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.