I was flipping through an old issue of Wired the other day and saw an ad for Nextfest, which is some sort of convention for brainiacs and the technologically inclined. Anyway, in the ad there was a picture of Hubo. For those of you who don't know what Hubo is, Hubo is a humanoid robot made by Kaist. And then the thought occurred to me, how long is it before we have the technology to have sex slave robots? Certainly it's not an original thought (I'm not really an original kind of guy), but it was my thought when I was looking at that picture of Hubo. Not that I think Hubo is sexually attractive. Well, okay, he/she/it is kind of hot, but where are the fucking orifices?!?!
Where was I?
So, yeah, there I was thinking, Wow, we've really come a long way with our robotic technology. We might not have sex slave robots yet, but it's only a matter of time. It's only a matter of time.
But now I wish to make my contribution to the field of robotics. Sure, I might not know shit about electronics (I still try to make toast with my DVD drive), and I sure as fuck know next to nothing when it comes to the field of programming (this site is as low-tech as a boot to the fucking skull), but I feel that I have a very valuable contribution to make to the field of robotics.
Namely, it has to do with the names that these robots are being given.
They're not sexy.
If we are ever going to achieve our lifelong dream as a species of one day creating sex slave robots we are going to need these robots to start having sexier names. Sure, we're still in the infancy of the field when it comes to articulation and whatnot, but we need to start thinking along the lines of sexy robot names because Hubo, as a name, only gives me minor wood. How the fuck am I supposed to sodomize a robot when it's sporting a name like Hubo, huh? Exactly.
So, brainiacs in the robotics industry, please refer to more porno movies before you decide on any names for your upcoming projects because so far the whole field of robots have been given dud names. There are likely to have been cavewomen who had sexier names than any of these robots. And cavewomen are the very antithesis of high tech. So how the fuck can the furry brow and knuckle-dragging cavewomen get sexier names than the fucking cutting edge robots? Huh? How the fuck?
Come on nerds, smarten up!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The Latest Calgary Trip
So on Sunday I gave my latest poetry reading in Calgary as part of the Calgary Stroll of Poets festival. I got a chance to read at Second Cup in Kensington and the place was packed. I am a bit ashamed to admit, though, that when I saw the type of audience that was in attendance I opted out of reading poems like "Vitriol," "Roll Call," and "Gnawing My Way To Freedom." There were a lot of small children and the last thing I wanted to do was to send families away with kids asking, "Mom, what's 'double-bagging' mean?"
The three poems I did pull out, then, were "Humidor," "Sorry States," and "Knot Garden."
The response I got was very positive and, like in past years, I even got to sign a book or two. Calgary always treats me well.
I think I might have to make an effort to read again down there in the not-too-distant future.
The three poems I did pull out, then, were "Humidor," "Sorry States," and "Knot Garden."
The response I got was very positive and, like in past years, I even got to sign a book or two. Calgary always treats me well.
I think I might have to make an effort to read again down there in the not-too-distant future.
Friday, September 08, 2006
One From The Vaults
Antecedent
the realization that i am not the agent of euphoria
in this relationship.
fear is indeed capable of a slow evolution.
the woman and me, happy.
a slight drinking problem:
she has only been sober once
on all the dates that we have been on.
the woman and me, together.
serious.
a slight problem with paycheques
disappearing up her nose
when i am not around.
the woman and me, tethered.
dire.
an early grave for either one of us:
her from too much chemical indulgence.
or
me from worry, too much stress.
the realization that i am witnessing a car wreck
before it actually happens.
dreams of clawing at vinyl upholstery,
trapped, tied up, spotting a web of seatbelts
smelling gasoline
seeing rainbows on the asphalt.
waiting for fire.
-Michael Appleby
October, 2004
the realization that i am not the agent of euphoria
in this relationship.
fear is indeed capable of a slow evolution.
the woman and me, happy.
a slight drinking problem:
she has only been sober once
on all the dates that we have been on.
the woman and me, together.
serious.
a slight problem with paycheques
disappearing up her nose
when i am not around.
the woman and me, tethered.
dire.
an early grave for either one of us:
her from too much chemical indulgence.
or
me from worry, too much stress.
the realization that i am witnessing a car wreck
before it actually happens.
dreams of clawing at vinyl upholstery,
trapped, tied up, spotting a web of seatbelts
smelling gasoline
seeing rainbows on the asphalt.
waiting for fire.
-Michael Appleby
October, 2004
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Upcoming Literary Events Involving Yours Truly
This month I'll be involved in a couple of literary events that you might want to check out, that is if you want to see me perform live, which you do because, come on, I'm totally hot. Alright, moderately lukewarm. Alright, alright, you pity me. There, are you satisfied?
Anyway, first up, is this coming weekend's Calgary Stroll of Poets Festival. The actual Stroll day is on Sunday, September 10. I'll be reading at the Second Cup in Kensington (338 10th Street NW, Calgary, Alberta, Canada, Earth) at the 2:45 p.m. show. So, if you are in Calgary and you are looking for an aural assault in the nth degree show up at the Second Cup in Kensington at 2:45 p.m.
Second up this month is the second annual Roar! The Roar is spread out over a few days in downtown Edmonton. I get to be one of the readers during the big finale of the festival. The finale is happening Saturday, September 23 at the Art Bar located in the Art Gallery of Alberta (3 Winston Churchill Square, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, Earth) at 8:00 p.m.
That is all. We now continue with our regularly scheduled programming.
Anyway, first up, is this coming weekend's Calgary Stroll of Poets Festival. The actual Stroll day is on Sunday, September 10. I'll be reading at the Second Cup in Kensington (338 10th Street NW, Calgary, Alberta, Canada, Earth) at the 2:45 p.m. show. So, if you are in Calgary and you are looking for an aural assault in the nth degree show up at the Second Cup in Kensington at 2:45 p.m.
Second up this month is the second annual Roar! The Roar is spread out over a few days in downtown Edmonton. I get to be one of the readers during the big finale of the festival. The finale is happening Saturday, September 23 at the Art Bar located in the Art Gallery of Alberta (3 Winston Churchill Square, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, Earth) at 8:00 p.m.
That is all. We now continue with our regularly scheduled programming.
Friday, September 01, 2006
The Bottom Ten, August 2006
10.) The Man Glossary- Here. Okay, so I'm supposed to call my sandals "mandals" because they are for a man? And then I'm supposed to call a male nanny a "manny"? Look, the whole gender war is fucking done like dinner except for the knuckle-dragging men and women who won't let the stupid son-of-a-bitch die. I mean for fuck's sake, the longer we keep drawing attention making up stupid-as-fuck gender-specific pop culture phrases the longer it will give people the impression that there's somehow a stupid discrepency between men and women in all facets of life. If you ask me "manny" is even more effeminate of a title for a man to give himself than "nanny". That might just be because Hulk Hogan was "Mr. Nanny" and Hollywood Hulk Hogan's entrance music was at one time "Voodoo Chile" by Jimi Hendrix and it doesn't get much more masculine than that.
9.) The Appearance Of Religious Icons In Foodstuffs- Here. Jesus appears on your shrimp's tail? Of course he does. You're a nutjob. The guy dies by crucifixion and rises three days later before ascending to Heaven. Then he waits over 2000 years to make his triumphant return in the form of a shrimp tail. Ah, just as the gospel of Red Lobster foretold! I'm so sorry to have ever doubted you.
8.) The People Who Buy Religious Icon Foodstuffs Off Of eBay- What's worse than the people who discover the face of religious icons making miraculous appearances in their food are the idiots who pay huge sums of money to buy that food off of eBay. I think that the religious right has entirely too much disposable income when they can buy some dude's half-eaten Jesus toast for thousands of dollars.
7.) People Who Have Some Sort Of Lucky Feeling About The Number 7- It's the number after 6, but comes before 8. Holy shit! I see why it's considered so lucky too!
6.) Chez Hitler- Here. Fuck. Indian Jews are upset that a new restaurant in Mumbai is built around a Hitler theme. You know what? I can see why they would be upset. I mean, it is Hitler. But come on, are you really that concerned? Sure, there's a restaurant named after Hitler, but do you actually think that a Hitler-themed restaurant is going to be a successful eatery? If there's one thing that makes me hungry it's thinking about the Holocaust and World War II. So why not just sit back, pay no mind to the stupid idea for a restaurant thus giving it no free publicity, and let it fail based solely on the fact that Hitler does not inspire hearty appetites and good eats.
5.) White Collar Crime In The Virtual World- Here. Okay, so this MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online RolePlaying Game) player created a virtual bank within the world of the game that he was playing and his fellow players invested their money with him and he absconded with it all. And you know what sucks the worst about all of this? I can't get the voice of Ogre from Revenge Of The Nerds out of my head as he yelled, "Nerds!"
4.)Revenge Of The Nerds- Here. I've ragged on remakes before. But come on, how the fuck can you find somebody to replace Booger? It cannot be done. So why even try?
3.) Shampoo- I'm almost at a point where I want to say, "Fuck washing my hair! Fuck everything!" Have you ever gone shampoo shopping? Good luck trying to find shampoo anymore. There's shampoo for all occasions out there, but never plain old fucking clean-your-hair shampoo! And when you go to the shampoo factory, that's right, all that shit comes out of the same tank. Fuck you, shampoo industry!
2.) Conditioner- My latest conspiracy theory is that the conditioner people are in cahoots with the shampoo people. They're busy plotting how they can fuck with all of us luxuriously-haired people for the rest of our lives. I'm onto you, you conditioner people. I have fucking eyes. I can fucking see.
1.) Automated Phone Calls- I checked my voicemail today and there was a message saying that in order for me to claim my free all-inclusive trip to Mexico that I had to press 3 now. Apparently the automated phone machine that called me didn't realize that it was talking to my voicemail. At that moment I kind of had this zen-like feeling because it was a machine that called a machine and for a brief moment they had a conversation, in English, but neither of them knew what the fuck the other was saying. It's time like these that make me think it will be a long, long time before any machine would ever be smart enough to hunt for Sarah Conner.
9.) The Appearance Of Religious Icons In Foodstuffs- Here. Jesus appears on your shrimp's tail? Of course he does. You're a nutjob. The guy dies by crucifixion and rises three days later before ascending to Heaven. Then he waits over 2000 years to make his triumphant return in the form of a shrimp tail. Ah, just as the gospel of Red Lobster foretold! I'm so sorry to have ever doubted you.
8.) The People Who Buy Religious Icon Foodstuffs Off Of eBay- What's worse than the people who discover the face of religious icons making miraculous appearances in their food are the idiots who pay huge sums of money to buy that food off of eBay. I think that the religious right has entirely too much disposable income when they can buy some dude's half-eaten Jesus toast for thousands of dollars.
7.) People Who Have Some Sort Of Lucky Feeling About The Number 7- It's the number after 6, but comes before 8. Holy shit! I see why it's considered so lucky too!
6.) Chez Hitler- Here. Fuck. Indian Jews are upset that a new restaurant in Mumbai is built around a Hitler theme. You know what? I can see why they would be upset. I mean, it is Hitler. But come on, are you really that concerned? Sure, there's a restaurant named after Hitler, but do you actually think that a Hitler-themed restaurant is going to be a successful eatery? If there's one thing that makes me hungry it's thinking about the Holocaust and World War II. So why not just sit back, pay no mind to the stupid idea for a restaurant thus giving it no free publicity, and let it fail based solely on the fact that Hitler does not inspire hearty appetites and good eats.
5.) White Collar Crime In The Virtual World- Here. Okay, so this MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online RolePlaying Game) player created a virtual bank within the world of the game that he was playing and his fellow players invested their money with him and he absconded with it all. And you know what sucks the worst about all of this? I can't get the voice of Ogre from Revenge Of The Nerds out of my head as he yelled, "Nerds!"
4.)Revenge Of The Nerds- Here. I've ragged on remakes before. But come on, how the fuck can you find somebody to replace Booger? It cannot be done. So why even try?
3.) Shampoo- I'm almost at a point where I want to say, "Fuck washing my hair! Fuck everything!" Have you ever gone shampoo shopping? Good luck trying to find shampoo anymore. There's shampoo for all occasions out there, but never plain old fucking clean-your-hair shampoo! And when you go to the shampoo factory, that's right, all that shit comes out of the same tank. Fuck you, shampoo industry!
2.) Conditioner- My latest conspiracy theory is that the conditioner people are in cahoots with the shampoo people. They're busy plotting how they can fuck with all of us luxuriously-haired people for the rest of our lives. I'm onto you, you conditioner people. I have fucking eyes. I can fucking see.
1.) Automated Phone Calls- I checked my voicemail today and there was a message saying that in order for me to claim my free all-inclusive trip to Mexico that I had to press 3 now. Apparently the automated phone machine that called me didn't realize that it was talking to my voicemail. At that moment I kind of had this zen-like feeling because it was a machine that called a machine and for a brief moment they had a conversation, in English, but neither of them knew what the fuck the other was saying. It's time like these that make me think it will be a long, long time before any machine would ever be smart enough to hunt for Sarah Conner.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Hey Ya!
While doing some surfing around on the web I found a video of an acoustic cover of Outkast's modern classic "Hey Ya!" hosted on DailySixer which just has to be seen. I thought I would throw a link to it for you because I actually thought it was a pretty damn good cover. Here's the link for you...
Click here.
Click here.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Like Cinderella, But With Underwear
Since I'm on the topic of this past weekend's Tool concert in Edmonton I should tell you a little bit about some of the great merchandise I was able to get my grubby hands on while there. Those of you who have known me a while know that I have a fairly extensive collection of Tool t-shirts and other band merchandise. So, naturally, when there's a Tool concert in town there's also a bunch of brand new Tool merchandise to buy in town as well. I bought myself a Tool hoodie with the album cover to 10,000 Days on it, a tour t-shirt, a long sleeve tee with a giant eye on the back of it, an album by Isis, Tool's opening act for the evening, a hat, a huge Alex Grey Tool poster, and some underwear.
That's right, underwear.
When it came to be my turn at the souvenir stand I took note of a pair of shorts hanging up on display with a placard that read: "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties $20.00" Since I had yet to own a pair of Tool underwear I thought, what the hell, and bought myself a pair.
I watched the concert.
I went home.
When I got home I surveyed all my new Tool loot. And you know what? There's really no way this could be men's underwear. At first I kind of felt like a tool for having bought them in the first place. Sure, the placard said "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties" but the pair on display really didn't look like the kind of underwear I would normally wear (I am a boxers man after all) and they looked skimpy, even on display.
But then I had an idea so good that you could practically see the little metaphorical light bulb shining above my head. And it was shining bright. It must have been like a 400 watt bulb the idea was so good:
I would hold onto these "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties." Not because I'm going to wear them. I don't think they would fit. I would feel self-conscious about the label inside them reading "ClassicGirl," and I wouldn't want my testicles to swinging back and forth, separated by a narrow band of cloth like those clacker balls you would see at the psychiastrist's office. I would probably need a psychiatrist if I started to wear these things. But I will hold onto them.
Why?
Well, here's the big idea I spoke of. Basically, any woman willing to wear this underwear must be into Tool. Or it's wash-day and she has no other underwear that doesn't have the word Tool written on the crotch. But more likely than not she's into Tool. If she's into Tool then she must be my kind of woman and I would give them to her so she could wear them.
Ah, you see? It's like a thoughtful gift from a guy to his favorite girl except the favorite girl isn't even there yet.
I could meet that girl and when the time was right I could get down on one knee and pull out the little jewelry box and give it to her. She would get a tear of joy in her eye and gasp just a little. She'd open the box and find... Tool underwear! And I would propose. I'd help her slip into the underwear (and then a minute later out of the underwear, if you know what I mean) and nine months later the next generation of Tool fans gets born. Like Cinderella, but with underwear.
How's that for an idea?
You're damn right I'm a fucking genius.
I've been going around since Saturday asking all the girls first what size of underwear they wear (I get slapped a lot) and then I ask them if they like Tool (I get slapped a lot more). Maybe this idea isn't so shit-hot after all. Luckily I can wrap a few ice cubes with the engagement underwear and reduce the swelling in my face from repeated slaps.
If nothing else comes of this I suppose I could somehow write a screenplay for a porno based on this. I mean a guy going around looking for the perfect woman to fit in this underwear that he happens upon sounds like the premise for a porno movie. Now there's another great idea.
I'm a fucking genius.
That's right, underwear.
When it came to be my turn at the souvenir stand I took note of a pair of shorts hanging up on display with a placard that read: "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties $20.00" Since I had yet to own a pair of Tool underwear I thought, what the hell, and bought myself a pair.
I watched the concert.
I went home.
When I got home I surveyed all my new Tool loot. And you know what? There's really no way this could be men's underwear. At first I kind of felt like a tool for having bought them in the first place. Sure, the placard said "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties" but the pair on display really didn't look like the kind of underwear I would normally wear (I am a boxers man after all) and they looked skimpy, even on display.
But then I had an idea so good that you could practically see the little metaphorical light bulb shining above my head. And it was shining bright. It must have been like a 400 watt bulb the idea was so good:
I would hold onto these "Men's Shorts/Women's Panties." Not because I'm going to wear them. I don't think they would fit. I would feel self-conscious about the label inside them reading "ClassicGirl," and I wouldn't want my testicles to swinging back and forth, separated by a narrow band of cloth like those clacker balls you would see at the psychiastrist's office. I would probably need a psychiatrist if I started to wear these things. But I will hold onto them.
Why?
Well, here's the big idea I spoke of. Basically, any woman willing to wear this underwear must be into Tool. Or it's wash-day and she has no other underwear that doesn't have the word Tool written on the crotch. But more likely than not she's into Tool. If she's into Tool then she must be my kind of woman and I would give them to her so she could wear them.
Ah, you see? It's like a thoughtful gift from a guy to his favorite girl except the favorite girl isn't even there yet.
I could meet that girl and when the time was right I could get down on one knee and pull out the little jewelry box and give it to her. She would get a tear of joy in her eye and gasp just a little. She'd open the box and find... Tool underwear! And I would propose. I'd help her slip into the underwear (and then a minute later out of the underwear, if you know what I mean) and nine months later the next generation of Tool fans gets born. Like Cinderella, but with underwear.
How's that for an idea?
You're damn right I'm a fucking genius.
I've been going around since Saturday asking all the girls first what size of underwear they wear (I get slapped a lot) and then I ask them if they like Tool (I get slapped a lot more). Maybe this idea isn't so shit-hot after all. Luckily I can wrap a few ice cubes with the engagement underwear and reduce the swelling in my face from repeated slaps.
If nothing else comes of this I suppose I could somehow write a screenplay for a porno based on this. I mean a guy going around looking for the perfect woman to fit in this underwear that he happens upon sounds like the premise for a porno movie. Now there's another great idea.
I'm a fucking genius.
After The Great Show
On Friday night Tool rolled through town on their summer/fall North American tour. Needless to say I was ecstatic to see my favorite band play live again.
This was the second time that I got to see Tool live and I found it to be a completely different concert experience than the last time they came to town. This time around Tool put on more of a traditional rock show. I remember seeing them in 2002 and was struck by how dimly lit the band members were to draw attention away from the band and focus that attention on the video screens that up around the stage. This time there was better lighting for the band. Maynard still stood on a riser at the back of the stage while drummer Danny Carey's monster drumkit (quite possibly the largest drumkit in existence) was at the center of the stage with guitarist Adam Jones and bassist Justin Chancellor flanking the drumkit's riser on the right and left respectively.
The setlist that Tool had for this show looks remarkably short on paper:
Stinkfist
The Pot
Forty Six & 2
Jambi
Schism
Rosetta Stoned
Opiate
Sober
Lateralus
Vicarious
Ænema
And for as short as that setlist looks realize that it took around two hours for the band to get through it all. In hindsight I can name about a dozen more songs that I would have loved to hear them play, but this was still a killer set by any stretch of the imagination. The songs were performed with killer precision and they were loud. This concert was easily the loudest concert that I had ever been to. The band would sometimes segue with instrumentals between songs, allowing them to ebb and flow very smoothly, effortlessly. My favorite song of the set turned out to be "Rosetta Stoned" a song off of their latest album 10,000 Days that I had really not listened to very much.
Maynard had some sparse banter for the audience, greeting them with, "Calgary said to say 'hi.'" When the audience put forth its best We-Hate-Calgary boo Maynard replied with, "What, did they fuck your girlfriend or something?" Oh Maynard, you jokester. Later, during a pause in the setlist Maynard joked "How do you stop a dog from humping your leg?" The answer, of course, "Pick it up and start sucking its dick."
All-in-all this show was probably the best I had ever been to. It's tough to compare it to the first time I saw Tool because the concerts seemed like two entirely different beasts. The first time I saw them it was a multimedia art experience and this time was more of a rock concert.
It was an amazing show and if you missed it I pity you.
Don't despair too much. Maynard did hint that they would be returning to Alberta soon, though he did add that he would be one of the stormtroopers invading from America for our oil. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I do hope they come back eventually. I would pay good money to see another show like that.
This was the second time that I got to see Tool live and I found it to be a completely different concert experience than the last time they came to town. This time around Tool put on more of a traditional rock show. I remember seeing them in 2002 and was struck by how dimly lit the band members were to draw attention away from the band and focus that attention on the video screens that up around the stage. This time there was better lighting for the band. Maynard still stood on a riser at the back of the stage while drummer Danny Carey's monster drumkit (quite possibly the largest drumkit in existence) was at the center of the stage with guitarist Adam Jones and bassist Justin Chancellor flanking the drumkit's riser on the right and left respectively.
The setlist that Tool had for this show looks remarkably short on paper:
Stinkfist
The Pot
Forty Six & 2
Jambi
Schism
Rosetta Stoned
Opiate
Sober
Lateralus
Vicarious
Ænema
And for as short as that setlist looks realize that it took around two hours for the band to get through it all. In hindsight I can name about a dozen more songs that I would have loved to hear them play, but this was still a killer set by any stretch of the imagination. The songs were performed with killer precision and they were loud. This concert was easily the loudest concert that I had ever been to. The band would sometimes segue with instrumentals between songs, allowing them to ebb and flow very smoothly, effortlessly. My favorite song of the set turned out to be "Rosetta Stoned" a song off of their latest album 10,000 Days that I had really not listened to very much.
Maynard had some sparse banter for the audience, greeting them with, "Calgary said to say 'hi.'" When the audience put forth its best We-Hate-Calgary boo Maynard replied with, "What, did they fuck your girlfriend or something?" Oh Maynard, you jokester. Later, during a pause in the setlist Maynard joked "How do you stop a dog from humping your leg?" The answer, of course, "Pick it up and start sucking its dick."
All-in-all this show was probably the best I had ever been to. It's tough to compare it to the first time I saw Tool because the concerts seemed like two entirely different beasts. The first time I saw them it was a multimedia art experience and this time was more of a rock concert.
It was an amazing show and if you missed it I pity you.
Don't despair too much. Maynard did hint that they would be returning to Alberta soon, though he did add that he would be one of the stormtroopers invading from America for our oil. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I do hope they come back eventually. I would pay good money to see another show like that.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Tool
I apologize ahead of time for the brevity of this post.
I'm getting myself psyched up for the Tool concert that's happening in Edmonton tonight! I mean it's not as though I really need any effort to get psyched to see Tool again, but I'm just spending some time right now getting reacquainted with Tool's catalogue. That's some damn good music.
I'll post my thoughts on the show the next time I'm on. I'm sure I'll be raving about it.
For those of you who are going to be at the Tool concert tonight you might want to take a look at row 27 on the floor because in that row you're likely to see the happiest Tool fan in the world. See you there.
I think I need to change my pants.
I'm getting myself psyched up for the Tool concert that's happening in Edmonton tonight! I mean it's not as though I really need any effort to get psyched to see Tool again, but I'm just spending some time right now getting reacquainted with Tool's catalogue. That's some damn good music.
I'll post my thoughts on the show the next time I'm on. I'm sure I'll be raving about it.
For those of you who are going to be at the Tool concert tonight you might want to take a look at row 27 on the floor because in that row you're likely to see the happiest Tool fan in the world. See you there.
I think I need to change my pants.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
More Than Meets The Eye
Click here.
There are a lot of people who, like me, got really excited when they heard the news that there was going to be a live-action Transformers movie going into production. And there are probably many more of you who don't have a clue as to whatever the fuck it is I'm talking about. You're sitting there, just scratching your head, probably dressed in ill-fitting boxer shorts and saying:
Michael, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
Transformers. You know. Those toys from way back in the day. You'd see a car or a plane or a dildo and then KABLAMMO! it's a fucking fighting robot! And, holy shit, did those robots have some adventures. Really, it was all subject to the limits of a child's imagination what those toys could do.
I made my Transformers engage in heated debates over existentialism. Starscream would quote Sartre and Optimus Prime would offer his rebuttal in the form of a gun blast right between the fucking robot eyes. Optimus Prime was never much for debate.
Anyway, I'm veering off topic with that. Back to the task at hand. So there you are, probably giddy trying to imagine what a Transformers live action movie would look like. Or, if you've just found out what a Transformer was you're probably changing your boxer shorts after shitting yourself because, brother, those little robots are everywhere. They could be right behind you right now. Made you look.
So, then you find out that Michael Bay is the man who's directing the movie and your expectations go from, "Oh my god I could just shit my pants I'm so excited to see this movie!" to"Oh my god, why, Michael Bay, why? Couldn't the producers hire somebody competent to direct this movie?!?!?!"
And then....
Why reading a little blurb about the upcoming Michael Bay movie "Transformers: The Movie" on CominSoon.net (Please, Michael Bay, don't fuck it up like you did everything else you've directed) I stumbled across news of a contest that the screenwriters for the film are having in which random assholes and idiots get to submit lines that Optimus Prime should say. The winner, of course, will get to hear Optimus Prime utter the winning line next summer when Michael Bay potentially disappoints all of us into a homicidal rage.
Okay, I can deal with the fact that it looks like at lease 0.02% of the dialogue in the movie will be written by somebody who probably has no business owning a computer or any sort of writing implement. Good for him. I hope he's enjoying being the proud owner of opposable thumbs.
What bugs me, though, is that without actually seeing the movie how the fuck would anybody know what Optimus Prime needs to say? I'm no expert on continuity, but you can't just have Optimus fucking Prime blurt out, "Oh Bumblebee, fuck me with your robot cock!" if the Transformers movie has no robot-on-robot sex scenes. I have a feeling that half the lines I've submitted already have probably been eliminated from the contest because the film isn't going to be pornographic in the slightest. But then again, I have about as much of a clue as to what's going to happen in the movie as anybody else at this point.
So not only does it look like there's the very real possibility that Transformers is going to be a huge let-down at the box office next summer, but it also looks like 0.02% of the dialogue in the movie won't make any fucking sense at all and could possibly involve the words: "robot cock." My fingers are crossed for all the right reasons.
There are a lot of people who, like me, got really excited when they heard the news that there was going to be a live-action Transformers movie going into production. And there are probably many more of you who don't have a clue as to whatever the fuck it is I'm talking about. You're sitting there, just scratching your head, probably dressed in ill-fitting boxer shorts and saying:
Michael, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
Transformers. You know. Those toys from way back in the day. You'd see a car or a plane or a dildo and then KABLAMMO! it's a fucking fighting robot! And, holy shit, did those robots have some adventures. Really, it was all subject to the limits of a child's imagination what those toys could do.
I made my Transformers engage in heated debates over existentialism. Starscream would quote Sartre and Optimus Prime would offer his rebuttal in the form of a gun blast right between the fucking robot eyes. Optimus Prime was never much for debate.
Anyway, I'm veering off topic with that. Back to the task at hand. So there you are, probably giddy trying to imagine what a Transformers live action movie would look like. Or, if you've just found out what a Transformer was you're probably changing your boxer shorts after shitting yourself because, brother, those little robots are everywhere. They could be right behind you right now. Made you look.
So, then you find out that Michael Bay is the man who's directing the movie and your expectations go from, "Oh my god I could just shit my pants I'm so excited to see this movie!" to"Oh my god, why, Michael Bay, why? Couldn't the producers hire somebody competent to direct this movie?!?!?!"
And then....
Why reading a little blurb about the upcoming Michael Bay movie "Transformers: The Movie" on CominSoon.net (Please, Michael Bay, don't fuck it up like you did everything else you've directed) I stumbled across news of a contest that the screenwriters for the film are having in which random assholes and idiots get to submit lines that Optimus Prime should say. The winner, of course, will get to hear Optimus Prime utter the winning line next summer when Michael Bay potentially disappoints all of us into a homicidal rage.
Okay, I can deal with the fact that it looks like at lease 0.02% of the dialogue in the movie will be written by somebody who probably has no business owning a computer or any sort of writing implement. Good for him. I hope he's enjoying being the proud owner of opposable thumbs.
What bugs me, though, is that without actually seeing the movie how the fuck would anybody know what Optimus Prime needs to say? I'm no expert on continuity, but you can't just have Optimus fucking Prime blurt out, "Oh Bumblebee, fuck me with your robot cock!" if the Transformers movie has no robot-on-robot sex scenes. I have a feeling that half the lines I've submitted already have probably been eliminated from the contest because the film isn't going to be pornographic in the slightest. But then again, I have about as much of a clue as to what's going to happen in the movie as anybody else at this point.
So not only does it look like there's the very real possibility that Transformers is going to be a huge let-down at the box office next summer, but it also looks like 0.02% of the dialogue in the movie won't make any fucking sense at all and could possibly involve the words: "robot cock." My fingers are crossed for all the right reasons.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Portrait
Portrait
A man has jimmied
open the door of the
janitors’ supply closet
in the men’s room.
A bottle of the blue stuff is missing.
The man
hunched
over one of the sinks,
scrubbing
the way a meth-head
might clean house
or an O.C.
checks and rechecks
door locks
frantic.
He’s scrubbing
because before this
he shit himself and
now it’s time
to deal with stains
to deal with odors
to deal with
one’s nagging humility.
The look on his face is
that of pure, fucking, torture.
Enough to make one wonder
whether it’s most appropriate to
laugh,
cry,
or vomit.
A man has jimmied
open the door of the
janitors’ supply closet
in the men’s room.
A bottle of the blue stuff is missing.
The man
hunched
over one of the sinks,
scrubbing
the way a meth-head
might clean house
or an O.C.
checks and rechecks
door locks
frantic.
He’s scrubbing
because before this
he shit himself and
now it’s time
to deal with stains
to deal with odors
to deal with
one’s nagging humility.
The look on his face is
that of pure, fucking, torture.
Enough to make one wonder
whether it’s most appropriate to
laugh,
cry,
or vomit.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Ten Guests Over For Dinner
Okay, here's the deal. You get to throw a dinner party for ten people, living or dead. Those people can be anybody of your choosing. Want Napolean over for a fat, juicy steak? Done. Want to show Gandhi a thing of two about gorging one's self on mashed potatoes? Done. So who would those people be? This is not a new concept. Mike Gravel's old Dirtpuppy website had this topic before, but it's something interesting to talk about. I'll post my list and why the people are on that list. There is definitely a comments section, though, so please post who you would want to have a meal with.
So here we go (in no order of importance)...
1.) Chuck Palahniuk- Those of you who know me will find the inclusion of Chuck P's name of no surprise whatsoever. He is one of the most dynamic writers out there in the sense that there is a certain lyrical quality to his prose that cannot be denied. So while he is writing a great story like Fight Club or Choke there are just so many passages of those books that can be read out loud like good poetry. He is one of my literary heroes.
2.) Maynard James Keenan- Again, a no-brainer. Tool, being my favorite band, needs some representation at the dinner table and who better to represent them than their vocalist? His presence at the party would give me a chance to ask him for some of the meanings behind some of Tool's more abstract lyrics.
3.) Gordon Downie- When will I take some chances with this list, you ask? Maybe in a number or two. Gordon Downie, the lead singer of the Tragically Hip, as well as a sorely underrated solo artist, is a national treasure. He is one of the few singers who could release a book of poetry that doesn't make me shudder. He also seems like a good guy to just have a beer or two with, which could definitely come in handy at this dinner party.
4.) Allen Ginsberg- I imagine Mr. Ginsberg would have some of the most amazing stories to tell. The Beat Generation is full of names one could feasibly invite to a dinner party like this and no matter who you get you're going to get to hear stories that will undoubtedly become American legends. Ginsberg, as a man, seemed to be incredibly open to experiences so I doubt that there is one topic of conversation that he couldn't expound on at great length.
5.) Henry Rollins- Another man who can tell some incredible stories is Henry Rollins. If you've ever been to one of his spoken word shows you know exactly what I'm talking about. He's a cultural juggernaut, really.
6.) Bill Hicks- There is so much that I would love to talk to Bill Hicks about. He was a brilliant comic and social commentator who was shuffled off the mortal coil much too early in his life. More than any other dead hero out there he's the guy whose observations I miss the most every time I watch the news and see all the sad shit going down in the world. I have to listen to his CDs just to have him remind me that it's all "just a ride."
7.) David Cross- Maybe I'm loading up on comics and social commentators too much for one dinner. I imagine that with all the joking and such going on a the dinner table I would be launching food and beverages out my nose at an alarming rate.
8.) Wayne Gretzky- I suppose this is sort of an oddball selection to have on this list since he seems to be the only athlete, but he was a staple of my youth. Again, it would be great to just get some of his stories from the glory days of the dynasty Oilers. Not just the stories about what it was like on the ice, which seem to come up all the time, but the stories about what the team was like off the ice, what it was like to be a young phenom, what it was like to be the king of the world.
9.) Sarah Polley- Canadian eye candy who has a ton of brains to boot. Smart. Sexy. She's a total package. I think it would be great to get her and Gordon Downie to duet on "Courage." If you ever get a chance to check out her rendition of the Tragically Hip classic you should definitely do it. She took a great rocker and turned it into a haunting balad.
10.) Ray Kurzweil- He'd be there to tell us that no matter how bleak things look in this world of ours there is always the promise of a glorious future. He probably has the lowest profile personality on this list, but that doesn't diminish his role at the dinner table. He's a futurist, the best kind of futurist, an optimist.
So there you have it. Probably not a surprising list to most of you out there. Do take the time to come up with your own list, put it in the comments section, or, better yet, post it on your blog (if you have one). It's a good way to get to know each other.
So here we go (in no order of importance)...
1.) Chuck Palahniuk- Those of you who know me will find the inclusion of Chuck P's name of no surprise whatsoever. He is one of the most dynamic writers out there in the sense that there is a certain lyrical quality to his prose that cannot be denied. So while he is writing a great story like Fight Club or Choke there are just so many passages of those books that can be read out loud like good poetry. He is one of my literary heroes.
2.) Maynard James Keenan- Again, a no-brainer. Tool, being my favorite band, needs some representation at the dinner table and who better to represent them than their vocalist? His presence at the party would give me a chance to ask him for some of the meanings behind some of Tool's more abstract lyrics.
3.) Gordon Downie- When will I take some chances with this list, you ask? Maybe in a number or two. Gordon Downie, the lead singer of the Tragically Hip, as well as a sorely underrated solo artist, is a national treasure. He is one of the few singers who could release a book of poetry that doesn't make me shudder. He also seems like a good guy to just have a beer or two with, which could definitely come in handy at this dinner party.
4.) Allen Ginsberg- I imagine Mr. Ginsberg would have some of the most amazing stories to tell. The Beat Generation is full of names one could feasibly invite to a dinner party like this and no matter who you get you're going to get to hear stories that will undoubtedly become American legends. Ginsberg, as a man, seemed to be incredibly open to experiences so I doubt that there is one topic of conversation that he couldn't expound on at great length.
5.) Henry Rollins- Another man who can tell some incredible stories is Henry Rollins. If you've ever been to one of his spoken word shows you know exactly what I'm talking about. He's a cultural juggernaut, really.
6.) Bill Hicks- There is so much that I would love to talk to Bill Hicks about. He was a brilliant comic and social commentator who was shuffled off the mortal coil much too early in his life. More than any other dead hero out there he's the guy whose observations I miss the most every time I watch the news and see all the sad shit going down in the world. I have to listen to his CDs just to have him remind me that it's all "just a ride."
7.) David Cross- Maybe I'm loading up on comics and social commentators too much for one dinner. I imagine that with all the joking and such going on a the dinner table I would be launching food and beverages out my nose at an alarming rate.
8.) Wayne Gretzky- I suppose this is sort of an oddball selection to have on this list since he seems to be the only athlete, but he was a staple of my youth. Again, it would be great to just get some of his stories from the glory days of the dynasty Oilers. Not just the stories about what it was like on the ice, which seem to come up all the time, but the stories about what the team was like off the ice, what it was like to be a young phenom, what it was like to be the king of the world.
9.) Sarah Polley- Canadian eye candy who has a ton of brains to boot. Smart. Sexy. She's a total package. I think it would be great to get her and Gordon Downie to duet on "Courage." If you ever get a chance to check out her rendition of the Tragically Hip classic you should definitely do it. She took a great rocker and turned it into a haunting balad.
10.) Ray Kurzweil- He'd be there to tell us that no matter how bleak things look in this world of ours there is always the promise of a glorious future. He probably has the lowest profile personality on this list, but that doesn't diminish his role at the dinner table. He's a futurist, the best kind of futurist, an optimist.
So there you have it. Probably not a surprising list to most of you out there. Do take the time to come up with your own list, put it in the comments section, or, better yet, post it on your blog (if you have one). It's a good way to get to know each other.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Baby Tool
On a recent perusal of the Toolarmy website I found myself in the message boards. At that time I found a link to Baby Rock Records and, more specifically, an upcoming album of Tool songs redone as children's lullabies. In fact, they seem to have a healthy catalogue of similar albums set to be released, each dedicated to many popular mainstream rock acts, acts traditionally not associated with children's songs.
And all I can say to this discovery is: Holy fucking shit! That is so fucking cool!
It sounds a bit strange, but there were always songs in the Tool catalogue that I could imagine getting treatments as full-on lullabies. Naturally, I never actually expected an album with such treatments to get made.
Oh come on, Michael, what songs of Tool's could you possibly have thought would make soothing lullabies?
Well, first and foremost, I always thought that "Third Eye" off of 1996's Ænima would make a great lullaby. With lyrics like "So good to see you, I missed you so much. So glad it's over, I missed you so much," it has a certain soothing quality about it. Definitely songs like "Parabol" and it's follow-up "Parabola" off of my favorite Tool album, Lateralus, could be envisioned as lullabies very easily.
Unfortunately, because this album, and all the other albums in the Baby Rock Records catalogue still awaiting release, I haven't actually had a chance to hear what the final product sounds like. I'm very hopeful that they will come out sounding nothing short of amazing, though I'm guessing that the lyrics to many of the songs in that series will probably be omitted and there will be no vocals at all. That's just a guess and I hope that I am wrong because a lot of these songs have such powerful lyrics, which I think might account for why they lend themselves to lullabies so readily. I guess time will only tell what the albums sound like.
I'm pretty sure I'll try to track a few of these albums down nonetheless. Not so much for my own listening pleasure, though I could probably derive great pleasure fom being lulled into sleep to a lullaby Tool CD or a lullaby Radiohead, or, hell, just about any album out of that catalogue, but rather because someday when I'm a father myself I will want to teach my kid a thing or two about good musical taste and what better way to get them some proper musical appreciation than to start them out listening to a Tool CD geared toward children? How fucking cool would that be?
So, thank you to bastardometer for bringing this unique Tool CD and, indeed, a very unique catalogue of albums, to my attention.
The Rockabye Baby: Lullaby Renditions Of Tool CD ships on September 19, 2006. Other albums in the series drop throughout the fall and into spring of next year. Tool will be playing live at Rexall Place here in Edmonton on August 25 and if you look at row 27 on the floor at that show you just might see the happiest Tool fan in the world that night.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Humidor
It's been a while since I've posted any new poetry to the blog. So after so long here is something new. I actually had the first draft of this poem done a while back, but I've finally had a chance to sit down and revise it. I think it reminds me a lot of an earlier poem of mine called "Human Hot Box" in that it deals a lot with the same subject matter, but this poem "Humidor" takes that same topic, the smell of smoke in one's clothing, and romanticizes it. Anyway, enjoy.
Humidor
The smoke from your
cigarette isn’t the
smoke that haunts my clothing;
chokes, stifles, and drips misery
from coalminer lungs
like charcoal briquette flavored cola.
I’m in love with your smoke.
Every time you exhale in
wafting plumes,
blonde-haired, bespectacled mushroom cloud
erupting in
loveliness, a
figment of a steadily disappearing peacock.
Poaching Diane Fossey’s gorillas in the living room.
White stream meandering
up and over bulb of nose,
down the bridge,
into nothingness and
good thoughts
--seeming.
It tickles the
hairs inside my nostrils and ears,
fills me with old Europe or
what I imagine old Europe to be,
character-actor-type old men who
talk strictly en français and play chess,
pretentious artistic types who minimalize
facial expressions as effectively as
they do details,
broad-shouldered German ladies who
belt out tunes to
packed houses and
ask,
nay,
demand a hearty sing-along from a
receptive audience.
I don’t even know your foreign tunes.
Bar rooms suffocate;
casinos are nauseous, a
rainbow of stale odors and
creeping death, the
looking down the dark hole of
one’s own mortality.
You, I could sleep
inside your cloud and
feasibly dream of long
steamboat trips or
making love on the Seine, the
way it cusps and hangs in
wreathes
through these years in
your cosmopolitan sheath
can kill and
probably will;
call me a dead man.
Give me a tumor;
terminally in love with you.
Humidor
The smoke from your
cigarette isn’t the
smoke that haunts my clothing;
chokes, stifles, and drips misery
from coalminer lungs
like charcoal briquette flavored cola.
I’m in love with your smoke.
Every time you exhale in
wafting plumes,
blonde-haired, bespectacled mushroom cloud
erupting in
loveliness, a
figment of a steadily disappearing peacock.
Poaching Diane Fossey’s gorillas in the living room.
White stream meandering
up and over bulb of nose,
down the bridge,
into nothingness and
good thoughts
--seeming.
It tickles the
hairs inside my nostrils and ears,
fills me with old Europe or
what I imagine old Europe to be,
character-actor-type old men who
talk strictly en français and play chess,
pretentious artistic types who minimalize
facial expressions as effectively as
they do details,
broad-shouldered German ladies who
belt out tunes to
packed houses and
ask,
nay,
demand a hearty sing-along from a
receptive audience.
I don’t even know your foreign tunes.
Bar rooms suffocate;
casinos are nauseous, a
rainbow of stale odors and
creeping death, the
looking down the dark hole of
one’s own mortality.
You, I could sleep
inside your cloud and
feasibly dream of long
steamboat trips or
making love on the Seine, the
way it cusps and hangs in
wreathes
through these years in
your cosmopolitan sheath
can kill and
probably will;
call me a dead man.
Give me a tumor;
terminally in love with you.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
The Bottom Ten, July 2006
10.) Carnies- What is a carnie? Well, traditionally they're sketchy looking meth addicts who always appear to be suppressing constant shrieking disorder. Right? Right. You go to the fairs and carnivals and they're supposed to reek of body odor and and they're supposed to have problematic body hair. Capital Ex recently happened here in Edmonton and I had a chance to check it out. And you know what? The carnies were actually people who didn't look like they were going to stab you while shrieking constantly; they actually looked like normal people. I don't know about you all, but to me that's a sure sign that the low unemployment rate is hitting businesses hard. Carnival companies can't even attract proper carnies; they have to hire normal decent-looking people. Part of the thrill of going to carnivals is not knowing whether or not some carny was going to shriek at you while picking at his/her face; it was a scary, thrilling experience. Now, not so much.
9.) Old People- One thing that the hot weather that always irritates me is that it inspires old people to get out of the house and go to air conditioned environments (i.e. where I work). Have you ever walked behind a pack of old people? Like creeping slowly toward the grave it is. And can you pass them? Oh fuck no! There is such a thing as courteous walking and old people have no fucking concept of what it is. They walk three or four abreast and passing them is impossible because they form this sort of solid wall of vericose veins, wheelchairs, walkers, prosthetic hips, and motorized scooters. Fuck! Single file, people! Most places of business would benefit from hiring a team of professional movers whose job it would be to spot geezers and cryptkeepers as they enter the building, pick them up and physically carry them to where they need to go, walking at a normal human gait. Insurance companies won't cover shit like that. I know because I've checked.
8.) Insurance Companies- Seriously, insurance companies, you have no fucking clue what it's like to constantly have to walk behind a flock of geezers. Please reconsider.
7.) That Guy With The Light Bulb Up His Ass- To kind of get back to the story I linked to quite brilliantly in my tirade on the media's handling of depictions of people flipping the bird, there was a prisoner in Pakistan who recently had to have a light bulb surgically removed from his ass. He claims that he had no idea how it got there; that perhaps his fellow prisoners drugged him and inserted it while he was unconscious. Yeah right, buddy, you run with that story. Anyway, if that is true it is my theory his cellmate did it to him because I believe if you insert a light bulb up your ass and then shuffle your feet to build up a static charge, said light bulb will actually light up. I believe the man's cellmate did it as a means of constructing a crude, but effective reading light for when he wants to read after lights out in the prison. Those prisoners, they're industrious like that. Somebody get that inventive man a job in the real world. We need people who think outside the ass like that.
6.) Firing The Technical Virgin- Click here. Years back a video made the rounds on the internet. In the video a woman made a joke public service announcement about how you can still technically call yourself a virgin if you only take it up the ass. It was pretty fucking funny. So anyway, the girl who appeared in the video went on to become the host of children's television show on PBS. She was recently fired because her bosses found out about the video, a video she made years ago. If you ask me, keeping the girl on the show would have only improved ratings because preschool children, the target audience of the show, are oblivious to the concept getting poked in the winking brown eye and many adults would tune in because they are fascinated by the that same concept. I'm many adults, aren't I? Seriously, though, there is a petition you can sign to help the girl out. Here's a link.
5.) The Madden 2007 Pay-Per-View- Click here. You mean I can pay $20.00 to watch a pay-per-view that previews an upcoming $50.00 video game? Where the fuck do I sign up? There's a new Madden game every fucking year and that's all well and cool, but do we really need a $20.00 preview of a game that is essentially the same as last year's version except with an updated roster and a scarier looking John Madden featured in the game? Fucking rights we do! Anybody who shells out $20.00 for this pay-per-view is a knob with too much disposable income and they should pay me an additional $20.00 for getting a chance to learn this fact from me. Contact me for my PayPal info, idiots!
4.) People Who Complain That It's Too Hot Outside- Okay, I'll accept it when somebody makes a passing comment about how it's hot outside, but leave it at that and only that. I fucking hate listening to people go on as nauseam, "Ohhhh, it's soooo hot outside. Tooooo hot." Spare me your complaints, fucktards. You're the same people who complain that it's too cold in the winter. Realize that complaining about the weather will get you nowhere. So why the fuck bother? Exactly.
3.) Banning Nudity On The Seine- Click here.
City hall has issued a decree banning indecent clothing to preserve the tranquility of the sandy beaches created on the banks of the River Seine every summer since 2001.
How the fuck does indecent clothing destroy the tranquility of sandy beaches? Last time I checked it's volume that destroys tranquility. Indecent clothing just gives men boners. I suppose it might create a lot of divets and such in the sand what with all those boners poking holes into the sand, but that's why God created rakes, assholes. Just rake that shit over. Don't take away our titties!
2.) Hangovers During Heat Waves- Worst fucking feeling the world, ever.
1.) The General Voting Public- Click here. This is why I don't take part in calls for the public to name shit. A bridge in Budapest might be named after Chuck Norris thanks to a website set up by Budapest's Economy Ministry. Okay, I dig the Chuck Norris jokes; they are pretty fucking funny, but come on. You're going to let a bunch of internet geeks determine how landmarks in your area of the world are going to get named?
Why won't they name a bridge after me?
9.) Old People- One thing that the hot weather that always irritates me is that it inspires old people to get out of the house and go to air conditioned environments (i.e. where I work). Have you ever walked behind a pack of old people? Like creeping slowly toward the grave it is. And can you pass them? Oh fuck no! There is such a thing as courteous walking and old people have no fucking concept of what it is. They walk three or four abreast and passing them is impossible because they form this sort of solid wall of vericose veins, wheelchairs, walkers, prosthetic hips, and motorized scooters. Fuck! Single file, people! Most places of business would benefit from hiring a team of professional movers whose job it would be to spot geezers and cryptkeepers as they enter the building, pick them up and physically carry them to where they need to go, walking at a normal human gait. Insurance companies won't cover shit like that. I know because I've checked.
8.) Insurance Companies- Seriously, insurance companies, you have no fucking clue what it's like to constantly have to walk behind a flock of geezers. Please reconsider.
7.) That Guy With The Light Bulb Up His Ass- To kind of get back to the story I linked to quite brilliantly in my tirade on the media's handling of depictions of people flipping the bird, there was a prisoner in Pakistan who recently had to have a light bulb surgically removed from his ass. He claims that he had no idea how it got there; that perhaps his fellow prisoners drugged him and inserted it while he was unconscious. Yeah right, buddy, you run with that story. Anyway, if that is true it is my theory his cellmate did it to him because I believe if you insert a light bulb up your ass and then shuffle your feet to build up a static charge, said light bulb will actually light up. I believe the man's cellmate did it as a means of constructing a crude, but effective reading light for when he wants to read after lights out in the prison. Those prisoners, they're industrious like that. Somebody get that inventive man a job in the real world. We need people who think outside the ass like that.
6.) Firing The Technical Virgin- Click here. Years back a video made the rounds on the internet. In the video a woman made a joke public service announcement about how you can still technically call yourself a virgin if you only take it up the ass. It was pretty fucking funny. So anyway, the girl who appeared in the video went on to become the host of children's television show on PBS. She was recently fired because her bosses found out about the video, a video she made years ago. If you ask me, keeping the girl on the show would have only improved ratings because preschool children, the target audience of the show, are oblivious to the concept getting poked in the winking brown eye and many adults would tune in because they are fascinated by the that same concept. I'm many adults, aren't I? Seriously, though, there is a petition you can sign to help the girl out. Here's a link.
5.) The Madden 2007 Pay-Per-View- Click here. You mean I can pay $20.00 to watch a pay-per-view that previews an upcoming $50.00 video game? Where the fuck do I sign up? There's a new Madden game every fucking year and that's all well and cool, but do we really need a $20.00 preview of a game that is essentially the same as last year's version except with an updated roster and a scarier looking John Madden featured in the game? Fucking rights we do! Anybody who shells out $20.00 for this pay-per-view is a knob with too much disposable income and they should pay me an additional $20.00 for getting a chance to learn this fact from me. Contact me for my PayPal info, idiots!
4.) People Who Complain That It's Too Hot Outside- Okay, I'll accept it when somebody makes a passing comment about how it's hot outside, but leave it at that and only that. I fucking hate listening to people go on as nauseam, "Ohhhh, it's soooo hot outside. Tooooo hot." Spare me your complaints, fucktards. You're the same people who complain that it's too cold in the winter. Realize that complaining about the weather will get you nowhere. So why the fuck bother? Exactly.
3.) Banning Nudity On The Seine- Click here.
City hall has issued a decree banning indecent clothing to preserve the tranquility of the sandy beaches created on the banks of the River Seine every summer since 2001.
How the fuck does indecent clothing destroy the tranquility of sandy beaches? Last time I checked it's volume that destroys tranquility. Indecent clothing just gives men boners. I suppose it might create a lot of divets and such in the sand what with all those boners poking holes into the sand, but that's why God created rakes, assholes. Just rake that shit over. Don't take away our titties!
2.) Hangovers During Heat Waves- Worst fucking feeling the world, ever.
1.) The General Voting Public- Click here. This is why I don't take part in calls for the public to name shit. A bridge in Budapest might be named after Chuck Norris thanks to a website set up by Budapest's Economy Ministry. Okay, I dig the Chuck Norris jokes; they are pretty fucking funny, but come on. You're going to let a bunch of internet geeks determine how landmarks in your area of the world are going to get named?
Why won't they name a bridge after me?
Monday, July 24, 2006
Happy Birthday
I just wanted to say happy birthday to Jordan. A little late, of course. As is my custom.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Shock Of The Finger
Watching MuchMusic tonight I happened to catch the video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Can't Stop." I know what you're going to say and, yes, I swear I saw an actual fucking music video on MuchMusic, which is an anomaly given their round-the-clock schedule of playing second-tier reality shows and filler material that is thinly veiled attempts at fellating which ever pop star happens to big at a given moment. So, yes, I did see an actual music video amongst all that other shit and, while I was naturally in shock and finding myself having to stick fucking toothpicks in my eyes so that I wouldn't miss a single frame of one of the last music videos to ever play on a station that seemed to have a mandate to play music videos, I noticed on strang thing about the "Can't Stop" video that kind of bugged me afterward.
The video itself is actually quite well-done and has a very distinct visual appeal to it. What bothered me was one scene in which Flea, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist extraordinaire, wearing an oversized purple plush hippopotamus head, gives a hand gesture, which is digitally blurred out. The hand gesture, I can only assume, is the extended ring finger, standing alone and proud which means, "I just had anal sex with your mother." I know, it's pretty shocking. I don't make up what these hand gestures mean, I just play along. Everytime I fuck somebody's mom up the ass I am, in observance of proper etiquette, required to flash the hand gesture of extending my ring finger to them and, usually, sticking my tongue out and leering at the same time. It's quite the sight to behold.
But, in all seriousness, the hand gesture, though could not be seen by me through the digital censoring, was quite possibly, the bird. That's right, the middle finger standing alone on one's hand, proclaiming to the world, "I'm mad as hell and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you over there too, you motherfucking fuckheads! Go eat a bag of bull semen!" Or something like that. Naturally, it's a good thing the hand gesture got censored out because I just don't think I could handle seeing that. It would just be too much.
Does anybody actually get shocked any more by the sight of somebody giving the finger? I mean, we live in a world where violence is in the news, it's on t.v., Dennis Franz showed his bare ass on primetime, Dr. Phil continues to have a career, and Barbara Streisand threatens world peace with the promise of a comeback tour. Is somebody giving the finger really that much of a faux pas that it has be digitally altered?
Well, yes, you stupid shithead, we have to censor that because we really need to protect the impressionable children of the world.
Wrong. You know what? There are probably some children who would see an image of somebody giving the finger and try it themselves, probably at very inopportune times too, like when they're taking communion in church or when they're servicing their priest (interpret that one how you will), or when an international dignitary decides to pay a surprise visit to their town or to just pop over for dinner out of the blue. And you want to know something else? Big fucking deal. It's a fucking hand gesture. Those same kids who are in that monkey see, monkey do mindset are too fucking ignorant to know that it means, "Fuck you, you fucking douchebag. Go shove a lightbulb up your ass!" You gotta love how I was able to work that link in. But back to the topic, it would then fall on the parents to make sure their children are properly educated as to if and when deploying the bird is appropriate. The kids are going to learn all about the finger by time they're in elementary school so, really, how long do you expect to keep them in the dark through censorship?
Secondly, the whole censorship of a stupid hand gesture becomes more a double-edged sword in the sense that when one is confronted by an image that is censored there is an added level of attention drawn to whatever piece of the puzzle is censored out. People expound on it. They go on the internet and find the uncensored, unedited image. They write a fucking blog entry about it. By censoring the image we are added emphasis to how important, cool, edgy, etc. the hand gesture is. Right now as I am writing this I'm flipping you off because it's just too fucking cool! I can't stop!
And finally, is there anything more adorable than a wee child flipping you off? Even when they're gesturing to me, "Fuck you, you fucking failed cumstain! Go fuck a giraffe!" even I can't bring myself to say anything other than, "Awwwww, isn't that just precious? He thinks he's big people!"
The video itself is actually quite well-done and has a very distinct visual appeal to it. What bothered me was one scene in which Flea, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist extraordinaire, wearing an oversized purple plush hippopotamus head, gives a hand gesture, which is digitally blurred out. The hand gesture, I can only assume, is the extended ring finger, standing alone and proud which means, "I just had anal sex with your mother." I know, it's pretty shocking. I don't make up what these hand gestures mean, I just play along. Everytime I fuck somebody's mom up the ass I am, in observance of proper etiquette, required to flash the hand gesture of extending my ring finger to them and, usually, sticking my tongue out and leering at the same time. It's quite the sight to behold.
But, in all seriousness, the hand gesture, though could not be seen by me through the digital censoring, was quite possibly, the bird. That's right, the middle finger standing alone on one's hand, proclaiming to the world, "I'm mad as hell and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you over there too, you motherfucking fuckheads! Go eat a bag of bull semen!" Or something like that. Naturally, it's a good thing the hand gesture got censored out because I just don't think I could handle seeing that. It would just be too much.
Does anybody actually get shocked any more by the sight of somebody giving the finger? I mean, we live in a world where violence is in the news, it's on t.v., Dennis Franz showed his bare ass on primetime, Dr. Phil continues to have a career, and Barbara Streisand threatens world peace with the promise of a comeback tour. Is somebody giving the finger really that much of a faux pas that it has be digitally altered?
Well, yes, you stupid shithead, we have to censor that because we really need to protect the impressionable children of the world.
Wrong. You know what? There are probably some children who would see an image of somebody giving the finger and try it themselves, probably at very inopportune times too, like when they're taking communion in church or when they're servicing their priest (interpret that one how you will), or when an international dignitary decides to pay a surprise visit to their town or to just pop over for dinner out of the blue. And you want to know something else? Big fucking deal. It's a fucking hand gesture. Those same kids who are in that monkey see, monkey do mindset are too fucking ignorant to know that it means, "Fuck you, you fucking douchebag. Go shove a lightbulb up your ass!" You gotta love how I was able to work that link in. But back to the topic, it would then fall on the parents to make sure their children are properly educated as to if and when deploying the bird is appropriate. The kids are going to learn all about the finger by time they're in elementary school so, really, how long do you expect to keep them in the dark through censorship?
Secondly, the whole censorship of a stupid hand gesture becomes more a double-edged sword in the sense that when one is confronted by an image that is censored there is an added level of attention drawn to whatever piece of the puzzle is censored out. People expound on it. They go on the internet and find the uncensored, unedited image. They write a fucking blog entry about it. By censoring the image we are added emphasis to how important, cool, edgy, etc. the hand gesture is. Right now as I am writing this I'm flipping you off because it's just too fucking cool! I can't stop!
And finally, is there anything more adorable than a wee child flipping you off? Even when they're gesturing to me, "Fuck you, you fucking failed cumstain! Go fuck a giraffe!" even I can't bring myself to say anything other than, "Awwwww, isn't that just precious? He thinks he's big people!"
Monday, July 17, 2006
It Can't Be Said Enough
So today I kind of made a rediscovery. I say "rediscovery" in a very loose sense of the word because, really, it was a discovery that never left me. In fact, I've probably been blathering on and on about this so-called "rediscovery" to just about everybody I talk about music with. That "rediscovery?" The Arcade Fire's Funeral.
If you haven't had a chance to check this album out you have to do so.
What really struck me this time as I listened through the album was how this was an entire album of potential singles. I hate saying shit like that because when a person is a fan of a band or an album, I mean a real fan, they tend to have a bias when they make bold statement such as calling each song a potential single. But really, folks, as I was listening I found myself able to hear it as a song that could be played on modern rock radio until the public got sick of hearing it. I really believe that in four years time when everybody is doing that "Top Ten Albums Of The Aughts" or whatever else they call their list, Funeral is going to be one of the albums that becomes a staple for listmakers.
That's really all I wanted to say. I'm listening to the whole thing again. I'm obsessed right now. I'll post something more substantial later.
Until then.
Go buy the fucking album all ready, jerk-asses!
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
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