Archive for August, 2010

Some Fictional Jobs I put On A Resume

August 30, 2010

Everyone lies on their resumes. Some of us just go all out. In no particular order.

Catcher of the St. Louis Cardinals.

Bat boy of the St. Louis Cardinals.

Tony La Russa’s professional Sock Drawer keeper.

St. Louis zoning board offical.

Anti-St. Louis Offical Kansas City Division.

Zombie Eradicator

Tom Bosley Manicurist

President of an After Soviet Union Nation that is Artfully Smudged on Every Application that Ends in -stan

Barack Obama Speech Writer

George Bush Speech Writer

Bill Clinton Joke Writer

Louis Anderson Nutrition Advisor

Resume Writer

College Dropout

Black Panther Organizer

Bed Wetter

At this point in the job interview the manger of Perkins will grow curious as to why I keep handing him crumpled tissues with random ink smudges and mucas. He then points down the road to a Denny’s.


Stephen Stills You’re a Jerk

August 30, 2010

And it all stems from the song ‘Love the One You’re With’, performed by the hip-hop group Crosby Stills and Nash (and sometimes Young when Neil Young decided to show up and be all Neil Young like, which means studded clothing).*

The lyrics basically promote free love, which is easy to do when you’re in a band that got laid pretty much all the time (it’s documented in the Guns N’ Roses song ‘Welcome to the Jungle’). And just because, the song states, you can’t with the one you love you can just up and fuck some other girl. Why? Well, because you’re both in the same room and have parts that fit.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. The idea of the song is about realizing that there are countless other people out there and you will find someone else and there’s no sense brooding over a past love.

I happen to disagree. If your whole idea of love is finding someone who you can settle on, then that’s kind of sad. And goes against the whole idea of the passion that is behind love. It’s like going to a garage sale and pretending to be at a Macy’s a week before Christmas (I felt like I needed a metaphor there and I had none. So make it something that makes sense).

So, in conclusion, love the one you love. And don’t settle. Settling is for suckers. And suckers suck. And suckers settle. Thus making settlers suck and suckers settlers (the sleep aid hit hard for the duration of that rambling).

*Upon further research, meaning wikipedia and an extra 30 seconds, Stephen Stills recorded that song for a solo album tenderly titled Stephen Stills. I actually found that out before the second paragraph. I was just too lazy to correct it, yet not lazy enough write an aditional paragraph explaining my initial blunder.

Right and Wrong/Good and Evil and Those Dumbies Called Sociologists*

August 29, 2010

One of my favorite shows in recent memory was a show called Taboo which was on History International (I think. I could be wrong. There’s been a lot of fourloku’s between then and now. Between this sentence actually). The show looked at other countries and things they did that we as American’s would find offensive which are common place to their primarily ass backward societies.

For instance, in an African nation that I honestly can’t recall the name of, women were spayed. That is the least graphic way I can describe getting the most sensitive part of a females body removed (without anything to numb the immeasurable pain). After the removal of the pleasure center of the female body, their vagina is sewn up until they are wed. At this point, the woman is unsewed and the man has his way and she is sewn back up again. This stays until the woman becomes pregnant. When her due date comes they re-open her so the child can come into a world where things like this happen and are often accepted as ‘just the way things are’.

I call bullshit.

I took sociology in high school and college and in both they teach you that different parts of the world have different ways of living. Obviously. It doesn’t take a few aforementioned fourlokus too understand that (they have replaced dry gin as my cheap way to get to wear I want to get. Apparently I want to get to an early grave or a meeting). Different cultures and countries have different ways of doing things. It’s the same in America, which is the greatest nation ever because of its ability to mix cultures.

I dated a girl who was of Cuban descent for over a year (a year and a half before it went to hell and I started consuming massive amounts of Captain Morgan). When I would go to her residence I understood that there was a different way of doing things. The hispanic culture that influenced her influenced our relationship as well. And that’s ok.

But beyond simple matters of custom is where I draw the line. Snipping a ladies clit off and sewing her up to fit some, excuse me, but fucked up idealogy, is not ok. And some sociologists would say otherwise. And they would be wrong.

Just because a certain culture does things differently doesn’t make them alright. If I were to by chance live in Belgium (I’m a fan of their waffles) and took to killing defenseless children in the name of culture, it would still be wrong. That’s the problem with college and thought today. People are afraid to draw a line in the sand of what is right and wrong. It’s not that hard to realize it. Listen to your gut. Most of the time when it starts giving you a funny feeling and you start wondering if it’s the right thing to do, then it probably isn’t (that’s why senior prom was a terrible time for me. I sat at home and had funny feeling in my stomach, most likely from the immodium).

Right and wrong shouldn’t be something that sit in a book. It should be within us all. And if it isn’;t, then you’re probably another Ted Bundy or Charles Manson. And, either way, you kind of suck (don’t kill me for thinking that though. Afterall, we’re all for free thought in America).

*I apologize for any terrible mispellings or intterupted thoughts. I’ve been drinking and throwing water balloons at my nieces feet. This is the life I lead. By the way, Ryan: This is the kind of stuff I write about. I hope you kept CTS looking good the hour after I left.**

**I work with Ryan. He’s a good guy and a Jet’s fan. Forgive him.***

***I kind of like the Jets. I’m a Giants fan but they play the Jets maybe once in a season. This crosstown, or in-town rivalry is bullshit.****

****Unless it means the world to you to hate a sports team because of where you live.*****

*****Get a life (like I desperately need).

Mercedes Benz Commercial Kids

August 28, 2010

Shut up. You may take dates to the prom in your stupid car, and you may park in a spot reserved for you, and you may drive the care to miles unimaginable by man, but I don’t care. Just shut up and take your stupid acting pay check and get out of my life.

I’m a Jaguar man myself.

Why People Who Think the Moon Landing was Faked Should Run the Country

August 26, 2010

Things would be a lot more interesting. Definately more dumb (and that’s saying someting when you look at the current state of politics). And maybe after they mess everythig up we can start the whole thing over again and make it better.

So I say, if your represenative isn’t wearing a tin foil hat then he is not the man you want running the country.

A Tortured Artist is Really Just a Prick With a Brush

August 26, 2010

While watching my favorite television channel, Bravo, I happened acrossed one of their hit shows, Work of Art. What proceeded was my eyes beginning to melt and my hair being pulled from my scalp so fiercely that I think I may have lost some brain (I came to this conclusion when I had to  re-realize that Garfield likes lasanga).

Here are two examples of “tortured artists” on the show (I only know one of their names but will simply refer to them as jerkoff female and jerkoff male).

Jerkoff Female, an attractive girl who would easily turn heads at any bar or any shady downtown nightclub for that matter, was so ashamed of he rbody. She felt ugly. So ugly in fact, that almost all of her works of “art” consisted of her taking nude photographs of herself. This blows my mind because as the semi-functioning human being I am, I would never do something that I was so ashamed of. Not for at. Not for anything. Also, taken nude photos of yourself is not art. It’s what teenage girls do in high school to appease their horny boyfriends. These girls trust that their horny boyfriends will never show these photos to anyone else, but they will after a bad breakup as some sort of revenge. So, basically, this “artist” is just a dumb teenage girl.

But I don’t want to discourage her art. In fact, there are several publications that would be willing to show case her talents. Here are a few: Playboy, Hustler, Score, Escort, Juggs, and Japan’s favorite, Lemon People (upon further investigating, it appears this publication closed its doors in 1998. Apparently some chefs were deeply confused and cocnerned that they had been cooking Asian women instead of lemons).

Now to Jerkoff Male, who, if you saw him, you would want to punch him in the mouth. His hair was always disheveled, because through most of the duration of the show he slept. He slept and then woke up with an hour left to finish his “assignment” and instead of do something that requires any talent, her masterbated onto a picture and hung it up. And the judges loved how edgy it was.

Well my God. I think that there are artists within us all. We could have a museum full of things done in private shameful corners and we could all be considered so talented. Talented with a flick of the wrist. That would be the name of the exhibition: Flick of the Wrist. And the Jerkoff Female would have an exhibition called Exhibiton…ist.

The thing that really bothered me about this show is that these people, these, ‘artists’, felt they were above you and I. That they had tapped into something that no other person could possibly conceive or understand. They feel like they are tortured for having to produce these works that don’t amount to art at all. They should maybe get real jobs and then see wasn torture really is (I’m planning on getting one really soon, I swear).

It’s a real slap in the face of those people who really were tortured artists. You let me know when Jerkoff Female and Jerkoff Male cut off their ears and send them to loved ones. Then maybe I’ll apologize. But in reality I’ll probably just laugh.

Exactly Why Writing Down Ideas at Night Half Asleep Leads You No Where

August 24, 2010


That’s what a draft of a text message on my phone says. It says Vocab/Distance, and I have no idea what the hell it means or what the hell I was getting at while punching it into my env3 (the most technological thing I own if you don’t count my robotic sneeze guard I had attached after a bad experience at a family barbecue).

I like to have pen and paper with me at all times in case genius* strikes. During the day I carry a tiny black Moleskin notebook in my back pocket (the one that boasts that da Vinci used it for his wacky escapades and erotic drawings). This comes in handy especially while taking a train that is crowded because if you look like you are workig on quantum physics and seem eratic while doing it people tend to give you some space.

*I have never done anything in my life that warrants the title genius.

But sometimes you remember your notebook but forget a writing impliment or you remember your pen but forget your notebook. For these situations, your best bet is to take out your cell phone, which you almost will never leave behind unless you purposefuly do so or you went on a bender the night before and have to go to a seedy apartment in Harlem to retrieve it from a friendly but agressive lad who calls himself Mr. Sniffles. While I won’t say I’m afraid of him, I will say that I certainly would never want to get on his bad side.

Anyway, you get your phone out and you can either go to the settings&tools part of your phone and go to the notebook application and punch in whatever you have to. Or you could just enter a text to know one and safe it as a draft and hopefully remember what you meant when you felt compelled to enter Vocab/Distance.

I’ve tried to figure out what this means or what it meant and I for the life of me can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t see what the two have in common. Granted, I am pretty tired from the generic Nyquil I just consumed, but I don’t think that factors into this.

The sad thing is, maybe when I jotted this down it really made sense in my mind. Perhaps I was trying to come up with a rather solid idea that various forms of vocab drive people further apart when really they are just creating the distance between cultures and the only reason why they do it is because it has been etched in their being.

Or maybe I was at work one day and though I could think of something clever involving distance and vocab. I have no diea what I was thinking. Neither of those things really make any sense at all unless you force them to. So, I think the safer bet is that I was intoxicated and two words, for no apparent reason, just needed to take up space in my phone.

To maybe further this example, I will now show you things that I have saved in the notepad on my phone. All of these are real, by the way. I’ll even include the date and time when they appeared there. (I’m only including the ones that make absolutely no sense. Some of the others will inevitably find their way onto this blog).

Tuesday October 20th, 9:24 PM: Lobster Day=Everyday

Saturday November 14, 6:27 PM: Fun

Friday February 5th, 4:33 AM: Beer (summit)

Friday July 2nd, 1:46 PM: Landslide depresses me because I feel like the person Stevie Nixx is leaving.**

Wednesday July 21st, 3:50 AM:***

Sunday July 25th, 11:04 AM:****

** This topic will find it’s way onto this blog. That song does depress me and Stevie Nixx should be ashamed for making me sad.

*** I went to and found that no one had be searching for me. My ego was crushed.

**** While in New York City shooting an NYU student film I noticed several cabs with this header on them. I was intrigued and took down the website. I have not gone there once, although Fox News did a special on it. Neither did I watch that either.

My Near Death Experience and the Realization that Sometime’s It’s Not Prolific

August 23, 2010

While pulling out of a Taco Bell (most likely the food that God eats when he dines out) I was almost rear ended by an unnecerssarily large SUV. Now, despite sounding vaguely erotic, it was quite frightening (which also seems vaguely erotic).

I can explain my thought process right before my impending demise would happen. It went something like this: Holy shit I’m going to die. Though, in actuality it went more like this: Holshdie, which may or may not be a Yiddish word.

After barely being able to pull over to the shoulder and being able to live for one more day my thoughts changed from the jibbersih I uttered in my mind and turned into what I had been listening to right before what I was sure would be the impact that would have ended it all for me. It was the song Get Lonely from the album of the same name from the incredibly band/man The Mountain Goats. Oddly enough, I would have been completely ok if this was the last noise my ears heard before the sound of bending steel and shattering glass. It’s a calming song that is pretty melancholy, but I kind of believe that getting into a terrible car wreck should be a somber experience.

The other thing that struck me about this experience is that my possible end of being on this world had no prolific revelation about it. I didn’t have a moment of impact upon impact. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes (which is probably for the better since I’ve lived a pretty dumb life). I had no deep thoughts regarding how simple it is to simply leave this planet. To have this great adventure of life taken from you, without reason and without you having any say in the matter.

In fact, I was so unaffected by this ordeal that I came home and proceeded to read the news paper and eat the meal that I almost never got the chance to eat. The meal was very good, but the food being delicious had nothing to do with me almost dying. It just happened to be good food that was prepared in a delicious way.

I don’t know if this makes me odd. If another person would alter their life because of escaping their doom. Me? I really doubt I’ll change anything I do. Nothing good anyway. In fact I think I’ll take up smoking again. Maybe that’s the meaning of all of this. That I should pick up my habit again of smoking Virginia Slims while sipping Arbor Mist Sangria Zinfandel.

To Combat Nickelodeon, Kids Should Smoke Cigarettes

August 17, 2010

While my niece was at my humble abode a week ago, we gathered around the television set and she proceeded to take the remote and changed the channel to Nickelodeon (which upset me because I wanted to know what Maude would do next). The show that was on Nick at the moment was iCarly, a loveable show about a girl, Carly, and her friend Sam who host a web show where wacky things happen. In-between snippets of their webcast, we get to see into their love life and the perils of being a teen. For instance, I found out that the character Sam had never been kissed ALTHOUGH she made fun of that nimble lad Freddie Benson for never being kissed either. On this episode, they decide to kiss each other to get it over with. This magic moment happens on an apartment balcony with mildly sensuous music playing, and a breeze blowing through Sam’s hair. I know what you’re thinking: hot. And you should be ashamed of yourself for openly admitting that. I know I do.

I have nothing against iCarly really. I do have a problem with how it is marketed to young people. Especially young girls who are already preassured to grow up at far too young an age. All these shows on Nick (ie: iCarly, Drake and Josh, Degrassi, Zoey101, Real Sex, ect..) make being a teen into this glamorous event. They make high school seem like the best possible thing ever. Even better than a petting zoo filled with everyones favorite animal, the Dwarf Blue Sheep(there’s only 200 left on the planet!). Truth is though, high school kind of sucked. A big cluster fuck of people trying to become who they are by impressing others and being what they’re not. And those that didn’t try to conform and fit in were the ones who sat at the last lunch table talking feverishly about the new Duke Nukem code that let you break into the strip joint that was in one level (pixilated breasts never did much for me, but my friend Andrew would say otherwise).

We live in a society where kids are pushed to grow up faster than ever. It could just be my old soul in my relatively young body, but I long to live in the time where kids would have fun by pushing wheels with sticks, tipping cows, and selling war bonds. It seems like a much more innocent way to grow up when compared to being forced to watch as sex and fashion are programmed into young, impressionable brains.

Then again, if it weren’t for the current trends that are plauging the youth, we wouldn’t have great inventions such as Silly Bandz, Bratz Dolls(z?), or that wonderful band, Big Time Rush. Better than the Beatles. Seriously.

Hey guy who thinks Coldplay sucks

August 8, 2010

I agree with you, but you don’t have to be such a dick about it.

So imagine this: you’re at a party and the liquor is flowing and you get into a conversation about music because, well, the liquor is flowing. So your conversation starts with the usual drunk music talk. (ie: ‘my god this song represents my life’, ‘I want this song to play at my funeral’, ‘Pope Gregory the First is simply breathtaking’, ect…)

And then it changes. You don’t realize it but you will say something that will cause the person you’re talking with to get almost violently angry. And it will have to do with a type of music you like or a musical opinion you have that they just can’t wrap their stupid heads around. You will probably end up fighting for the duration of your conversation with them as you pound mojitos before you go talk to someone else and mutter about what a tool that person was. Later on you will wonder what you were fighting about and only know that it was about how you like N’SYNC more than the Backstreet Boys. You’ll probably even think, ‘I don’t even hate the Backstreet Boys. They have some danceable tunes.’ And then, finally, you’ll think, that person I was arguing with was really a jerkoff who bated me into a conversaiton I didn’t even want to have just to yell about something I don’t really care about.

You see, there are people out there who can’t seem to handle the idea that everyone has different musical taste and that that musical taste you have comes from a myriad of reasons that are as much of a part of you as is your spleen (unless you had it removed, in which case pretend I said tonsils).

That’s the problem with people who feel like music elititsts; they are so caught up in themselves that they can’t fathom that someone else could ever have any other opinion than the one that they hold. It doesn’t matter to them that you may have had a moment in your life that you distinctly remember that involves the song Hang On Sloopy by The McCoys. All they know is that The McCoys suck and because you have a fond memory involving that song that makes you enjoy the group, you suck too.

When any person who doesn’t have their head up their ass can see that the person who is yelling about how Eric Clapton is nothing compared to John Mayer is really the one who sucks(and it has nothing to do with their opinion).

For the record, I want to apolgize to Chris Martin and the boys in Coldplay. You have more money than I will ever see and are adored by screaming, sad eyed females.

So maybe in the end, I’m the one who sucks.