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| Wednesday, December 16th, 2009 | | 8:20 pm |
An Elegant Beast
In a world full of pigs, you'd live by cliche; Oinking and squealing and stooling away. You'd shit on the floor, And piss on your kin; 'Cause in a world full of pigs, nobody wins. You'd be slaughtered for meat, While your children were fed; Teeth grinding away on the newly dead. You'd see family on Christmas, And watch network TV; Shedding a tear at the finale of "Glee". You'd cling to your gun, While you languished in debt; Maxing your plastic on cheap cigarettes. You'd buy half the poor, With a shiny gold calf; And get them to murder the other half. You'd put a ring through your snout, And sulk and rebel; Making life for your peers a living hell. You'd treat your depression, With a spoon and a fork; Slowly transforming from pig into pork. You'd dump out your trash, And then choke on the smog; A pathetic, corpulent, castrated hog. You'd shit and you'd breed and you'd date and you'd buy, You'd scheme and you'd hope and you'd dream and you'd die. To strive for the most, By doing the least; Such is the life of an elegant beast. | | Tuesday, November 10th, 2009 | | 8:19 pm |
Thoughts on a Nietzschean Cockfight
I sit ringside, clutching a cardboard ticket in my sweaty right fist. My hands trace the thin lining in my coat pockets as I crush the once-sturdy paper into one-thousand little folds. I'm usually not this jittery, but tonight is a special occasion. Tonight is the night when Tonya Harding, my beloved pudgy pugilist, boxes for the world title against the indomitable Leila Ali. They said Tonya couldn't win, that she was an asthmatic fraud who relied on brawn rather than brains, that she couldn't pull it off without cheating, that she should make haste to the comfort of her double-wide and spend the rest of her life quietly ducking the gauche incivilities of social mobility. And that was in 1994! I pray my deleterious Delilah just doesn't get the crap knocked out of her tonight. I would not want that... or maybe I would. Deep down, every guy loves seeing a chick getting beat up, especially one he really, really likes. Round one. The voluptuous bimbo totes the ring card about blocking the view of my goddess, shrouding her face behind a pair of neon blue hotpants. The hateful little whore moves away and I see Tonya sitting on a stool, chewing a piece of green gum. Spearmint, perhaps? It would only figure that we share a favorite. Then she spits. I am ecstatic. Leila Ali stands in her corner, nose in the air, strutting about as if she is too talented to be troubled by, or rather, reduced to, fighting a pseudo-celebrity in a cheap exploitive sideshow of a match. Dear old dad may have been the greatest, Leila, but you're about to meet #2 and she has beaten better women-- with a hubcap. In this Geek Show, my dear, you are the chicken. The bell rings and the two fighters make the awkward dance to the center of the ring to engage in one last display of pleasantries before the pounding begins. Tonya touches gloves, looks Leila Ali straight in the eye, firms her bicep, braces her shoulder, and... takes a hard jab to the face. Ouch. The pummeling continues as the champion turns round one into a modernist horrorshow, painting a skilled but technical portrait of hooks, uppercuts, jabs, and illegal headbutts on the canvas of Tonya's face. Inside I am seething with the injustice of it all. Everybody hates the smartest kid in the class and despises a reckless show-off. Leila was spoiling the curve for everyone in the arena that evening by delivering a humiliating first-class beatdown to the most gorgeous woman in the room (nigh the world) and taking absolutely no fun in doing so. If you're going to destroy something beautiful, sweetie, at least look alive. The bell sounds and Tonya flounders back to her corner and plops down in her seat like a load of garbage negligently cast from the back end of a dump truck. I now know how the Germans felt at Leningrad. The look in Tonya's freshly swollen eye tells me she knows Leila is a superior fighter, she knows Leila is faster and stronger and braver and angrier and meaner, she knows there is no hope. It is the saddest thing; the day the starving artist finally understands she is no VanGogh and throws her easel in the trash and scans the classified ads for secretarial work; the day the lead guitarist of a middling cover band realizes he will never "make it big" and ends up writing jingles for a local used car dealership;it is the broken look of a failed ne'er-be-champion who finally understands her own mediocrity. I cannot allow this to happen. Not Tonya, not tonight. Round two. The bell sounds and Leila darts across the ring like a vulture eager to pick every fetid morsel of decaying meat off Tonya's corpse. Tonya shrinks back, retreating like a Pole in 1939. Suddenly, however, a new challenger appears. I am no athlete, but I am a competitor like none other and losing is the devil's work. I place all my angst, hate, doubt, remorse, and love into one wild supersonic haymaker. This is no longer about Tonya: this is for Tommy the fat kid in the fifth grade; this is for the missed promotions and the middle managers; this is for Katie The Hellacious Slut who wanted to justbefriends; this is for Kurt Vonnegut and punk rock; this is for eight years of George Bush; this is for every chode, toad, lackey, and player-hating motherfucker who breaks a man's will. My fist howls in rapturous pain as it meets Leila Ali's chin. I go down, spiraling to the ground as my vision fades. That Ali bitch sure hits hard. Her father might be proud of her, after all. As day turns into night and security gathers round with their tazers I gaze upward at my dearest Tonya. Her sweaty neck and wet blonde hair glow in the bright stage lights, accented by the patchwork quilt of welts and bruises all over her always-flawless face. Her blue eyes rejuvenate my spirit even as my flesh fails me. A drop of blood escapes from between her lips as she tearfully mouths "thank you". Life may be cruel, but it has its strange rewards. | | Monday, July 27th, 2009 | | 11:04 pm |
Sir Gawain and the Gaping Vagina (Chivalry Lives)
They call me the Cunt Puncher, But not without cause. One evening with me, girl And you'll be wrapped up in gauze. I'll make you bleed out of holes, You didn't know that you had. You'll sweat menstrual blood And wear a jumpsuit of pads. I'll crush past your cervix With a twist and a shout. And with a flick of the wrist Pull your fetus out. Fetus down your throat? Bada-bing, bada-boom! Then it goes up your rectum; Into your poop womb. Then I'll gouge out your eye With a cheap ballpoint pen. And through the bare socket, Goes the fetus again. Then I'll reach down your nose, Using all of my love, And with vigorous glee Punch your cunt from above. Fin. | | Thursday, July 16th, 2009 | | 2:26 am |
Spam Poetry #1-4
#1)Your favorite weapon against bacterial infections Will go through your girl like a bulldozer. If you aren't a fan, you may unsubscribe; Try your luck. #2)Servicemembers and Veterans: We can help you grow your own beautiful hair. Your crack will fault-free, Tell a friend. #3)Your dream come true: Master, MBA, Even PhD (non accredited). Need mouse to become tiger! #4)List of your mistakes: I didn't receive anything; Wrong verification code. An utter and complete failure, Stop displaying your courage! | | Monday, July 6th, 2009 | | 12:49 am |
Second Grade Writing Prompt
Write about "What I know about dinosaurs" "What I Know About Dinosaurs" by 10 Dinosaurs, or "terrible faggots," lived on the Earth 6000 years ago at the dawn of mankind and Creation. In the days before the Great Flood, dinosaurs and human beings co-existed peacefully. People would use Dinosaurs for transportation, pulling heavy objects, irrigation, political scapegoating, high-speed internet access, and auto-erotic asphyxiation (we're looking at YOU, David Carradine and Velociraptor). Many of the ancient Mesopotamian laws against bestiality originate from an incident involving the son of Hammurabi, a winch, an Allosaurus, and a helluva lot of lube. Socrates was friends with a herd of larger herbivores, who frequently volunteered to serve as foils to his intellectual arguments, hence the term "as daft as an Apatosaurus". After the Great Flood, most Dinosaurs died, save a few who exist to this day. I recently met a dinosaur on the corner of Fifth and Amistad. He was on his own, smoking his last cigarette. I asked him where he had been and he said "stop listening to the goddamn Fray." I guess Dinosaurs are more partial to Nickelback. Perhaps that is why they weren't allowed on the Ark. | | Sunday, December 14th, 2008 | | 3:35 am |
Ebony and Ivory
They stood side by side, each sizing up other nervously, two titans from different worlds, ebony and ivory. "I voted for Obama!" trumpeted the self important Facebook, beaming from ear to ear. "I didn't vote. Felony conviction," replied Myspace, kicking a pork and beans can that rested at his feet. "Mhmmmm," muttered Facebook condescendingly as he awkwardly tried to change the topic of conversation. "So I hear you like music," said Facebook. "How about we go back to my loft and listen to some Jack Johnson records?" "Man, Jack Johnson don't do sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit," Myspace retorted. "Wanna get crunk with some Akon?" The suggestion nauseated Facebook, but he ultimately caved. "Sure, I will invite some friends and we shall proceed to the venue, stopping, of course, to pick up some coffee along the way," Facebook offered, making a note to TiVo "LOST". "Invite? You crazy!" Myspace responded, looking perplexed. "I was just gonna pick up some hoes and roll in an hour after the show started." "WHAT?" yelled Facebook, half astonished, half offended. "You invite people you don't KNOW?" "Yeah, bro. I just check out some mami's pics and add her right there," Myspace proudly replied. "That's barbaric." "Life's barbaric." "You are willfully ignorant of every single rule of internet etiquette. Your banners have glitter, your pages have errors, your applications are a knock off of mine, your members are the lowest sort of people, and half the time your site isn't even up," groused Facebook, visibly irritated with his acquaintance's lack of personal initiative. "At least I don't have a motherfucking credit card from the Banana Republic," Myspace quickly chimed, brimming with street smarts. "At least I am white," Facebook snapped curtly. There the two stood, ebony and ivory, sizing each other up, two titans from different sides of the tracks. What could possibly bring these adversaries together? "At least we both ain't Linked-In," laughed Myspace. "You can't get a profile there unless you got slant eyes and eat Kung Pao Beef." Facebook grinned slowly and smugly as he finished his latte. The two took a seat on the muddy grass as the sun set over America, perhaps for the last time. | | Thursday, June 5th, 2008 | | 3:25 am |
Attaboy
Buddy, Chief, Junior, Sport, Bubba, Sparky, Ace, Kiddo, Chum, Slugger. Shorty, Son, Hoss, Scooter, Champ, Boss. Kemosabe, Tiger, Pal, Buster!  | | Tuesday, May 20th, 2008 | | 12:56 am |
An ode to Beth Ditto
I once loved a fat girl But she proved to be a flake Some lose their friends to drug use I lost mine to cake :(  | | Thursday, April 24th, 2008 | | 5:00 am |
Paul the Pallbearer
Paul the Pallbearer Was a mesomorph terror The strongest man that I've known He bore the weight Of his corpulent mates But he could not carry his own With a shovel in hand Paul spat at the land As he buried another friend Then with a skeleton's grin He quaffed tonic and gin As he awaited his own bitter end So in his sixtieth year With a curse and a tear Paul grew tired of life's methadone He chose opioid bliss The poppies that kiss As he pondered the greatest unknown With his powder platoon And a belt and a spoon Paul did his best to escape But addiction's cold strife Gave no meaning to life Only tremors and blisters and scrapes Cut adrift in a fog Of needles and grog And the world that he had maligned Paul pounded his fist At life's spiritless mist There was no purpose that he could find Said Paul with a sigh "You shit and you die, And lose a bit of yourself with each breath Every woman and man Seeks some greater plan But the only design is in death." So with a click and a flash, Dust, splatter, and ash, A shotgun set old Paul free As his light disappeared 'Twas not death that Paul feared Just his nagging humanity So I sing my friend's ode As I bear his stout load And pray that my burden won't fall Because one day, my mate You'll carry my weight We all have our caskets to haul | | Monday, March 17th, 2008 | | 6:18 pm |
Paging Dr. Drew
Masturbation, Nimbus clouds, a day online, regressive tax John McCain, table for one, chase your vodka with Xanax They just shot Mandela in Pretoria Who cares? The side effects are "mild euphoria" A pill-sized thunderbolt for an Olympic god Good for your neighborhood neurotic or Ahmadinejad Take one to kill the dragon, two for jubilee Five if your employment was just transferred to Tennessee Six for platonic friendship, eight for love unrequited Ten to give Jesus Christ attention undivided With sangfroid you'll greet bad news, grinning like a fool You'll meet death in the family with a smirk, a shit, and drool But before you leap into the magick of lobotomy galore Remember, once you've had a few, you'll soon start craving more One pill can quell the trembles, but two fit nicely in your mitt You "stop when you want to," but you'll pop 'em for the "hell of it" You'll go from munching on fava beans and quaffing nice Chianti To knocking over pawn shops and hanging out with John Frusciante They'll mistake your gibberish for Mexican and call the I.N.S. Even the tormented Pete Doherty will giggle "what a mess!" So before you turn into a pill-snorting, toothless, deadbeat dad Remember that amphetamines and booze aren't that bad! | | Sunday, March 2nd, 2008 | | 8:02 am |
| | Wednesday, January 23rd, 2008 | | 10:09 pm |
| | Saturday, December 29th, 2007 | | 7:15 pm |
AARP Special
O Cadillac, O Cadillac, bucolic ride of zen The hottest rod around for eighty-year old men A modern spacious cabin, made from choice polysterene The console holds six cupholders, or your dialysis machine A comfortable interior fashioned from the softest skin of elk A satellite radio permanently tuned to Lawrence Welk It'll race from zero to forty-five on the interstate freeway Then park at an oblique angle at the Old Country Buffet A fifteen-year long warranty on all parts and repairs But when you're eighty-six years old, who the hell cares? If you see them parked at the grocery, expect a price check on rogaine If you see them parked at the polling place, expect a President McCain Made in every single color, so long as it's charcoal gray Take the money out from your mattress and buy a Cadillac today! | | Saturday, November 10th, 2007 | | 8:02 am |
| | Thursday, October 18th, 2007 | | 1:30 am |
Rip off artists
Faced with an unnegotiable deadline, an exhaustive schedule, and a vacuous lack of talent, many college students turn to plagiarism to lessen the burdens of coursework, especially when they are enrolled in a particularly difficult class. Similarly, the class of life is always exceedingly difficult and many people, in particular popular musicians, turn to plagiarism when crunch time nears. Below you will find several examples of musicians who "borrowed" their way to stardom: 1)My Chemical Ripoff -- MCR's "Ghost of You" vs. Jimmy Eat World's "23" Gerard Way and My Chemical Romance put forth a 110% effort during the sessions for their breakthrough album "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge". By 110%, I mean 100% My Chemical Romance and 10% Jimmy Eat World. Listen to the first fifteen seconds or so of each of the two videos below: 2)Bruce Dickinson Needs Raid -- Papa Roach's "Last Resort" vs. Iron Maiden's "Genghis Khan" Let's be honest, Papa Roach isn't exactly the most captivating, original, popular, or talented band out there, but who can deny the allure of their breakthrough hit, "Last Resort"? Iron Maiden, for one! First, listen to the riff in "Last Resort," then skip to :45 seconds remaining in "Genghis Khan." Whoa, Neo! Deja Vu! Extra points to Papa Roach singer Jacoby Shaddix for declaring that the band was "raised on metal", eliminating any possible chance of a coincidence. 3)Stairway to Purgatory -- Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" vs. Spirit's "Taurus" Mindless Self Indulgence hates Jimmy Page, and maybe you should too. Listen to the famous riff in Stairway to Heaven, then skip to 2:00 remaining in Spirit's single "Taurus". Zep and Spirit used to tour together. Apparently, they shared more than groupies! Defenders of Led Zeppelin point out that both riffs are simple descending chromatic scales. I would like to point out, however, that both riffs are simple descending chromatic scales played at exactly the same tempo, with exactly the same rhythm, with exactly the same instrument. P.S. The lead singer of Spirit went by the stage name "Randy California." Thanks a lot, Chili Peppers! Note: Led Zeppelin was notorious for stealing songs. Watch this video to see more: 4)Come my ripoff, come, come my ripoff -- Crazy Town's "Butterfly" vs. Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Pretty Little Ditty" Most people don't know that the well-known riff in Crazy Town's "Butterfly" is actually taken from an early Red Hot Chili Peppers tune. Fast forward to 1:02 remaining in the Chili Peppers' song to hear the original version. This begs the question, if Crazy Town stole their riff from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who stole their single title from Spirit, who had their song stolen by Led Zeppelin, does that somehow make Crazy Town the best rock group of all time? Is Shifty Shellshock the best rock singer ever? Suga, baby. 5)Smells Like Vaguely Similar Spirit -- Nirvana's "Come As You Are" vs. Killing Joke's "Eighties" Kurt Cobain loved underground music so much, he just couldn't resist featuring Killing Joke on his breakthrough album "Nevermind" --- by lifting their riff almost exactly! Watch the two videos below to compare the two. Given their ironic choice of band name, however, Killing Joke may have had the last laugh in April 1994. 6)The Remix to Repetition -- Akon's "Don't Matter" vs. R. Kelly's "Ignition" Akon may be a self-made man with four wives and a diamond mine, but there's one thing he can't do -- write an original song. Akon's melody in "don't matter" matches R. Kelly's melody almost exactly. Given Akon's recent "encounter" with a fourteen year old girl, he's well on the way to taking Kelly's throne. 7)Timbaland rolls a natural twenty -- Omarion's "Ice Box" vs. Chrono Trigger "To the Far Away Times" Music mogul Timbaland has been accused of plagiarism before. He frequently takes the melody from Arabic, Bollywood, and even Finnish (yes, Finnish) hit songs and transposes them into R+B singles. This time, Timbaland goes even further, lifting a piano melody from a VIDEO GAME. I'm not sure what level of experience Timbaland has in the realm of writing music, but in the world of Role Playing, he is a level 70 plagiarist! 8)The Queen of Plagiarism -- Avril Lavigne vs. Everyone If you thought she was bad, she just got worse. Many of Avril Lavigne's hits have been, er, influenced by other artists. In the videos below, see Avril "borrow" Peaches' distinct style, "shoplift" a hook from the Rubinoos, and "borrow without giving back" a verse from Athlete's single "El Salvador" (released after Avril's "Complicated", but performed before). Although she may sell millions of albums, she's certainly a far cry from the next "David Bow-wie". AVRIL AND PEACHES AVRIL AND THE RUBINOOS AVRIL AND ATHLETE | | Tuesday, October 9th, 2007 | | 8:57 pm |
| | 5:17 pm |
| | Sunday, September 2nd, 2007 | | 9:33 pm |
Conoces que estas en Mexico
Cuando tu puedes hacer esto: ÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑ and <3 to you know who | | Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007 | | 1:34 am |
No Jacket Required
A euphonic Genesis of auditory zeal, A exquisite exhibition of sangfroid sex appeal, A nonpareil selection for your ipod or automobile, Phil Collins, your hairline may recede but your talent never will. Five foot seven with squinty eyes and a personality demure, Mozart, Clapton, and Cobain; compared to him-- mere amateurs! I've had my Phil of snobbish opera and pithy classical ballet, I'll take an orange daquiri and the Tarzan soundtrack anyday. While it's true I enjoy Deathly Cabs and the occasional White Stripe, Can those pasty indie schmucks ever top the epic "In the Air Tonight?" He never wears a jacket, but always dons the finest pair of slacks, Phil once punched Madonna and divorced his wife by fax. He scaled Everest in six hours while backpacking through Nepal, He took a bullet for Ron Reagan, then tore down the Berlin Wall, Phil can hold his breath for ten minutes; he can stop a moving train, He kissed Kirsten Dunst while hanging upside down in the pouring rain. By his kiss, the most frigid feminist will flush her contraceptive pills, By his touch, the most loathsome leper will be cured of every ill, At death, he'll cross into Paradise and slay the hounds of hell, So long as Saint Peter's surname isn't Gabriel. A Su-superman of su-soothing su-suet free of su-sucrose banality, I hope he doesn't lose my number unless, of course, he wants to su-sue me. So take me home, fair troubadour of the adult contemporary chart, Your hidden touch is formulaic, but your formula is art. | | Thursday, May 31st, 2007 | | 4:40 am |
This is why I'm hot.
 Are you hot? Take this quiz: 1)What is your rapping style? a)they have STYLES for that? b)unintelligible c)I don't have to rap. 2)How many records can you sell? a)That depends if my father buys a copy b)I'm planning on using podcasting as a viral marketing strategy to win a record deal c)I can sell one million saying nothing on the track. 3)Where are you from? a)Parts Unknown (i.e. suburban Ohio) b)the Internet c)I represent New York. I have got the city on my back. 4)Where do you like to relax? a)Hooters! b)In the Presidential lounge at the faculty club c)In the Midwest, I love to take it slow. When I hit the H, I'll watch you get it on the floor. 5)When your friends get "hyphy", what do you do? a)Get some new friends b)Refer them to the proper drug treatment center c)Take it to the Bay. 6)What is the general consensus on your choice of clothing? a)The only thing you are missing, hipster, is a tattoo of a star b)Hypercolor went out of style in 1996 c)People say I'm fly. They like the way I dress and they like my attire. 7)Why are you hot? a)Because I cannot regulate my body temperature b)Because the competition in this town is rather spotty c)Because I'm fly. 8)Why am I not hot? a)Timely installation of central air conditioning b)Your eyes remained crossed after giving a friend a nasty look in elementary school c)You ain't cause you're not. 9)How much do you typically pay for consumer goods? a)No more than 1/3 of my gross monthly income, minus utilities and my mortgage payment b)I prefer the five finger discount for consumer perishables c)One quap. 10)Where do you usually purchase household items? a)From the classifieds in Better Homes and Gardens (also a GREAT place to find anonymous gay sex) b)the Second Life forums c)I'm into shutting stores down so I can shop. 11)What feedback have you gotten from your record producers? a)More cowbell! b)You've got the touch! c)We hit the studio. They say they like the way I record. 12)How do you prefer to meet new people? a)Via hidden camera in the ladies' restroom b) http://www.plussizeconnection.comc)You'll find me with different women that you (African-Americans) never had. How did you score? Total up your points: Give yourself 3.14159... points for each (a) response Multiply your (b) responses by (3(x^2) + 5(y^5) - 6x + 2) and take the second derivative Divide your (c) responses by 5i, i being the square root of -1. If you scored 50 or more points you are fly! If you scored 40 or more points you are hot! If your score contains irrational numbers, imaginary numbers, or any form of calculus whatsoever, you are a fucking nerd! |
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