person would find some way to gt some food for the dog, right? Not her. She disappears for close to three days, leaving me to feed the poor guy a combination of bologna, bread, and kitten food, until I can scrape together enough change (literally, as in heading to the bank with a Wal Mart bag full of pennies) to buy him some shitty Ol' Roy food, which is humiliating for me, after a year of telling people not to buy that crap, when I worked at Petsmart. Finally, about a week later, she decides to buy him some real food. Meanwhile, all my kitten food is gone, so I have to borrow money from a guy at work to feed her that "Special Kitty" crap, that's probably rotting her insides as we speak. Even animals suffer in a house with her.
  
• Twice, while all of this was going on, she went to my brother at work to tell him how I was the bad roommate. Needless to say, her bitching fell on deaf ears.
• Has never paid her half of the bills, and has never been less than a week late on rent, costing her an extra 50 bucks a month, which should be going to me.
  
• Also, I'd just like to add that a couple weeks ago, she ate three of my frozen chimichangas. That blew.

So there you have it. Anyone who's ever bitched about their roommate to me can kiss my fat ass.

Another Reason to Love GWAR

Dave Brockie brings the love. Just got this from Blabbermouth:

"Was Phil talking shit about us again? That guy's a fucking pussy. You know what?! Anytime anybody talks shit about GWAR, they get it thrown right back in their face. I know Phil's girlfriend, and he says to her, 'Oh, I love GWAR, I love GWAR.' That guy is such an ass, he invited us out to see his show in Orlando and then he makes fun of GWAR from the stage. I can't wait to run into that dude — I'm going to put my fist down his fucking ugly throat. He is just a loser, worm, junkie, scumbag, asshole motherfucker. I can't believe he wants to criticize GWAR, the greatest band in rock and roll band in history; he can lick my diuretic code-swipe.

"I'll tell you a funny story about Phil," Brockie continued. "We were in New Orleans, and that faggot piece of shit came on our bus and was like, 'Hey, man, you guys got any of that crazy shit?' We were like, 'What the fuck do you mean?' And he started slapping his arm and was like, 'You know that crazy shit.' I guess he thought we were a bunch of junkies.

"Fuck you, Phil Anselmo. Will you please print that in your article? And your stupid fucking stupid SUPERJOINT RITUAL dumbass band, you fucking suck, die!! We fucked your girlfriend way before you."


First the guy from Slipknot, now Phil Glamselmo. Oderus is my hero.

It's the Song of the Day

Motörhead - "Line in the Sand"

Evolution is a mystery
Full of change that no one sees
Clock makes a fool of history
Yesterday's too long ago
Dont agree with what I know
Tomorrow becomes the place to be

I see the line in the sand
Time to find out who I am
Looking back to see where I stand
Evolution
Evolution

See my reflection change
Nothing ever stays the same
But you know the names the game
We all know what it means
Nothings ever what it seems
Unforgiven, unforseen

I see the line in the sand
Time to find out who I am
Looking back to see where I stand
Evolution
Evolution

"This is an ex-terrorist!"

If you haven't been keeping up with the news lately, Yasser Arafat, who's either a blood-sucking, genocidal terrorist or a lovely Nobel Peace Prize winner with candy canes coming out of his ass, depending on who you ask, is damn near dead. Or maybe he is dead. Oh wait, he's not. Who fucking knows, at this point. It remains to be seen whether or not he has AIDS or if he got hit by the Evil Jewish Death Ray, but the fucker's on his way out, probably.
Anyway, I just thought I'd share this: The Dead Arafat Sketch. It's not funny if you never watched the Monty Python sketch of a similar name, but if you have, it's awesome.

Just thought you'd like to know

I haven't been able to stop farting for like three days now.

SONG O' THE DAY

Venom - "Black Metal"

Black is the night, metal we fight
Power amps set to explode
Energy screams, magic and dreams
Satan records the first note.
We chime the bell, chaos and hell
Metal for maniacs pure.
Fast melting steel, fortune on wheels
Brain haemorrhage is the cure
For BLACK METAL

Lay down your soul to the gods rock `n' roll

Freaking so wild, nobody's mild
Giving it all that you've got.
Wild is so right, metal tonight
Faster than over the top.
Open the door, enter hells core
Black is the code for tonight
Atomic force, feel no remorse
Crank up the amps now it's night
BLACK METAL

Lay down your soul to the gods rock `n' roll
Metal ten fold through the deadly black hole
Riding hells stallions bareback and free
Taking our chances with raw energy

Come ride the night with us
Rock hard and fight
United my legions we stand
Freak hard and wild for us
Give up your souls
Live for the quest Satan's band

Let's go!

Against the odds, black metal gods
Fight to achieve our goal
Casting a spell, leather and hell
Black metal gods rock `n' roll
Building up steam, nuclear screams
War-heads are ready to fight
Black leather hounds, faster than sound
Metal our purpose in life.
BLACK METAL

Lay down your soul to the gods rock `n' roll

BLACK METAL

Now, THIS is funny.

After the whole Prezelection thingy a couple days ago, the nation's Democrats are totally bummed out, as can be expected. But as the left gets leftier, and this whole "we're citizens of the world" bullshit keeps getting bigger, several of the downtrodden masses have decided to apologize to the rest of the world for giving Dubya another four years. Or at least I think that's what's happening. Judging by the page, it might just be a vicious, underhanded, Karl Rove smear campaign, designed to paint America's left as like five hot chicks, coupled with a bunch of absolute mutants who spend all their waking hours just trying to out-emo each other. But anyway, this is fucking dumb. If the rest of the world doesn't like Bush as the President, then maybe they should learn to take care of their own shit, so we don't have to swoop in every twenty years or so and start fucking wars all the time. So with that in mind, here's my own special message to the rest of the world:

SONG OF THE DAY

The Dave Brockie Experience - "I Clean Up Real Good"

I might be a stinkin' son of a bitch
But I clean up real good
I might live with a dog in a ditch
But I clean up real good

I might be an infected pus wallowing
Throbbingly bulbous pig-dick swallowing
Indoor arena football team following
Zoroasterist...

BUT
I clean up real good

I might be a stinkin' son of a bitch
But I clean up real good
I might live with a bitch in a ditch
But I clean up real good

Insert self-depricating imagery here

BUT
I clean up real good

"Thou Shalt Not Kill? YOU RACIST!"

You see, this is why I'm glad I don't live in Europe. Political correctness has always annoyed the piss out of me, even back in the 90s, when I was much more of a tree-hugging hippie. But the American version of it is just that; an annoyance. I look up and see a big banner at Wal Mart advertising "The Holiday Season" instead of Christmas, or see how everyone is now (insert group here)-American, instead of just a plain old 'Merican, like it should be, and I get annoyed. But across the pond, where our more nlightened (sarcasm) neighbors live, they take it way too fucking far, and here's an example. A guy in the Netherlands makes a movie about the shitty way women get treated under Islam that pisses off a lot of Muslims. No big deal so far, since it doesn't take much to piss off a lot of Muslims these days, and no one's ever argued that women don't get a raw deal there a lot of the time. But then, one decides, "fuck this guy, I'll kill him," and he does. Now, you've got a big deal. Well, in his own little attempt to make a statement about how we all need to get along and good stuff like that, a guy paints "thou shalt not kill" on a wall nearby. Okay, that's from the Bible, but it's not too bad, since not killing motherfuckers is something we can all agree on, right? BZZZZZZ, wrong. The head of the local mosque declares it, "offensive and racist," so the authorities come and sandblast it off the wall. Offensive? Maybe, in the annoying hippie-assed, "it's from the Bible, and that offends me, blah blah blah, something about Bush" way that we're all used to. But just off that, it's still an "Offensive? Nigga, please." kind of situation. But racist? Calling a set of well-meaning words that mention nothing about any specific subgroup of homo sapiens "racist," is a lot like calling a grilled-cheese sandwich a "weapon of mass destruction." It makes no goddamn sense. Over here, someone would have politely told him his accusations were groundless, in a statement possibly containing the phrase "you dumbass," but over there, they buckled and got rid of it, to please someone who probably just doesn't like the suggestion that we shouldn't murder folks. Well, fuck that guy, and whoever made the decision to get rid of the mural. And just a little bit more, fuck Europe, and over-sensitive people just in general.
America: Fuck, yeah.

I Need Money, Bengals Fans

Don't remember where or how I got this, but it's in pretty much mint condition, and according to the Beckett I looked in a week ago, it's worth 40 bucks. Make me an offer.

Former NFL Kicker Tries to Kill Siegfried and Roy

You know. I could sit here and try to come up with some amusing take on this story, but words fail me. My mind has been blown. You can't make up shit like this.

The Passion of Mufasa

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Here you go.

Here's the new shizzle. Hopefully, I can scrounge up 45 bucks, and this won't be necessary, but I doubt it. Enjoy.