Wait...They Don't Love You Like I Love You

2 Thousand SIZIX

2006 was a delectable year.

People continued to read less.

Dancing with the Stars placed tap shoes on the nation and let us groove with a sick high school wrestler and a former football star.

Whenever we walk into a diner we can't help ourselves from asking for Chicken Noodle Soup with a soda on the side.

The crocodile hunter made us weep…when he stuck his finger up the butt of a completely unaware and innocent reptile.


Music released in '06 that was enjoyable:

TV ON THE RADIO-Return To Cookie Mountain
There is no need to try and understand or say something completely pretentious about this album. It never gets old, and it will haunt you. (Not like a ghost or phantasm)

ADAM SAMBERG AND JT - "It's my dick in a BOX"

THOM YORKE- Eraser
Made you feel sorry for yourself…while dancing.

GHOSTFACE KILLAH-Fishscale
He rapped about mermaids.

Movies released in the year of '06 that were great to view with a friend and some popcorn:

HALF NELSON - An idealist teacher forgets about No Child Left Behind. It's not because he is smoking crack either…it's because he gives a shit.

MONSTER HOUSE - Captured the essence of kids in the suburbs who are bored with riding their bikes down the same street everyday.

Reading material of '06 that people will enjoy with a cup of Earl Grey tea:

CHUCK KLOSTERMAN IV : A DECADE OF CURIOUS PEOPLE AND DANGEROUS IDEAS
Philosopher for a generation that is fully aware and completely confused at the same time. His Esquire piece about the use of the term, Guilty Pleasures, made more sense that your local news anchor.

GREAT GATSBY
Should be on every 'best of' list even though it was published in 1925. When you are upset that someone has a nicer cell phone than you…it's time to pick this up again.

Ban of '06

THE SMOKING BAN(ter)

Remember when you had a friend sleep over, who stole some cigs from an older sibling or Wawa and you had to wait until the middle of the night to sneak outside and have a smoke? That is what you have to do whenever you want to have a smoke in Philadelphia.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with this ban, and it has nothing do with health reasons. It has to do with social skills. You are forced outside to a quieter setting where people are feeling your pain. It's making it easier to meet people in person as opposed to putting them in your top 8 on MySpace.
It's better to talk to someone outside the bar as opposed to screaming yourself horse trying to introduce yourself in the bar. So instead of fake laughing at someone because you have no idea what they said in the bar, you can hear what they have to say outside while smoking. Will this make is easier to talk to the opposite sex? Yes, until you go back in the bar and fake laugh at them when they tell you their grandmother was killed in a Rascal accident on the Ben Franklin Bridge.

BEST CLICHÉ THINGS SAID ABOUT THE SMOKING BAN:

"You know what the best part is? When I go home at night I don't smell like smoke anymore"

"It is actually making me smoke less!"

"At first I thought it was complete horseshit…now I love it!"

"Hey what do you think about the smoking ban? Oh really…cool…the best part is that I don't stink like smoke when I come home from the bar and I smoke less. (fake laugh) Do you want to go out for dinner sometime? Oh cool…I didn't think so. Do you have a light?"

My mind has changed my bodys frame, but God I like it

Many Philadelphians exit this gorgeous smelling city when their work or play day is over by traveling along the Vine Street Expressway/ I-676/The Gateway to Hell. This is a semi-underground roadway that takes no prisoners, and laughs in the face of those who signal when they switch lanes. It can be very convenient if you don't feel like dealing with brake lights while trudging through Center City; however it can also be viewed as another dimension on the verge of an apocalyptic meltdown.
Some choose to travel at ludicrous speeds along 676 causing their headlights to trail as they whiz by your vehicle, and some decide that there is no need to travel over 25 MPH. There is no peace or common ground along the Vine Street. Most of the travelers don't even let you know if they are doing a three lane change at 87MPH because there must be an invisible sign before you get on the road that tells drivers they are prohibited from using their turn signals.
The atmosphere of 676 is reminiscent of the wild car chases in the Mad Max movies. You know where people are swinging axes from the hoods of vehicles as they take out other cars along the roadway. People should start attaching missile launchers to the hoods of their cars if they plan to make it home safely.
City Council should a pass a law allowing the for the installment of heavy duty BOSE speakers along 676 so they can blast speed metal as people are flying or crawling down the road. This would make the experience more fitting and harrowing at the same time. Imagine cruising down the Vine Street with your windows open listening to listening to some Sepultura? You would be taking out Dodge Neons in no time.
There are reports of ghost cars traveling along this highway as well as coffins with wheels traveling over 70 MPH. There is no escaping the Vine Street because it can easily knock a few minutes off of your commute. What should we all do then?
Join the club. Paint gnarly looking flames on your car and tie some sort of animal/human carcass to your bumper. The flames don't even have to flame colored; neon green would work well. Hire a shirtless goon with a nose ring to sit atop your hood while he swings a spiked bat at other vehicles passing by. Smash all of the windows out of your car along with your head and brake lights. Get an anarchy symbol tattooed to your forehead and take the ride baby…take the ride.

Hold your heart courageously as we walk into this dark place

Things you should never be ashamed of:

Being white and blasting Public Enemy from your '93 Mercury Sable

Wearing high black socks with shorts

Sharting

Listening to whatever you want, even if it's the Cheetah Girls

Not being obsessed with the Jersey shore in the summer if you are from Philadelphia

Not having more than 3 friends

Dressing up for Halloween no matter how old you are

Twirling your tissue into a cone and putting it up your nostril to remove a sharp booger

Reading the Comics section in the newspaper

Pooping at work

Riding your bike with a helmet

Eating something greasy

Going to the movies by yourself

Not watching shows like Seinfeld, 24, Lost, Sopranos, Dancing With the Stars, and anything else that people constantly talk about and say, "OH MY GOD YOU NEVER WATCH THAT SHOW! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE MISSING!"

Drawing pictures of robots for fun

Being Single

Driving a shitty automobile

Practicing dance moves like the Crip Walk or the Carlton

Your family and friends

Just Feel Like Showing Some Love For Things I Love:

I was a lover, before this war

Halloween is a holiday that you will experience in phases. When we are children halloween is a surreal experience. Your grade school teacher most likely dressed up as a witch on this wonderful day and handed out mini-Snickers before morning recess. School was part of the holiday because everyone's spirits were raised, and your teachers knew there was no way you were going to concentrate on Social Studies.
When you were in that middle-school freshman year of high school phase you might have been a bit too cool for school. You most likely went trick or treating with no costume like a punk, sneering as people sheepishly dropped some peanut butter cups in your hands.
Halloween in college can be one of the best nights of the year because this is the time in your life when you can easily get your hands on a susbtance that would make you hallucinate. This makes the Halloween party you are attending surreal, just like when you are in grade school. It's a beautifully vicious cycle.
Halloween was always an underrated make-out holiday as well. Everyone seems to get down on Halloween. Maybe because all women dress up as sluts on this day. Girl just add the word: slutty in front of every costume. SLUTTY cop, SLUTTY witch, SLUTTY vampiress, SLUTTY anthropoligist, etc. etc.

I am sick of seeing pirates and hobos every halloween. People need to get more creative on the 31st. Here are some suggestions:

Steve Zissou (or any member of team Zissou) -- This costume is easy. Blue pants, blue shirt and a tight redd skull cap. You will be the talk of the town.



Bruce Willis (Die Hard) -- This costume is EXTREMELY EASY, and when people find out who you are they will stand and cheer. All you need is some dirty khaki's, wife beater and some scruff on your face.











Howard Taft -- This costume is perfect for a portly fellow. If you are not portly you can add a pillow. This is a conversation starter, and you could spit out facts about the fattest president when people ask who you are. (You will most likely not make out if you were this)


Meth Head -- This is an upgrade from the ever so popular bum costume. You need to wear a dirty white t-shirt and some brightly colored sweats. An empty robitussin bottle would be a good thing to have hanging out of your pocket or hanging from your neck.



Yellow Journalist : Yellow Journalism is a ejorative reference to journalism that features scandal-mongering, sensationalism, jingoism or other unethical or unprofessional practices by news media organizations or individual journalists.
This term is hardly used anymore, but it would make a great costume. All you have to do is wear all yellow and a fedora hat with one of those press cards sticking out from the top. You might even want to have a camera hanging from your neck as well.

Good luck this Halloween and try to come up with something fresh.

Like cows in the city, they never looked so pretty

The Culture Of The Elevator




Elevators have been a part of the office culture since people started getting real lazy and making alot of money. They teleport us to the next region of heaven or hell while we feel almost helpless as the metal cart travels north or south at unknown speeds. Time on an elevator alone can be enlightening or gut wrenching. Traveling on the elevator with others can be a harrowing experience.
When we first step onto the metal box consumed in white noise it's almost surreal. It's comparable to watching a sporting event in a dome for the first time. You are somewhat trapped, but you know there is still alot of room to move. Not that you can do much moving in the elevator, but it moves itself.
The button is pushed, the doors close, the breath is held for a second and almost everyone on an elevator looks upwards. Sometimes to check how close you are to the desired floor, but many look up because it can be somewhat akward in an elevator.
Getting packed in an elevator when you first get into work in the morning can turn into an anxiety ridden event. First off you don't feel like being squished next to Bob from sales and the dude from the web design department that smells like patchouli. (Wiki or Google Patchouli...you will know what it is...or smells like.) Second there is the fear of a conversation with someone from your department that is simply going to bombard you with small talk about your weekend or the weather over the weekend. There is also the threat of morning breath with everyone in the elevator causing people to talk with their mouths closed or they will slyly place their hands in front of their mouth the block to stink germs.
Being on the elevator with just one other person can be troublesome too. If you don't know them there might be a stale hello when you first step on, but what's next? The aforementioned upwards stare. It's bound to happen. The other person with you might lightly clap their hands or casually look at their cell. You might even catch them peering at you for a second, but they quickly flash their eyes upward when you are caught giving a counter-glance. When your tandem elevator ride finally comes to an end you are relieved and ready to sit at your desk and do nothing.
There is also some elevator lingo other than horrendous small talk that is thrown around from time to time to lighten the situation. If you are on an elevator in a building that is only a couple of floors, you have instant comedy. If all the buttons have been pushed and you have to stop at every floor before your floor hits this is usually said: "Looks like were taking the local!" It is usually said by an older balding guy in the office who has been using the line for ages. That is when you fake laugh but cover your mouth in case of bad breath right before you start akwardly staring upwards at nothing.
A CLOSE DOORS button on the elevator is like that EASY button seen in Staples commercials. It can save your mental life. If the IT dude who is never going to stop talking about the upcoming Transformers movie is coming down the hall towards the elevator...BOOM. You just light that CLOSE DOORS button and don't even think about it. Maybe he was in a hurry, but you deserve a ride alone.
Riding alone is sometimes accompanied by singing. I asked several people and they too feel themselves belting out a tune in the elevator when traveling solo. You need to be aware as to when the box is going to stop at the next floor so you don't get caught singing a New Edition song that you secretly rock on your IPOD.
The culture of the elevator needs to be studied more, and a list of rules should be placed in the elevator.
1. No Talking (Especially on your cell)
2. No looking upwards
3. Don't tell a horrible joke (See rule #1)
4. You have a right to dick someone with the CLOSE DOORS button
5. Take the fucking stairs sometimes

Coming up next: Rules and Regulations When Riding a Monorail

The more you try to erase me, the more I appear

The women directly to your left are the rock godesses of the band HEART. Sisters Nancy and AnnWilson were gnarly guitar players and could wail like women who had just been dumped. One of their more popular hits was Barracuda. Barracuda is a song that you don't want to listen to in the car because it will get you so hype that you will achieve speeds of over 100 mph, resulting in a horrible wreck. I was listening to Barracuda once while crossing a drawbridge in New Jersey that was opening for a tutugboat. I disregarded the flashing lights and gave it a shot. Needless to say I made the jump while laughing maniacally and screaming, "OHHHHHHHH BAAAARRRAAACUUUUUUDDAAA!" If I was listening to the Moody Blues in my '93 Sable I wouldn't even had come close to jumping that drawbridge.
One of my personal favorite jams by Heart is Magic Man, which first appeared on their Dreamboat Annie album. It's not as bone jarring as Barracuda, but the lyrics are about a man I aspire to be...the Magic Man. Not the Magician. Not David Blane. THE MAGIC MAN.

Here are some lyrics:

cold late night so long ago
When i was not so strong you know
A pretty man came to me
Never seen eyes so blue
I could not run away
It seemed we'd seen each other in a dream
It seemed like he knew me
He looked right through me
"come on home, girl" he said with a smile
"you don't have to love me yet
Let's get high awhile
But try to understand
Try to understand
Try try try to understand
I'm a magic man."

First things first the magic man is one of the coldest cats to grace vinyl. He was straight chillin at a bar one night when one of the Wilson sisters (pictured above) noticed him from across the room, and as soon as she saw him she knew that if she went home with him she wouldn't regret it. He wasn't the type of dude who was going to end up being a regretful hookup or a vomit inducing one night stand. He was an absolute beast and she knew it.
The lyrics note, "It seemed like he knew me...He looked right through me." Talk about charm. It was seeping out of the Magic Man's pores, and women were helpless when he turned it on.
There wasn't any small talk between the two either because that's just not how the Magic Man rolls. He's a straight shooter. He doesn't sugarcoat anything. He want's the mashed potatoes without the gravy. He simply drops a pimp bomb on her with, "Come on home, girl." She didn't hesitate for a second when he threw this line at her.
The line that really clinched the deal was, "You don't have to love me yet...Let's get high awhile." BOOM is what he should have said because the chick would have hit the floor at this point. He lets her know that he wants no strings right off the bat. He isn't going to wait till next weekend and never answer the phone. He basically tells her, "Listen baby...I am going to take you home tonight and make your toes curl, but I don't want you calling me next weekend."
He uses that creamy line as a segway to "let's get high awhile." You know the Magic Man isn't talking about his own weed. Of course the he is going to smoke the women's shit like a cold killer. Magic Man is the guy who gets high every day, but never bought a bag of grass. Weed finds him because it wants a player of his caliber smoking it.
Then he tries to explain in the simplest of forms: "Try to understand (I REPEAT) Try try try to understand...I'm a MAGIC MAN" He says all that he has needed to say in a matter of minutes. A female approaches him and he shoots from the hip. He lets her know that he is one of the coldest dudes she will ever meet and that he is going to take her home and make earth shattering love to her, but she has to uderstand. She has to understand that this cat is one of a kind. He comes to your home, smokes your weed, tears your shit up, leaves early in the morning and you will remember him for the rest of your life.
The Magic Man doesn't fuck either...he makes love. He makes women cry with joy and tremble for hours afterwards. Every woman Magic Man has ever slept with has orgasmed multiple times.
Magic Man is a man all men want to be. He tells you everything you need to hear in a matter of minutes, and no woman has ever turned him down. Next time you hear this song through your clock radio speakers turn it up, and TRY TRY TRY TO UNDERSTAND.

The Road Don't Like Me

Due to the apocalytpic weather conditions sweeping through Philly and New Jersey it's only a matter of time that a legend "could" be spawned. This is a clip from CBS3.com's (local news) website:

The sky quickly went from beautiful and sunny to dark and stormy as the rain began falling shortly after 4 p.m. on Saturday and parts of Southern New Jersey received much of the wrath.

A strike of lightning caused a bizarre accident in Burlington County late Saturday evening. A 13-year-old boy was shocked while playing an electric guitar when his home was hit by a bolt of lightning in Springfield. The teenager suffered some burns to his hands but he is expected to be okay.

This 13 year old has no idea what path lies before him. A gift from the rock gods has been sent to New Jersey, but this gift can only be opened if this 13 year old fully realizes his new powers. Does this kid know what this means? Does he have any idea that he could be able to shoot lighting from his amp someday?

This power from above that has been bestowed on this boy could go in multiple directions. He could use these new found powers to be one of the greatest guitar players in the world, or he can become one of the gnarliest guitar players to ever rule the land of Death Metal.

The fact that he is from New Jersey could be an obstacle in itself. He could grow up without ever cutting his hair and form a metal band called Skull Fuck. Skull Fuck's lyrics will be riddled with satanic refernces, and they will become and popular among the Death Metal scene, but thats about it.

Some asshole 14 year old, also from New Jersey, will take the lyrics too seriously and show up at junior high with an uzi. Another idiot 12 year old from the Garden State will find a Skull Fuck record in his older brothers collection, which will prompt him to molest the family pet. (It could be any pet...even a ferret)

Skull Fuck will refernce the fact that their lead guitar player obtained his amazing skills through a "mighty force of nature" in just about all of their songs. Their first album cover will have a skeleton holding a guitar like it's his cock in a proud, yet suggestive stance. The guitar will be spewing lighting bolts that will be reminiscent of sperm.

If this 13 year old doesn't go the death metal route he could eventually be a part of rock and roll folklore. Like The Natural his skills will be the product of a force of nature. The legendary bat used in The Natural was made from a tree that was struck by lightning. This boy could be the Roy Hobbs of rock.

He will appear out of the darkness in a smokey bar one night and take charge of an open mic night. He will play like no one in the world has ever played and the crowd will be reduced to tears as his fingers emit electricity that moves the bar patrons. A struggling independent music label owner will be at the bar that night and discover him.

This new legend will be known as Hobbs. Internet geeks will debate for years that the name was taken from Calvin and Hobbes comic strips. They will not even know about The Natural at that point in time.

One night when he is the musical guest on Conan O'Brien he will reveal the origin of his name, which will spawn even more internet controversy. He will also reveal that he gained these musical superpowers from a bolt of lightning causing hipsters across the world to write him off as an overrated mutant.

This young man know has a tremendous burden on his shoulders. His music could change the world. His music could also lead to destruction. Let's hope that we are hearing the latest from Hobbs in the year 2025.

It's deep how you can be so shallow

I am partly responsible for this hurricane of hair.

While in college I landed an internship with the Washington Wizards for the 2000- 2001 season. I was constantly given busy work, like any other internship, but one of my assignments spawned a legend. I would walk around the arena (MCI Center) all day doing ridiculous things like stuffing kiosks with advertisements for monster truck rallys, help the mascot get his gear together and I was once summoned to measure Dikembe Mutumbo's cock when they were playing the Sixers. It's 74 inches.

The All Star game was being held in D.C. that year so I was especially busy getting ready for the star studded extravaganza. I was excited for this event until they dropped a bomb on me. There were no interns allowed on the premises for the whole All-Star weekend. How could they do this to me? I had to measure Dikembe's cock! I needed to put my stamp on this thing somehow.

How did I get involved? I had the wonderful job of punching out the little holes on All-Star ballots for about 2 weeks straight before the game. They wanted Wizards on that All Star team so they had me sit alone all day long and punch ballots. Six out of my eight hours at the job were consumed by punching holes in paper cards by myself in a dark empty arena. I would sit on the courtside seats with a trashcan below to catch the confetti that was created by picking your favorite NBAer for the All-Star game. They expected me to pick all Wizards, but I couldn't sleep at night knowing that I had been punching holes for Jahidi White at Center for the Eastern Conference All-Star game. This was the year Jordan came back with a puffier face and I didn't vote for him either most of the time. Seeing Jordan in a Wizard's uniform took away from the mythology. The Jordan I remember is flying off the charity stripe with his gold chain flailing in the wind.

So as you can guess from above I voted for Nash....about 17 trillion times. Everyday I would come into that arena sit on my foldout chair and poke my ballpoint right through the perforated circle next to: STEVE NASH, G DALLAS MAVERICKS. This was done every day for what seemed like an eternity. I would become delirous and have visions. I would see myself on the free-throw line at the MCI with millions of holes that I punched out of those damn ballots falling from the sky covering the top of my head and shoulders as I hit game winning free throws against the Utah Jazz and Atlanta Hawks. I would see Nash in the late night emerging from the trees in my backyard as I was walking into the house thanking me for voting for him. Voting for Nash became part of my soul, and I made it a point to tell everyone that he would be on the Western Conference All Star team that year. I was going to singlehandedly give him the respect that he deserved at that point in his career.

Did he make the All Star team? Of course not. It was nearly impossible even with my 17 trillion votes for him. The fans pick the starters and coaches pick the subs. Kobe and Jason Kidd were the starters at guard that year, and Gary Payton came off the bench for the West. Whoever was collecting those ballots might or might not have notcied the plethora of votes for that white ball of hair. My constant Nash chatter combined with my strengthening of finger muscles from punching ballots for him started the revolution. I am (partly) the reason that white journalists wrote articles claiming racism when he won back to back MVP awards. I am (partly) the reason why you have been emailed pictures of him trashed and showing random females his nips and chest hair. None of us are that far apart. We are all connected somehow in this wild land of ours. I may never meet Steve Nash, but if I did...he should thank me.

A word that MUST be used more:

Word of the Day
billingsgate \BIL-ingz-gayt; -git\, noun:
Coarsely abusive, foul, or profane language.

Chaney would yell at him in his own particular patois -- an unapologetic stream of billingsgate far more creative than Marine drill instructors or master rappers. (the end of that sentence is amazing.)
-- George Vecsey, "Learning at Temple: Se Habla Chaneyism", New York Times , March 19, 2000
Its style is an almost pure Army billingsgate that will offend many readers, although in no sense is it exaggerated: Mr. Mailer's soldiers are real persons, speaking the vernacular of human bitterness and agony.

I'm like Bond in the octagon

Francis Ford Coppopla directed this 17 minute, 80-riffic, 3-D opus that could only be seen at Disney World. It's Barbarella meets Broadway with it's dance sequences and shiny outfits that no one from the future will ever wear.
According to the legendary IMDB :
At a cost of about one million dollars per minute of film, this was, minute for minute, the most expensive motion picture of all time.
This is something that has to be released on DVD because of the cultural implications. It's Michael Jackson, the first glam-pop star, in his own twisted ludicrious version of Ziggy Stardust. When there were elaborately costumed hair metal bands running around, Michael reminded us that you could be theatrical without spitting beer as you ripped through an ovderdone solo.
There is no denying that Michael was an absolute beast in his prime. No matter what you say about the man now, he revolutonized the music video industry scene with his mini-films and over-acting.
This is the project that he figured would save us all. This was going to make up for the movie version of the WIZ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0078504/ . How could he lose? People percieved this film as an overdone sci fi opera that would only make money on the names attached. Something that many of us would say if something similar was released today.
How about 50 Cent in a 20 minute sci-fi 3-D IMAX flick with Angela Lansbury as the villianess who is trying to eliminate all forms of music across the galaxy. It's Footlose meets Alien 3. He could have a bumbling computer generated sidekick, voiced by Orlando Jones, who painstakingly tries to act gangster along 50. It could be called TRAPPIN 5-O. Critics would pan it, but it would have a cult following and be even more popular 20 years after it is released. This is a trend that was accelerated by the internet. The internet is a forum for the forgotten. A place where mediums can survive through message boards and websites like 80'sTshirts.com. Just look at the Chuck Norris net boom.
It seems that Ebay is the only place that you will find Captain EO if you are lucky. Would it be an afterthought if we didn't have services such as EBay and trillions of blogs opening media time capsules and reinventing them? Captain EO is now available on YouTube.com so you can your buddies can smoke some grass and watch it in every Sunday after a hard Saturday night. It can become a ritual. Can you imagine a dorm room:

Gnarly Dude: "Last night was bananas bro...I am hungover. Want to smoke and watch Captain EO?"
Crusty Dude: "Broski you read my mind. Michael Jackson was a man child back then. This movie was way ahead of it's time and references our current obsession with the bird flu pandemic."

This conversation without a doubt happened. Maybe not those exact words, but everything has become a significant piece of popular culture due to the word wide web. There is a time and place for everything and the little box that is sucking the juice out of your eyes right now is the why. Just look at the tagline at the bottom of the poster:
WE ARE HERE TO CHANGE THE WORLD.

Gnarly Dude: "How ironic dude...a movie about the future becomes a piece of the future! I think weed makes me smarter."

You look like David Bowie, but you've nothing new to show me

Snakes on a Train

I have talked about Bar Demons before making for uncomfortable situations, but I have another species of annoying humans: Train Snakes. They can demolish your morning no matter what day of the week it is. It could be Friday, and you could be leaving at lunch for a bullshit podiatrist appointment,and your day could still be reduced to rubble. You could be sitting in the window seat all alone in a three seater and a snake will make the beautiful landscape you are scoping look like the post apocalyptic mayhem in the Mad Max movies. Like real snakes they are stealthy and have no idea how much people fear them. Here they are:

The Snapper: The snapper is socially inept. There is no stopping the snapper's lips from flapping. The snapper can't control the volume of his/her voice, nor can they control the anxiety that the other passengers feel when they step on the train. They will talk about ludicrous bullshit like what their kids were wearing this morning as they stepped out to ride the big yellow. The snapper especially loves mondays because then they can talk about every single detail from last night's Soprano's episode. "Do you think Vito is going to get WHACKED?" I wonder if Carmella has a new found love for Tony post-shooting?"
Imagine someone screaming this aloud to the person next to them when all you want to do is sit in silence and wallow in your monday misery. The snapper has the ability to break sound barriers. How? No matter how loud you turn up the volume of your Ipod they will ring through, and not even think twice about it. Snappers will be sued in the future by Apple for the hearing loss that their product causes. It's the snapper's fault we are all going to be deaf by 2013.

Crust Man: Crust man is also not to keen on social situations. Why? Hygiene. Crust man, unlike the snapper has to be sitting close to you to affect your ride. He is most effective when sitting directly in front of you so you can stare at the huge white flakes falling out of his hair onto your pants. Crust man wears the white button-up with pit stains as bright as the shining sun. He wears orthopedic shoes that squeak even if he wiggles his toes beneath his crusty white tube socks. Crust man loves indirectly bumping into victims as he waddles through the aisle. This is how he spreads his snake venom, which is similar to real snakes that spit venom at their prey.
Crust man is usually the IT guy at the office, which isolates him even more from society. This doesn't help his acknowledgement of the grease dripping from his hair. Crust man enjoys drive thru fast food and collecting Doctor Who merchandise. (That has nothing to do with him riding on the train, but you just know it by looking at him)

Ambivalence Woman: Ambivalence woman pretends that her kid doesn't exist despite the fact that they are firing game boy cartridges at the other passengers. She usually looks out the window as her child reeks havoc on other riders. Ambivalence woman's kid usually is the ADD poster child. You know the shoes that light up everytime they take a step. The constant questions that ambivalence woman doesn't even attempt to answer.
Her kids knows no boundaries when it comes to ruining the lives of others. Every once is a while ambivalence woman loses her shit causing her to beat her child without mercy for about 5 seconds making the rest of the train refrain from a thunderous applause. This doesn't last long though. Then the child begins to hysterically cry causing the mother to continue staring out the window pretending her own flesh and blood isn't even next to her.

Being all the train with all three of these snakes can make you jump in front on the train instead of on it. There should be a special car on the train labeled: SNAKES ONLY.

But it's always with trust that the poison is fed with a spoon

Ipod; therefore Ipoot
A Short Story (Not Based on Actual Events)

It's 5:47am and of course I am up before the 6:30 alarm sounds. After a night of extinguishing my stress fire with several rum and cokes this tends to happen. Now for the rollover test. Staring at the ceiling laying completely still feels comfortable, but once I rollover to get out of bed it could all go to shit. So here we go...roll to the left...feet on the ground...BOOM...I feel seasick. Meandering to the bathroom is a chore in itself, but the cold tiles send shockwaves through my barefeet to my brain. A piping hot shower is my only savior right now. As I go to turn the "H" knob all the way to the right I notice something. The sides of my fingernails are stained with a sticky dark red substance.
Blood!? God I hope not. Did I try to steal the karaoke mic again because I didn't like they way they were covering Bowie? No. Karaoke night is Thursday, and I am pretty sure it's Thursday morning. Then it hits me almost as hard as my current hangover. It was the leftover wings that I ravaged when I got home earlier this morning. I vaguely remember not breathing while eating them, and then not brushing when it was all over.
My shower feels great, but I need to sit down due to my current state of nausea. The water snapping on my back reminds me of how I am going to get pounded at the office today. What will be my saving grace today? Will someone pull a fire alarm? Will there be an real fire so we can all leave? Maybe they will tell me I have been working so hard lately that I should just pack it in and take the day off? That's ludicrous, but a kid's gotta dream. If the powers that be don't hate me they will give me enough courage to approach the plethora of hot women at my office today. This would be much better than staring at them with my mouth open while I hold the elevator door. Finally talking to one of the beauties would make this morning amazing considering the circumstances.
I skip the shaving part because I am late and it better suites my current state. Hop in my 15 year old Honda Accord. You know the one with the headlights that pop out of the hood. My headlights are popped and I make my way to the train station. As I begin to step out the car I look the the right and see a crumpled pack of Parliaments resting on my dirty floor. Having a smoke could devastate me even more by seriously increasing the hangover. So I grab the crusty pack and hed to the platform of the train station.
The match is lit and the smoke has begun. The first drag isn't too rough, but it can only get worse. I stare down my nose at the tiny Parliament writing on the cig and it seems to be staring right back at me. I leave about a quarter left and throw the butt onto the tracks. Now lightheaded and just all around funky feeling I stare at the burning cigarette. I am staring so intently that I don't even notice the roar of the train as it stops causing me to jump back like a complete asshole on the platform.
Of course there isn't an open seat on this hunk of shiny metal so I sit on the outside of a three seater. The window seat would have been tops, but I settle for the outside. My IPod is my only saving grace right now. The question is what do I listen too throughout this soon to be harrowing ride? I settle for Neil Young's Cowgirl in the Sand and the train starts to roll. Something else begins to roll with the train and it's my stomach. I silently vow to never drink a rum and coke again as I close my eyes to escape the situation. I try to concentrate on Neil's poetry, but even that can't sure me right now. Sweat beads are forming along my forehead so I wipe it off and glance back to see if anyone is witnessing my suffering.
My quick glance reveals two of the stellar women from my office chatting. My first thought is that they are talking about how dilapidated I look. My face is extremely pale at this point and I fear the "water under the tongue pre-vomit feeling." It's a feeling of helplessness when you reach this stage because there is no turning back. If I have to puke where should I aim? The floor? Maybe get off at the next stop and put on a show for those waiting for the train? My eyes stay closed and I fight it.
I am fighting along with the mean guitar ripping through one of Neil's masterpieces. We fight it out together. It gives me strength as the train nears my stop. I am starting to feel less nautious at this point, but I lose it for a second when have a flashback. I conjure up images of the straw of my drink not leaving my lips and my late night/early morning feast. Then I finally arrive at my stop.
I stand up to get off the train and feel better knowing that I am about to get some fresh air. Stepping off the train I stop for a minute so I can pick a perfect song as I walk to work. I pick Bowie's Life on Mars hoping to cue it perfectly so it kicks in as I reach the top of the escalator. It's little things like this that you need to start off the day right. The jam didn't quite kick in when I wanted it too but it satisfies as I start my walk.
I look around for the good looking gals from work, but they are nowhere in sight. As I am walking my nausea turns into SEVERE gas pains. The kind that doubles you over until you bust some serious ass. So the song plays,

"sailors fighting in the dance hall
oh man look at those cavemen POOOOOOOT!!!"

Wait a second that wasn't part of the song! What was that tremendous farting noise? There isn't a cloud in the sky so it can't be thunder. Has my Ipod malfunctioned? Nope...none of the above. It was me. It was all me as I was lost in song not even thinking about my surroundings. My Ipod sent me to another realm where people can't hear your music playing or your gas passing. Too bad I was the only one in this little world of mine. I then turn as red as the wings I housed last night, which caused this onslaught of agony. Should I even look back?
If it is the ridiculously good looking women from work I will have to jump in front of a bus. If anyone I hope that I farted in the direction of some Hipsters or Jimmy Buffet fans. With the way this day has been going it's most likely the women.
So I dare to look behind and see nothing. Not a person in sight. No hipsters, parrot heads, or hot chicks. Just a homeless man sitting on the ground, who has placed his "WILL WORK FOR FOOD" sign on the concrete as his shoulders shake. He can't control his laughter as he witnessed this overblown debacle. I look at him for a second, smirk and continue my journey to the office.
As I enter the office I suddenly feel better than I did five minutes ago. The nausea and gas pains have subsided. The anxiety of working hung over has left my soul. I push the up button on the elevator and of course the beauties are right behind me as the ding sounds and the door opens. I hold the door for them, but this time my mouth isn't wide open. I have a huge smile on my mug and greet them with a friendly hello.

If you think that a kiss is all in the lips...Come on..you got it all wrong

With the world relentlessly mourning the death of Superman's wife an american legacy has been swept under our star spangled carpet. Artist Gordon Parks passed away, and good luck trying to find a mention of it from the national television media. A modern day renassiance man who left an imprint on virtually all artistic mediums died, Tuesday at the ripe old age of 93. We mourn a woman who without a doubt contributed something to society, but has she accomplished or given as much as Parks? Some will argue that Parks' legacy is one that is restricted to a smaller fan base, and that Dana Reeve...well was the wife of Christopher Reeve. We all felt so horrible for Reeve when he was paralyzed, and he consumed headlines then and at the time of his death. We forgot one thing. Reeve had a wonderful life before his accident. He was FUCKING SUPERMAN, but we all choke back the tears because his handsome face is now covered with tubes for breathing. He lived a life before his death that most people never even dream of. Not to take anything away from the devastation that the Reeve family has endured, but lets looks at some other american "icons." Look at Gordon Parks.

USA TODAY OBIT:

Gordon Parks, an American legend
By Jym Wilson, USA TODAY
Gordon Parks looked like an artist.
"Nothing came easy," Parks wrote in his autobiography. "I was just born with a need to explore every tool shop of my mind."
By Marsha Halper, Miami Herald via AP
With his shock of white hair, grand mustache and seemingly ever-present pipe, Parks was a 20th-century Renaissance man. He worked as a photojournalist, fashion photographer, filmmaker, composer, novelist, poet and painter. (Related story: Parks' unique American perspective)
But Parks, who died Tuesday at age 93, was best known for his compassionate yet gritty 1940s documentary photography of the lives of black Americans — first with the post-Depression Farm Services Administration and then with Life magazine. At the same time, he was shooting high fashion for Vogue magazine as a contemporary of the likes of Richard Avedon and Irving Penn.
He also was a film pioneer, becoming the first African-American to direct a film for a major studio in 1969. The Learning Tree, a drama, was based on his 1963 autobiographical novel about growing up in Kansas in the 1920s. He also wrote the script and the score.
In a considerable departure, Parks' next movie was Shaft. The 1971 hit starring Richard Roundtree as hip detective John Shaft is considered a classic of the blaxploitation genre. And it of course featured the catchy theme song by Isaac Hayes, which won an Academy Award. He made several more films, including Shaft sequel Shaft's Big Score.
In 1998, the Parks photographic retrospective Half Past Autumn was mounted and toured the country for years. In 2000, it attracted "flocks" of visitors to the California African American Museum in Los Angeles, says executive director Charmaine Jefferson. A former New York City cultural affairs commissioner and head of the Dance Theatre of Harlem, she says she spent a memorable evening with Parks listening to music he composed for a ballet.
She says he will go down as "one of the great photographers of our time" but also will be remembered for his music, his writing, his films, even his costumes. "He was so multitalented," she says. "He could do it all. And we were so proud of him."
Parks himself was always striving. In a 1998 interview with PBS' Newshour, he said: "My life to me is like sort of a disjointed dream. ... It was a constant effort, a constant feeling that I must not fail, and I still have that. ... There's another horizon out there, one more horizon that you have to make for yourself and let other people discover it."
Contributing: Maria Puente

Don't let your silly dreams...fall in between

Breaking the Wedge

There is an epidemic sweeping throughout drinking establishments in America, and it has been a problem since bars only offered whiskey to scratch your drinking itch. It happens evey night no matter how many people are there or how drunk the patrons are. You will realize it when your back is turned while ordering a drink or simply standing and chatting with a friend. What is the big fuss you ask? BAR DEMONS...thats what. What is a Bar Demon?

Bar Demon\ BAR de MUN\ noun :
One who walks through a bar with no regard for those standing within a 2 foot radius. Bar Demons have the ability to cause chaos for those trying to enjoy a night out. Bar Demons usually aren't even aware that they are furiously bumping into everyone around them because they are too intoxicated to realize.

There is nothing like standing at the bar and enjoying a drink when you are suddenly struck hit and run style. Your drink is all over your jeans, and you are left looking around like someone threw a spitball at you from the back of the class. Demons have the ability to vanish after they strike. "Excuse me" is not a phrase that Demons hold in their vocabulary. They don't feel the need to be courteous, and thats why they carry the Demon moniker.
They strike at all hours of the night from all angles. They lurk in the shadows of the bathroom line and wait until there is a good crowd to crash through leaving the victims helpless. More mental than physical harm is done by these Demons, but they could care less. They creep through the thick fog and blast the innocent all night without a "Sorry", "My Bad", "My Biscuit" or "Are you OK?"

They are different types of Bar Demons racing throughout the bar circuit. Here are some of the different species:

The Special Teamer:
Usually a smaller female with frizzy hair who goes head down and pushes through the crowd. She doesn't look back nor does she look forward. Her glazy eyes stay fixated on the ground as she shuffles through. She leaves the patrons stunned as she continues to walk away after she knocks you into your friend so hard that your front teeth leave an imprint on their forehead.

The Leaner:
Usually as younger male who cannot hold his liquor or balance past 8 pm. The Leaner has been known to place all of his weight on people waving money at the bartender for attention. He is relentless with his leaning and will not stop until the person in front of him is left on the ground soiled in bar sludge. The Leaner usually finds himself bloodied and toothless in the gutter by the end of the night because of his actions. He is without a doubt the most despised demon.

The Steak:
The Steak is the most powerful demon of them all because of his physical atrributes and demeanor. He walks through the crowd like an ogre who has just ransacked a village of hut-dwellers. He knows he is sending people flying all over the bar, but is fully aware that no one will say peep to him because of his stature. The Steak is usually wearing something form fitting to let everyone know he means business. Some Steaks have been known to let their golden chains hang over the chest hair by undoing the top 3 buttons. Even if the Steaks smashes you...don't say a word to him.

With all these smoking bans being imposed throughout the States you would think they would try to ban Demons. Anyone carrying the traits of a Bar Demon should be immediatley ejected from the bar and sent to jail. No questions asked. These disturbances must stop, and we need to start writing letters to State Reps. to solve this deplorable situation. If they banned Demons people wouldn't even complain about smokey bars. They would be happy knowing they will be guarded from all Demons until the last call.

I slice up squares like sicilian

The Ipod can without a doubt be noted as a major player in the evolution of modern music. You can create soundtracks to just about anything. Your walk to and from any form of public transportation. Your action sports musical montage for the gym. It can turn your car into a party and the driver and passenger into masters of the wheels of steel...err wheel of plastic. Some can't live without it, and some are too lazy to add songs to their playlist.
It's sleek design has spawned a portable electronic fashion show. Cell phones and portable music players are now parallel to certain makes of cars. If you have the Motorola RAZR cellphone you are driving a Lexus. If you still have that Speak and Spell looking Nokia, you're driving a '89 Ford Festiva. The Ipod Nano is like driving around in a brand new shiny white BMW. The old Ipod mini is like driving an '85 Benz...it used to be the hottest thing around but desperately needs a paint job. If you rock the Ipod shuffle you're riding a half decent mountain bike. Some of the gears don't click when you want them to, but it gets the job done.
Apple has released an ILife program for their pretty streamlined machines. It apparently controls anything and everything in your digital world. Pictures, music, movies,porn filing, and apparently it makes coffee if you are feeling tired from staring at the screen all day. I wonder when IGod will come out.
Apple has changed the way we move throughout this digital age, but there is double edged sword here. The Ipod is magnificant but if you can only hold under a thousand songs (like myself) the jams tend to get pretty stale. You can play out your favorite album and no longer say, "It's my favorite...I don't even skip songs." You have access to it all the time now. You are sick of it and need another fix. This cruel cycle continues and before you know it you desperately need something fresh.
You search and all the sudden find something crispy to add to your pod. It invigorates, excites, makes you even a little hot and horny for a while, but then it happens. You start listening to it, but you aren't hearing it. The beats go through your mind without stopping like a Taxi to scared to pick you up because you look like you're going to projectile vomit all over the cab. That album that you couldn't get enough off turns into an afterthought.
The sharp side of this sword that is capable of delivering a deadly blow? You are constantly searching for something new to move your soul. Music you never imagined hearing has entered your playlist because you needed a fresh start. You will discover B-sides, live cuts, never released tracks, and maybe that acoustic Neil Diamnond album. That one song you heard in that movie that made your ass shake can now be found, and you could turn out to be a huge fan of the group that originally moved your midsection. Once you have this new favorite group you will continue to add all their stuff to your Ipod, and fall into the black hole of music again.
We are expanding our musical horizons and hopefully refining our palettes a bit. This could be helping the music industry in ways we can't even fathom. With people constantly searching for something new there is going to be a demand for quality. Is the quality of music on the rise or are we just finding more diamonds in the rough because we are athirst for some new tunes? Either way someone is making a boatload of cash.


A word that needs to be used more:


deus ex machina \DAY-uhs-eks-MAH-kuh-nuh; -nah; -MAK-uh-nuh\, noun:
1. In ancient Greek and Roman drama, a god introduced by means of a crane to unravel and resolve the plot.
2. Any active agent who appears unexpectedly to solve an apparently insoluble difficulty.
In times of affluence and peace, with technology that always seems to arrive like a deus ex machina to solve any problem, it becomes easy to believe that life is perfectible.

-- Stephanie Gutmann, The Kinder, Gentler Military But we also need the possibility of cataclysm, so that, when situations seem hopeless, and beyond the power of any natural force to amend, we may still anticipate salvation from a messiah, a conquering hero, a deus ex machina, or some other agent with power to fracture the unsupportable and institute the unobtainable.


The sentence they provide is a great one but what about in our modern world of stupidity?

New age use:

I was talking to a land monster at the bar after about 15 captain and coke's when a deus ex machina entered my world and pulled me from the tightening grip of this sea creature.

All a deus ex machina is in today's world is a "wing-man"

its a bad idea, to go down to the pier by your self after dark

I was half asleep the other night when one of my dreams turned into a reality. There was an NBA game blaring through my "un-flat screen" television while I was in bed. The only voice I could hear was the obnoxious mufflings of Bill Walton as he tripped through his comments about the league and of course himself. It's a give-in that every night he is on TV Walton will without a doubt mention the championships he won with the Celts and the Blazers through his inury riddled career. This fateful night the Clippers were playing the Nuggets and the other annoucer (Can't remember his name...I was half awake) mentioned a short stint that Walton had with the Clip-show. Walton then comments, "I was on three of the greatest teams in basketball history! The UCLA Bruins, Portland Trailblazers, and of course the Celtics. That Trailblazers team was the youngest team ever to win it all (This is the 3,459th time he has mentioned this...in January). But my worst experience was playing with the Clippers. I was always injured and only played in about 7 games!"
Then he drops the atom bomb:
"That was the darkest moment of my life...I'm a DISGRACE!"
COMPLETE silence was all you heard for about 30 seconds. I lept out of bed looking for my glasses to take a glance at the reaction to all those who heard this ludicrous self-loathing statement. When I finally focused I saw the befuddled Walton as he looked like he was about to put his head in his hands and mumble a DEAD jam to take himself to a happy place. The other commentators were in disbelief and nervously mentioned a meaningless play by Earl Watson. Then Walton perked up and proclaimed, "EARL WATSON! U-C-L-A LEGEND!
I then fell back into the most peaceful sleep knowing that that red haired mutant was back to his old self making outrageous statements about role players. Embrace Walton people. He will make you feel smarter and prettier than you have ever been before.

Lebron's choice to not to participate in the dunk contest in favor of the skills (or is it skillz) competition this All-Star weekend is another example of why he is so important to the NBA. Does anyone every say they are going to the bar, have some suds, and watch the skills competition? This is a competition reserved for people like Earl Boykins, and Earl Watson...Pretty much anyone named Earl. Now we have to watch to see what this man-child will do. He also has the best sitcom on television right now...the Lebrons of course.

The super flow with more jokes than Bazooka Joe

I have been quite busy these days and have not been able to post as frequently as before. If I could write on this thing everyday I would, but until that day here are some things that have invaded my mind recently.

Thoughts for thought:

Internet porn has desensitized those who have never even layed eyes on it.

It is also extremely racist. Google thugs and jugs...you will see exactly what I am talking about. One site (not the illustrious Thugs and Jugs) refers to the black porn "actors" as savages who have come to destroy blonde white chicks (I can't remember the exact name of this website, but that's a good thing). They portray these women as being violated completely because their "sexual" partners are black guys. Who gets off on this stuff? Well if David Lee Roth can get his own radio show I guess there is a demographic for everything. This has to be an issue somewhere, but is it appropriate to bring to the national media? OF COURSE IT IS! People will be glued to their sets as they looked at images of these web pages with pixalated spots covering up the good stuff. It will also give Kanye something to discuss following his appearance on the cover of Rolling Stone, where he is depicted as Jesus Christ.

Hey Tom Brady said he looks at porn on the internet so that makes me feel alot better about myself. I heard his poop doesn't even smell.

Have you ever seen a baby pigeon?

76er Lee Nailon http://www.nba.com/playerfile/lee_nailon/index.html just got locked up for beating his wife...he must have been pissed about me comparing him to Carlton from the Fresh Prince. Iverson is obviously the Fresh Prince in this whole debacle. Remember in the end the Fresh Prince became an Oscar Nominee, and Carlton ended up on a sitcom with LL Cool J.

Do people take Maxim magazine seriously?

MySpace.com is going to end is a gruesome way. The amount of information people post about themselves is shocking. This is like a handbook for all the creeps out there to pick and choose their next victim. Most of the participants have pictures of themselves, and many express the fact that they are looking for love. The need to reach out to others and share your experiences is normal, but people are putting so much of themselves out there without concern.

Remember the names Kara Borden and Daniel Ludwig?

Kara's 13-year-old sister, Katelyn, told investigators her parents were shot after they argued with Ludwig for about an hour, according to court papers. Katelyn said she saw Ludwig shoot her father, and then ran into the bathroom, where she heard a second shot, presumably the one that killed her mother, court papers said. Ludwig then ran through the house calling for Kara, she told investigators. The couple's 9-year-old son ran to the neighbors, who called 911. Police late Sunday issued an arrest warrant for Ludwig on charges of criminal homicide and kidnapping. Stephanie Mannon, 16, said Ludwig and Kara had been seeing each other secretly. "Their parents didn't approve of them being together" because of the age difference, she said. "It wasn't because he was a shady character, because he wasn't." Both Ludwig and Kara maintain Web sites. Hers refers to interests in soccer, art and her Christian faith; his says he enjoys "having soft air gun wars" and claims expertise in "getting in trouble."

These teens were exchanging info and X's and O's on a website just like MySpace.

I want to see this movie are least buy the poster:
http://www.imdb.com/gallery/ss/0390463/Ss/0390463/ScifighterPsterForIMDBsmll1.jpg?path=gallery&path_key=0390463

Your raps have no gift...like a lonely christmas

GOOD GOD IN HEAVEN!
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/01/11/ap/strange/mainD8F290T82.shtml

This is harrowing and shall haunt all onlookers forever! That creature belongs on the Island of Dr. Moreau. The one with Marlon Brando...not the H.G. Wells book that you most likely had to read the summer before your freshman year of high school.

Check out the trailer for the upcoming Sofia Coppola film Marie Antoinette. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0422720/ New Order's Age of Consent is the soundtrack to Coppola's trailer depicting 17th century France, and it works...if you grew up watching MTV. Trailers have become music videos and music videos have become trailers. Kanye West's Jesus Walks worked so brilliantly with the trailer for Jarhead that it's emotional impact matched that of the film.
The trailer for Antoinette is reminiscent of an old Annie Lennox video where she is running around trying to avoid broken glass in an elegant evening gown. We see Marie (Kirsten Dunst) running around in her elegant gown to the dancing keyboard and brooding lyrics of Consent. The trailer isn't an exact replica of Lennox's video, but the influence is undeniable. Trailers and music videos use every ounce of their limited time to make an impact. The perfect recipe for our ADD riddled generation.
Music makes the movies and sometimes makes the trailer better than the movie. Why do you think so many people saw Dangerous Minds with Michelle Pfeiffer? http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112792/
Everyone was bumping their heads to that ludicrous Coolio jam wondering why we were so blind to see that the ones we hurt are you and me. If you can get a song to work with about 2 minutes of footage it's like magic. The viewer is immediately affected in some way because the combination of the two moved them.
Does this make the movie and the trailer one in the same? The trailer becomes and extension of the film and sometimes it's even better than the film itself. DVD's always have the trailers in their special features, which is important because trailers are a large part of the film they depict. A good trailer can't make a movie, but a good trailer is a damn good music video.