blah!!!

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 16:23:28 GMT

fuck the house of blues those rat bastards.... do they not know that underage drinkers is what pays their salary..... fuck them!!! fuck them up their stupid asses.

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 17:19:14 GMT

i've been singing this song latley for the last couple days. i can not think of a beter tune to describe my feelings right now. i feel so lost and these lyrics capture my emotions so well. god damn!!!! i love this song!!!! i'm gonna listen to it in right now!

I wasn't born so much as I fell out
Nobody seemed to notice me
We had a hedge back home in the suburbs
Over which I never could see

I heard the people who lived on the ceiling
Scream and fight most scarily
Hearing that noise was my first ever feeling
That's how it's been all around me

I'm all tuned in, I see all the programmes
I save coupons from packets of tea
I've got my giant hit discoteque album
I empty a bottle and I feel a bit free

The kids in the halls and the pipes in the walls
Make me noises for company
Long distance callers make long distance calls
And the silence makes me lonely

And it's not hear
It disappear
i'm all lost

i don't know how you captured my life in just a few verses joe!!!! i miss you alot. rest in peace old friend and i'll be sure to see you when we all go home!

this one ogoes out ot the jizzhead and comacho

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 17:15:00 GMT

"Koka Kola"

Elevator! Going up!
In the gleaming corridors of the 51st floor
The money can be made if you really want some more
Executive decision-a clinical precision
Jumping from the windows-filled with indecision

I get good advice from the advertising world
Treat me nice says the party girl
Koke adds life where there isn't any
So freeze, man, freeze

It's the pause that refreshes in the corridors of power
When top men need a top up long before the happy hour
Your snakeskin suit and your alligator boot
You won't need a launderette, you can send them to the vet!

I get my advice from the advertising world
Treat me nice says the party girl
Koke adds life where there isn't any
So freeze, man, freeze

Koka Kola advertising and kokaine
Strolling down the Broadway in the rain
Neon light sign says it
I read it in the paper-they're crazy!
Suit your life, maybe so
In the White House-I know
All Over Berlin (they've been doing it for years)
And in Manhattan!

Coming through the door is a snub nose 44
What the barrel can't snort it can spatter on the floor
Your eyeballs feel like pinballs
And your tongue feels like a fish
You're leaping from the windows-saying don't
Ayaiiiiirrrghhh! *@!!*@!!*!
Don't give me none of this!

I get good advice from the advertising world
Treat me nice says the party girl
Koke adds life where there isn't any
So freeze, man, freeze
Hit the deck!

i've had this song stuck in my head for a week

Fri, 02 Dec 2005 18:09:50 GMT

this goes out to all you out there that know what i'm talking about!!!!!

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere

A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night

Working hard to get my fill,
everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlight people

Fri, 25 Nov 2005 17:00:02 GMT

why must i find everything in my life so god damn boring. i can never seem to bne able to top past experiences no matter how much effort i put into it. i can't stop chasing the dragon (metaphorically, not heroine)! i need to find something new for me to fufill my emptiness and boredom. thats it, tommorow im gonna.................i don't know, but someone think of something. i'm thinking about doing something with fire, fire is always exciting.

Tue, 01 Nov 2005 17:44:56 GMT

me and comacho went to some lame-ass shindig last night... it was fucking lamer than franklin d roosevelt's legs. no booze, no drugs, no salvation. so i had to open my mouth and collect money and a car so we can save this bastard.

here is a copy of my reciete.. (did i spell that right?)

1 king cobra 32z
1 mickey malt 40z
1 king cobra 32z
1 mickey malt 40z
1 bacardi rum 151
1 camel filter box
1 marboro box
1 bali shag

these kids all talked about how hard they rock and shit and i told them all to chill with the 151. everyone was like, "dude, i drink all the time, i'm no baby..." and all that hard-ass mumbo jumbo. a few moments later, these kids are throwing up, toilet papering their own house, gilrs were trying to rape me and comacho...

mo took us home, we were like two hours late and i'm fucking in so much trouble

if i don't get a job by friday, i get kicked out of my house....i need help!!!!!......p.s.....i can't pass a drug test right now!

help!!!!

Sat, 22 Oct 2005 19:35:12 GMT

what happened last night. all i remeber..

tres touching my piss
band practice
new song: "jesus walks.. the line"
30 tecates and black velvet
tecate pyramid
flipped over porta potties
red lines
set of multiple car alarms
tacos
40 year old sluts
spanish conversatgion with a gringo bitch
made out with a hot chick....could have been the beer gogles
hang over
Shanye east

thats all i remember

Fri, 21 Oct 2005 17:58:36 GMT

Heard a sermon from a creaky pul pit with no one in the nave
I paid a visit to the synagogue and I left there feeling blame
No one could tell me what to do, they had not the capacity to answer me

What the world needs now is some answers to our problems
We can't buy more time 'cause our tender isn't valid
If your soul needs love you can get consoled by pity
But it looks as though faith alone won't sustain us no more

Watched the scientists throw up their hands conceding, "progress will resolve it all"
Saw the manufacturers of earth's debris ignore another green peace call
No one could tell me what to do, no one had the ability to answer me

What the world needs now is some accountability
We can't buy more time 'cause time won't accept our money
If your soul needs love you can always have my pity
But it looks as though faith alone won't sustain us no more...

What the world needs now is some answers to our problems
We can't buy more time 'cause our tender isn't valid
What the world needs now is some accountability
If your soul needs love you can get consoled by pity
But faith alone won't sustain us anymore
faith alone won't sustain us anymore

appetite for destruction

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 17:57:07 GMT

yesterday me and tres had the most destructive day of all time. i don't think anything will ever be the same again.

after class we went to lari's house and ate all her food,including all that remained of her cheesecake and banana pie. hahahaha full 5 course. we then headed towards whittier college and ran into lalana's (did i spell that right becuase i know i can't pronounce it right....ms.v.) and i knocked on her door. her mother answered and invited us in cuz the bitch was still sleeping. we said we'd be back in 15 minutes but we never returned. we picked up ricardo and headed to rite aid were i purchased a 12 pack of heinies! we dispersed of them all and things got pretty crazy. tres jumped off the 3rd story window onto the 2nd story balcony. real james bond shit. rich didn't believe us so he had to do it again. he hurt his ankle too! rich threw a full trash can down the stairs and we ran. back into the car now we went back into the car and headed to rite aid. there we got 3 40's of king cobra. me and tres easily finished em' while rich gave his away. tres did something amazing later but i cannot say what he did yet. all i can say i have never prouder of him in my life. back into rich's dorm me and tres rode a trash can down the stairs. we left to the radio station to find out it was completely empty. i pissed in a trash can there. then me and tres stole everysingle one of the balls from the pool table and headed to the cafeteria. there tres stole a pumpkin and i jacked a squash. we headed toward the "richard nixon fountain" were all three of us dipersed urine. we snuck back into the forbiden balcony and a few balls accidently dropped out of our pockets. scared shitless we went into rich's car. we picked up his friend and headed back to whittier. we were on the 3rd floor where i tipped over a table and accidently set the fire alarm off. i ran and ran and ran to find out no one followed me. i go back to rich's dorm to find everyone there. everyone is so scared. i hear guys yelling out side. rich informs me that all the jocks are after me and want to kick my ass, though they only caught a glimpse of my backside. i sneak out of there by putting on tres's coat and hat. i made it out alive. we head back to our school drunk. we went to eat and headed to my house where i threw my soda at a car and we booked it. we made it home.

i hope i didn't miss anything.....i had too much to drink that day.... but i don't i'll ever be able to return to whittier.

so you wanna fake being an indie rocker expert

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 01:09:57 GMT

You're sick of digesting mainstream, overproduced drivel from the likes of MTV and the local "be-caller-100" pop station. You'd like to be edgier and more "underground" - or at least you'd like to pretend you're both those things. The only trouble is, you don't know where to begin. Being in-the-know about independent rock music - a.k.a. "indie rock" - can seem like an overwhelming task. Indie fans often come across as if they belong to some sort of secret society, frowning upon all those poor, ignorant souls who just don't "get it" when it comes to music. Lies. We're here to tell you that you too can be a hipster. By learning the basics of what the indie phenomenon is all about, you should be well on your way to passing yourself off as a die-hard fan.

By the way, we should probably warn you that we're assuming you have at least some musical savvy.

1. look the part

To begin a sham indie rock education, you might be tempted to think you should go buy some indie rock records. Don't be a fool. There are several personal actions you must undertake before bothering with the music itself. After all, part of being an indie rock expert is having the image that goes along with it.

The first thing you should do is alter your bathing habits. By no means does that mean you should develop a complete disregard for hygiene, but you might want to cut back on the frequency with which you wash your hair. The "bedhead" look is too obvious, but a modified bedhead with a greasy sheen to it will have you blending right in with the crowd at the indie rock show.

Next, think about your shirtwear. An old undersized T-shirt is a safe bet, but it should be some vibrant color - green, orange, and yellow are all good choices - never white or black. White is gauche, and black is too glamorous, too L.A. Generally speaking, the shirt should look like something you would find at a thrift store, but it shouldn't look like you bought it at a thrift store.

Got a nice car? Good. Lose it. If you want to be indie rock you can't drive a car that has fewer than 100,000 miles on the odometer and had an original sticker price of more than $20K. As a rule, money is antithetical to indie rock. Unless you are Matt Groening, it's hard to make piles of cash when you are a clever cynic (as most indie rockers like to think of themselves).

2. know the history

Now that you're dressed for the occasion, you next need to immerse yourself in all that is indie rock. Here is a brief history of the subject, which, fortunately for you young wannabes, is summarized here in ultra-abridged form.
The '60s

Were it to exist, The Indie Rock for Dummies book might put the roots of the indie rock tree in the Velvet Underground, a band that hit the scene during the mid-to-late '60s. As the rest of the world was into peace, love, and really good hallucinogenics, the Velvet Underground was taking the rock rulebook, tearing out the pages, and using them to wipe their butts. Their music kinda sounded like rock, but incorporated elements of social realism and the beginnings of punk and new wave. In short, the Velvet Underground was way ahead of its time.

The '70s

After the VU, the deconstructive proposition born in the bowels on New York's Bowery, quickly took the form of punk. Punk became somewhat successful/mainstream, so it had to die. That left a bunch of post-punk bands, many of whom (Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, the Pretenders) started getting airplay, and also became successful and (even worse) old. Post-punk bottomed out when the Clash made Combat Rock, a radio-friendly album that included such commercially viable songs as "Rock the Casbah" and "Should I Stay or Should I Go."

The '80s

Sometime in the late '80s, the moniker of underground tunes changed from "punk" to "college music." This was not because only people in college listened to it, but also because the only people who played it were deejays at college radio stations. Anybody with a radio was free to listen, but not very many people did . . . until people realized that despite the weird names of some of these bands, they weren't scary like punks. In fact, a lot of college music was just pop music. R.E.M., U2, Camper Van Beethoven - they were college bands and they were harmless.

As many of those bands became popular, the powers-that-be at the college radio stations became a little bitter that "their bands" were taken away and given to the masses. They reacted by going a little harder and a little darker (a la Nirvana). That's when college music started to become known as "alternative." Again, the general idea was that it was an alternative to say, Tiffany or Bon Jovi or what you might hear on the radio (notice the pattern?).

The '90s

In the early '90s, Nirvana released Nevermind. As a result, alternative launched its own radio format, and paradoxically became mainstream. So the bands who were still an alternative to something that was getting airplay became (drum roll, please) "indie rock."

3. be familiar with current indie rock bands and labels

So what makes something indie rock? Good question. Unfortunately, there is no clear set of criteria that you can apply to make that determination; it is easier to define indie rock by what it isn't. It isn't successful, it isn't glamorous, it isn't sexy, it isn't insipid, and it isn't likely to get you laid. Nonetheless, getting to the point where you can identify those negative predications is going to take a little work. You might actually have to read a book or some magazines to get a sufficient feel for what qualifies as indie in order to pull this off.

Whatever you do, don't read Rolling Stone. Rolling Stone is for housewives and teenage girls. In Rolling Stone you can read about Puff Daddy and Lillith Fair. That's the kind of fodder that feeds indie rock disdain. Spin - it's for poseurs. You might be best off flipping through a copy of Alternative Press. But don't buy it off the newsstand. Paying retail is not at all indie rock.

Familiarize yourself with the names of the indie record labels because seven times out of ten, if it's on an indie label, it's indie rock. Remember this name: Matador Records. Once cooler than Steve McQueen, Matador is now the Warner or Sony of indie rock, as its staff numbers about 30 people and its roster includes about 40 bands. Hardly small. In fact a few of their most popular artists (e.g., Liz Phair, The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion) have distribution deals with Capitol Records.

You know the drill: because Matador has become moderately successful, in many respects it's yesterday's news. So now, even if you've never listened to the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion (a.k.a. JSBX), you can act like you think they are passé because you know that they're on Matador. In fact if you've ever been around a music snob, you probably already know the phrase, "Yeah, their old stuff is better." It's a cliché, but in the case of JSBX, it's true. If you want to talk about them, limit the conversation to either their Extra Width or Orange albums, both of which, incidentally, are truly worth owning if you actually like indie rock. But if you do actually like indie rock, you probably own them already.

Other labels you should familiarize yourself with include:

Merge
Kill Rock Stars
Lookout
Evil Teen
Amphetamine Reptile
Alternative Tentacles
Shimmy Disc
K Records
Bong Load
Touch and Go
4AD
spinART
Thrill Jockey
The belated Trance Syndicate
And if you see anything on C/Z Records in the used bin, you might be wise to jump on it or at least read the name of the band on the CD so it will be familiar in conversation. Bloodshot is certainly indie but it ain't rock, but even if twang ain't your thang, you should still have respect for the label's adherence to general indie principles.

Unlike most major labels, which are as likely to sign a rapper as a teen boy band, indie labels are kind of like brands, meaning that they generally stay stylistically consistent. This is especially true when the label is young and small. For example, most of the early Seattle grunge bands were playing under the Sub Pop label long before David Geffen showed up in the Pacific Northwest with a checkbook and started playing Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? with a bunch of depressed kids in flannel shirts. It's not so much the case anymore, but once upon a time, you knew that if you bought a band on the Sub Pop label, you wouldn't need a volume knob. (Oh, and as a brief aside: do not wax nostalgic for the pre-Nirvana Sub Pop days yet. It's still too early for that. You can, however, still be bummed out about what Island Records and Casey Kasem did to SST Records as a result of the Negativland/U2 incident.) The point is: if you can identify the sound of one band on the label, there's a better than even-money chance you'll be in the ballpark with the others.

4. learn to talk the talk

If you look cool enough, eventually someone is going to talk to you and expect you to talk back; and if you open your mouth and say something like, "David Cassidy is really cool," you are liable to get the foo kicked out of you. And that would be really embarrassing because the indie rock world is populated largely by wussies.

So start somewhere safe: Sonic Youth. You cannot go wrong if you like Sonic Youth. Everybody in indie rock likes Sonic Youth, and those who don't are afraid to admit it. So you can talk all night long about what a genius frontman-guitarist Thurston Moore is, and nobody will ever think you are an idiot or don't know what you are talking about.

Once you've worn out all possible conversation topics regarding Sonic Youth, try these tips:

Know that the coolest indie rock band is someone nobody has heard of and is on a label that doesn't even exist yet. That's just the way it works. Of course you can't talk exclusively about bands nobody else knows anything about, and if you go to their shows, no one else will be there.

Don't invent bands. If you make up a name, you will give yourself away. You might think, "How can that be?" Again, that's just the way it works. So no cheating.

Depth, not breadth

If you want to look like you know what you are talking about, depth is more important than breadth. And you just need to be deep in one or two places. That is where something like the Trouser Press Guide might come in handy. It's cross-referenced so you can peruse through it and easily pick up information on bands related by history and specifically find out what other bands the members might have been in. That way, when you speak, you transcend simple knowledge by appearing to having a sense of history when you really don't.

For instance, you look up Built to Spill because you've read about them in some indie 'zine. You see that there is this other band cross-listed with Built to Spill called Stuntman. That's a bonus because Stuntman is still pretty obscure. Where you really rack up the points is by pointing out that both those bands arose out of Treepeople. You couldn't pick Treepeople out of a lineup, but you've just linked three cool bands from Idaho. That's right, Idaho. Who the heck is going to doubt your authority after that?

OK, so let's throw an example at you now: you read about Galaxy 500 and the two bands it spawned-Luna, and Damon and Naomi. Then, when you're at the indie rock show, you say:

"Yeah, DEAN WAREHAM is such a LOU REED and VELVET UNDERGROUND disciple. But it's funny because GALAXY 500 was more about the drone, but LUNA has more of the pop-strum feel of Loaded. So he's covered the gamut of LOU's influence in his career. I don't like DAMON AND NAOMI, though. They are way too Lo-Fi (Pause). You know, I saw LUNA open for VU in Prague back in the early '90s on their European reunion tour."
Translation:

First, as in the previous example, you linked two good indie bands (Luna, and Damon and Naomi) to their parent band (Galaxy 500).

You referenced them back to Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. That means you were paying attention in the history section of this article, and acknowledged the importance of VU enough to integrate them into your thoughts on indie rock.

You recognized the differences between Dean Wareham when he fronted Luna from when he fronted Galaxy 500, and you threw in another VU reference - this time to Loaded.

You were careful not to do too much work for your interlocutor. You left him/her an opening to say something like. "Yeah, but Loaded wasn't really a VU record, because John Cale had already left the band by then." You are on fire. If this is a member of the opposite sex that you are talking to, you probably just got yourself a date if you want it.

You dissed Damon and Naomi. Good. Don't be afraid to not like someone. But not only did you dis them, you also referenced an indie sub-genre (lo-fi) in your dismissal, and you did it without hesitation. Perfect.

You were not done, though. You go for legendary status. You were at arguably THE coolest show of the '90s. You not only knew about that tour, but you were there. Note: if you are currently under 26 years old and you reached for that last one, you blew it. You weren't in Europe when you were 18. You were clearly trying to look cooler than you were. No bigger sin in indie city.

5. complete the ruse

You've got the basics down, now you need to fill in some of the gaps. Remember, you don't need to fill in all of them . . . you don't want to actually BE an indie rock expert because that's a lifetime of work, and you've got better things to do. You just need to fill in enough of the holes to keep people from prying further to see how many are actually there.
So here's what ya gotta do:

Familiarize yourself with The Elephant 6 Collective of the Olivia Tremor Control, Apples in Stereo, and Neutral Milk Hotel. This is a group of bands who have taken up where the Stone's Their Satanic Majesties Request and the Beatles' Revolver left off. The Beatles and the Stones? That may sound mainstream, but these guys do retro psych-pop in a way that nobody with a Britney Spears CD would ever want to sit through.

Know about Minneapolis in the heyday of the '80s, when the Replacements, Hüsker Dü, and Soul Asylum (they used to be cool) were the underground holy trinity of rock. Drop mentions of the Replacements whenever possible. Oh, and also mention Peter Jesperson, even if you have no idea who he is. It doesn't matter. Just say something like, "Yeah, I hear Jesperson's got something new going on," then just bluff your way from there.

Finally it will be advantageous to pick one favorite band that just never broke despite their genius, someone like, say, Spoon. Do you own both Spoon records as well as the Soft Effects EP? Probably not because they are not easy to find, but if someone sees you in a record store (and it damn well better be an indie record store), that's what you tell them you are looking for. As for what you buy at the record store - CD or vinyl - you are free to go either way without really affecting your indie cred (that's indie-speak for credibility).

If you really want to do the extra credit work, pick a foreign country and school yourself in some of its bands. For instance, you can pick Japan and drop names like Lolita No. 18, Zoobombs, Melt Banana, Cornelius, Buffalo Daughter, Guitar Wolf, and Husking Bee. You should actually listen to one or two of them. That way you can make a judgment like, "You know, the Japanese bands are finally starting to move away from simple imitation of American music and are now starting to incorporate elements that are wholly original." But don't say that. That's our line.

One last minefield you need to navigate is what happens when an indie band jumps to a major label. No matter how cool a band is, this is bound to happen. Sometimes it doesn't mean much, and other times it is the end of the band. Again, Sonic Youth were cool even on DGC, but the Goo Goo Dolls, who did about the coolest Prince cover ever ("I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man"), became something else when they went to a major label. Showing anything but disdain for that bunch of milksops will get you cast out east of indie Eden. Then there are cases like Dinosaur Jr. - Green Mind, good; but anything after Where You Been, bad. There is no science here; and without a good knowledge of the bands you are only likely to get into trouble.

camel enternal

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 00:43:36 GMT

R.J., i'm sorry, but i'm leaving.
we're both at fault, we're both to blame.
and it wasn't the other brand cause there were other blends .
this just isn't love, it's just the remorse of a loss of a nicotine fufillment
even if i stayed it just wouldn't be the same.

double this tobacco up into the, widest zig-zag you got.
you know i aint used to smoking all, alone.
gonna make it to the moon tonight on a 1 way kamikaze flight.
if i could get so high i'll leave behind my problems,
take em out with the empty packs.

so, R.J., i'm sorry, but i'm leaving.
we're both at fault, we're both to blame.
and it wasn't the other brand cause there were other blends .
this just isn't love, it's just the remorse of a loss of a nicotine fufillment
even if i stayed it just wouldn't be the same.

me and this bogue are going swinging blind into the unknown.
you know tobacco and a flame is all i never needed of a home.
someday i, will call from a payphone in a truckstop on the road
and you'll tell me how much better off you've been on your own.

goodbye

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 00:36:35 GMT

dear R.J. Reynolds,

your once smooth cigarettes filled my lungs. you once were apart of my mornings, afternoons, and nights but through the days we've slowly drifted apart. i stayed the same while you got smoother and smoother and got a new outfit. i liked the old you and now that you have changed i want nothing to do with you. i was once a loyal customer but now that's going to change. this is goodbye. i want you to know it's not you, it's me.

sincerely yours,
alex ochoa

this is my new favorite song (for now)

Sun, 25 Sep 2005 21:43:44 GMT

"Searching For A Former Clarity"

No the doctors didn't tell you,
that you were dying.
They just collected their money,
And sent you on your way.
But you knew all along,
went on pretending nothing was wrong,
you said I will keep my focus, till the end.
And in the journal you kept,
by the side of your bed.
You wrote nightly in aspiration,
of developing as an author.
Confessing childhood secrets,
of dressing up in women's clothes,
Compulsions you never knew the reasons to,
Well everyone, you ever meet or love,
be just relationship based on a false presumption,
despite everyone, you ever meet or love,
in the end, will you be all alone?
As the disease spreads slowly through your body,
pumped by your heart to the tips of your arms and your legs,
your greatest fear was that your mind wouldn't last,
your coherency and alertness would be the first things to fade,
as your hair thinned, as the weight fell off, as your teeth blackened,
as the lesions spotted your skin,
as you fell to your knees in the center of the stage,
as you offered witness to mortality in exchange for the ticket price,
as the lights blended into the continuing noise,
as all hope was finally lost.
Adrenaline carried one last thought to fruition.
Let this be the end.
Let this be the last song.
Let this be the end.
Let all be forgiven.

(it reminds me of my mother)

Sat, 24 Sep 2005 06:45:20 GMT

happy birthday chris

Sun, 04 Sep 2005 06:00:28 GMT

ThenDesireeSaid: well ive never done drugs
Freedumbfries138: good
ThenDesireeSaid: closest is alcohol
Freedumbfries138: hahah
Freedumbfries138: i love alcohol
ThenDesireeSaid: lol
ThenDesireeSaid: me too
Freedumbfries138: its my anti-drug
ThenDesireeSaid: lol
ThenDesireeSaid: good to know

Tue, 30 Aug 2005 16:11:33 GMT

Chris and many others in the past have asked me why I only comment but never post on my lj. What I used to do was write on my actual journal and then post it on lj. But lately my journal has been highly personal. I can’t say it’s the happiest thins I’ve written, but its pretty dark stuff. I don’t want to post these entries because I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite. There was a point in lj history were you couldn’t find a happy entry. Everyone was depressed and I couldn’t take it. So I figured I should never post stuff like that. But I have not had anything happy to write about lately, except for this recent entry. So I decided, what the hell? Who gives a shit? So now I am going to post things I should have posted in the past.

die die die die die die

Sat, 27 Aug 2005 04:17:36 GMT

holy crap.. whats the one thing thats is worse than depression?

boredom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

and im fucking suffering it! im infected!!!

does anyone have a god damn cure????

Sat, 18 Jun 2005 21:55:35 GMT

BRITNEY FUCKING SPEARS

So the other night, I’m flipping through the multiple-channel vista that is illegal cable, and I see something that suddenly makes me feel very old and prude… a Britney Spears concert on HBO! Now, until this point, I hadn’t paid much attention to that veritable force of nature, Hurricane Britney- much like I don’t pay much attention when an earthquake ravages some foreign nation that isn’t Pico Rivera, California. Like that earthquake, Britney Spears was just some shit that happened over there- even though there, in this case, wasn’t abroad, and instead on the pop culture landscape that’s supposed to be within my purview. However, as I sat there, captivated by what I saw (or rather, the lack of what I saw), Britney Spears finally heaved those enormous cans she’s so proud of onto my radar, and I immediately set about analyzing what it is that draws people to her.

Mind you, I’m only going off of the five to ten minutes I watched before changing the channel (and, as we all know, five to ten minutes is generally the amount of time any passerby can stare at a car wreck before they’ve gotta get on with their own, vital lives), but from that brief glimpse into the Spears-o-scope, I quickly discovered something kind of horrifying… Britney does not sing!!!

Yes, I realize that at some point, Britney (or however many Britneys studio technicians can generally had to have warbled the songs that made it onto whatever album she’s currently pimping (or should that be whoring?). However, in concert, it would appear that Britney isn’t singing. She simply lip-synchs- and badly, at that. She jumped the gun on some lyrics, and missed the beat on a few others. It was like watching karaoke, to some degree- particularly when the person doing karaoke loses their place mid-song, and they stand there, staring the screen, reading the lyrics silently, trying to catch up. But, shit, Britney wasn’t even on the level of a karaoke caroler, as even people doing karaoke actually sing.

And this didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out either. Fuck, it wouldn’t have even taken Watson. Even someone deprived of sight from birth could tell there was no live singing going on during the “live” show, as the songs sounded exactly as they do on the radio, with zero impromptu deviation. But I was nonetheless astounded to see the audacity of this songbird who stands on stage and, apparently, never intones a single note. Now, granted, she was gyrating up a storm, and it’s difficult to sing and dance at the same time (hell, with my health, it’s difficult to walk and talk at the same time). But it can be done. There are those who’ve made a living performing elaborate dance routines while singing at the same time. Honorary Brit Madonna does it, and she’s almost fifty, right?

So now I ponder on why the fuck do millions of people still pay hundreds of dollars to see her sing, or not sing, and still somehow respect her? It must be because of the identity factor. They feel close to Britney because they know Britney. Perhaps she, too, puts herself out there for her fans, and I just haven’t heard about it. And thankfully, I was given the opportunity to gauge this when Britney took time out of pretending to be a singer to have a heart-to-heart with the audience.

She sat at a piano and, microphone in hand, told the audience how she’s living her dreams every day- by which, I can only assume, she meant that she can’t believe she makes this money showing off her belly button a lot and pretending to croon on stage. She followed that with a bit of homespun advice that people should never stop dreaming. Nothing too deep there, but nothing dishonest either. It’s a simple message, yes; but sometimes, simple messages bear repeating for the masses- especially if they come from the heart of the speaker. However, as she was so obviously reading the entire speech from a teleprompter, that wasn’t the case.

It was not a heart-to-heart so much as a preprogrammed, double-checkered, and cleared through BritneyCo. collection of quasi-positive propaganda. The girl very visibly read her sentiments in a fashion that only a child could ignore- which then led me to surmise that, perhaps, Britney is just kid’s stuff. Maybe she’s nothing more than a harmless bubblegum popster, with a predominantly pre-teen audience. With that, all my dissection of Britney-mania suddenly seemed like it was for naught, as, apparently, the Phenomenon du Spears is meant solely for a demographic I’m no longer a part of. Let the young’ins have her, I figured- as it’s the province of children to adhere blindly and loyally to figments of imagination. Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny before her, they’d grow out of Britney eventually (just like the Spice Girls).

But a few camera pans of the audience later revealed that this wasn’t the case either. The audience wasn’t made up of little girls and boys, barely out of diapers at all. It was made of people like me (though much, much hotter) and people like my mother- folks who are supposed to be older and wiser. And these weren’t just womenfolk, either. There were tons of guys my step-dad’s age holding up signs makeshift signs, declaring their alliance to the non-singing product on stage. And since these folks aren’t really interested in seeing Britney sing live (because she doesn’t apparently), I came to my ultimate conclusion on the subject… people are into Britney Spears because they want to fuck Britney Spears.

Okay that I get. She wears very little clothing, and plays up the barely-legal, come-hither thing with more aplomb than Sue Lyon in Kubrick’s Lolita (a great fucking movie for those who haven’t seen it and to my understanding it is based on a true story… and I mean c’mon, the man made Full Metal Jacket!). She purrs “Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” as if she’s daring the listener to be the first on the block to make a grab for her panties. She hurls her are-they-or-aren’t-they boobs around like “blodgers”, trying to knock the Harry Potter of our libido off his Nimbus 2000 (sorry, I saw that movie and I just couldn’t resist using this analogy. For those confused by it, check out the Harry Potter movie, I think it is the first one) and into her enlarged labia (I mean does anybody admire Paris Hilton for her intellect?). She maintains she’s still a virgin in the same winking fashion that Bush said he wanted Bin Laden dead or “… alive.” And to top it all off, she’s a blonde, southern gal- that legendary farmer’s daughter, who beckons us out of the barn for a roll in the hay… or at least a sloppy blowjob behind the pigpen.

And this is when I started feeling a little scared. All these old fucks shouldn’t be turned on by a high schooler who’s just figuring out her feminine wiles. Anyone over the age of consent who’s ogling this nymphet needs to be prohibited from driving by day care centers- because if they’re getting stiff for Britney, sooner or later, they’re going to want them even younger. These pederasts-in –waiting need t be jailed and re-educated now, before they start menacing our sons and daughters.

As for Britney? Well, she’s harmless. She’s a marketing ploy. She’s a fad with legs, and as soon as some even chestier eleven-year-old with a halfway decent voice figures out how to work some simulated fellatio into her act on stage without getting arrested and sent to juvenile hall, Britney will seem quaint.

I’m sure some of you are saying “I can’t believe this mother fucker who makes nothing but dick and fart jokes and watches nothing but Kevin Smith flicks dares to get all prude about “Titney Spears.” Rest assured, I’m no prude, okay- anyone knows me personally can attest to that. But when I want to see someone sing, I want to see someone sing. What can I say? I’m a conservative guy at heart.

(Sorry to all who read this and were greatly insulted. If you have any complaints, angry messages or death threats you can send them to my e-mail address, KiSSmyAsS@blowme.com.)

Wed, 25 May 2005 17:30:54 GMT

this is the song i have been listening to alot lately....it gets me through the days. i only know one other person who likes this song.... this goes out to you Andrew Thadeus O'neil...

"Serenity"

I spent some time saying some things i didn't want to say
convincing someone of something about me not a lie but not the truth in a way.
Slipping into a suit and tie or walking in some shoes i got lost in that disguise
i guess i had something to prove but the proof is there in what i do
talk is cheap and clothes make the man
if it's not a disguise and you know where you stand.
I'm a clown i'm a monkey maybe i'm a jerk
whatever you make me out to be
but i know the difference and what you say dosen't matter to me.
I don't care what you think
i'm gonna do what i have to do.
Say what you wanna say
talk's a waste of time with you.

Wed, 25 May 2005 17:23:07 GMT

"Sink With California"

well i've been around the country and i've met a lot of kids some kids are smart and some kids are dumb but i don't pass judgement they're just having fun some kids get fucked up and others refrain but that's what makes the world so great no one should be the same the kids of the future you can see it in their eyes they must overcome nationality if the world is to survive and we'll sink with california when it falls into the sea oi i'm not from england, je ne suis pas de france ich bin nicht von deutschland and i can't dance well i could saay california it means nothing to me. i despise nationality shouldn't say that you're from north, south, east or west it's humanity that is the best yo no soy mexico, no sano de italia that's all the languages we know and actually we're from canada yes we loe to travel, but we love to see that california border, forever and a day we'll sink with california when it falls into the sea from the mountains, to the prairies from the desert to the sea i'd say california, it means nothing to me i despise territorality i don't care if you're from north, south, east or west live for humanity, forget the rest. yo i'm not from new york, i'm not from boston y'all i ain't from texas and i'm not patriotic cause the only patriotism that we really need is to sink with the world, with humanity and me

Fri, 06 May 2005 16:55:12 GMT

"MTV - Get Off The Air"

Fun Fun Fun in the fluffy chair
Flame up the herb
Woof down the beer
[click!]
Hi
I'm your video DJ
I always talk like I'm wigged out on quaaludes
I wear a satin baseball jacket everywhere I go

My job is to help destroy
What's left of your imagination
By feeding you endless doses
Of sugar-coated mindless garbage

So don't create
Be sedate
Be a vegetable at home
And thwack on that dial
If we have our way even you will believe
This is the future of rock and roll

How far will you go
How low will you stoop
To tranquilize our minds with your sugar-coated swill

You've turned rock and roll rebellion
Into Pat Boone sedation
Making sure nothing's left to the imagination

M.T.V. Get off the
M.T.V. Get off the
M.T.V. Get off the air
Get off the air

See the latest rejects from the muppet show
Wag their tits and their dicks
As they lip-synch on screen
There's something I don't like
About a band who always smiles
Another tax write-off
For some schmuck who doesn't care

M.T.V. Get off the air
And so it was
Our beloved corporate gods
Claimed they created rock video
Allowing it to sink as low in one year
As commercial TV has in 25
"It's the new frontier," they say
It's wide open, anything can happen
But you've got a lot of nerve
To call yourself a pioneer
When you're too god-damn conservative
To take real chances.

Tin-eared
Graph-paper brained accountants
Instead of music fans
Call all the shots at giant record companies now

The lowest common denominator rules
Forget honesty
Forget creativity
The dumbest buy the mostest
That's the name of the game

But sales are slumping
And no one will say why
Could it be they put out one too many lousy records?!?

M.T.V.-Get off the air!
NOW

Wed, 04 May 2005 15:45:33 GMT

C’mon with the Blacktooth

I’m tired of womyn saying they have no political power. I mean c’mon, womyn have all the power for one reason and one reason only: they have all the vaginas. Is it a coincidence that God shaped the vagina like a purse? No, it’s not. It a symbol of what it takes to enter the vagina. First you got to fill the purse. You need a pocket book; every girl needs money in her purse. Next you need some car keys; the better the car the better chances. Girls don’t like to put out in the most uncomfortable positions, like the back of a Volkswagen. Next you need some make-up, (metaphorically speaking) a disguise to hide your true self. Make her think your one hot piece of ace.

Womyn have it the easiest in the dating world as well. They make all the rules. “Pick me up at eight, take me to a movie I wanna see, take me to dinner (and they expect you to pay for everything,) listen to my station in your car, and then maybe I’ll kiss you. And If I’m drunk and I invite you do something, its rape.” I mean, c’mon… how can you complain about as much stuff as you do?

All the major holidays were designed for womyn. Valentine’s day; you take her on a very expensive date topped off with a luxurious gift. What does she get you? Candy and fucking card. $2.50 worth of crap. And they completely undermine the only gift we wanted, sex. It’s cheaper than the card and candy. Fuck, we already have the condom too! Mother’s day; what have all of you gotten your mom? Rings, watches, diamonds, earrings maybe even a fancy dinner at a luxurious place like Hometown Buffet or The Sizzler. What does daddy get for Father’s day? He gets a damn tie and a screw driver. “I don’t even wear ties!” I mean c’mon… what did your mommy do? Wow, big deal, she carried your for nine months and ripped a whole in her labia to bring you into this world. Everyone forgets about good ole dad. It takes two to tango, and mommy couldn’t do it herself. Dad is the one who took the job to help feed the hungry, hungry hippo. He quit smoking too! He gave up what he likes best, some hot passion with mommy until you were born and a little bit afterwards. He had too feed lies to her to keep her from having tantrums;
• Do I look fat? - There is only one answer to that, “of course not.” You do what you can to keep her happy and what does she do? She responds with a “you’re just saying that.” Of course we’re just saying that. What the crap do you expect? You do the same exact thing. “Honey is mine big?” Then she’ll respond, “Yeah, its great size. It’s all I need.” Bullshit!
• Do you still think I’m pretty? – You’re head is thinking “no” but your heart and the vein in your penis overrides your cerebrum and forces you to say, “of course.”
• Do you still love me? – I mean, c’mon… of course we still love them. If we didn’t she be all alone living with her mommy talking shit about how we’re callow and we are the biggest cowards. If we’re still there, supporting their ass, it can only mean one thing, we love them. And it’s not the fantasy love you see in the movies where you would risk your life for her, or story book love where she’s the only girl you think about. No, its far too simple than that. It all has to do with convenience. You’re the best week can do and we’re the best you can do. You can admit or you can secretly agree with me in your head. Especially the men. I mean c’mon… it’s easier to stay with one broad then to go shopping in the market for one. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and the competition is too tough. Why go for steak when you get the burgers cooking on the grill at home? Womyn are like parking spaces; all the good ones are taken, the ones available are the one’s no one wants and the rest are handicap. Occasionally a car will leave one leaving the space open, but usually it doesn’t stay open for long. Its first come first serve and the fastest car wins (literally, the fastest car will win. The Mustang, The Jaguar, and The Cobra will always beat the Volkswagen Bug and the Pinto.) It’s just like the jungle.

Men, our purpose in life is to grow up and get married. The next couple of years are spent working like a dog to put food on the table for your wife and kids, especially your little boy, your ticket to Easy Boulevard. You’re tired from work, and all you wanna do is take a nap. But you don’t, you go to the back yard and play catch with your boy. This kid gets good and you have to move because the high school he goes to has a crappy team. You go to all his games, buy him all the equipment, workout with him, and watch the game on Sunday together. Then the boy gets into college to play foot ball and gets in the public eye. Soon he’s drafted into the NFL and before you know it, he wins the super bowl. The camera’s zoom in on his face and the crowd eagerly waits to see what he’s about to say. He opens his mouth, and begins his sentence. “Hi mom!” Hi mom? Hi mom? I mean, c’mon, what the fuck did she do? Remember? She didn’t even want you to play football, “it’s too dangerous.” Remember that? On Sundays she’d take you to church during the game. And on Monday nights, we watched the game and what did she do? What did she do? She made you clean your room do your home work and made you go to bed early so you can get up for school the next day. If it weren’t for good ole dad, you’d be working at a bank, taking shit from rich, white bastards. So know you’re a big shot, you shower your mother with gifts, a new home, new appliances, and even a maid to do all her dirty work now what do you get the man you owe it all to? A brand new car? A big screen TV? No, he gets a brand new set of tools, like he fucking wants to work now that he’s rich. Golf clubs, like golf is a fucking sport. And enough money so he never has to work for the rest of his life. Great now he can spend all his time with the wife.

What upsets me the most is how girls stereotype the boys. We’re often referred to as filthy, lying dogs. Well, fuck you! They act like they live completely honest lives. I mean, c’mon… everything about them is a goddamn lie. Starting with the paint in their hair… it isn’t your real hair color. Or their platform shoes… you’re not that tall. The push-up bra… those breasts aren’t that big. What would you do if you uncovered your boyfriend’s wang was nothing but a 3-incher wrapped around a couple of socks? False advertisement, welcome to the realm we call home.

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 16:04:53 GMT

http://moviepoopshoot.com/old/story.html#shoot if you loved me u'd click it....especially andrew

Sat, 23 Apr 2005 23:32:51 GMT

im sorry mo, but im glad you werent completely mad. i saw the original ho bag..amanda!!! i miss you. i had so much fun. veronica wore red shoes!!!!

The one minute i saw you i remember your red shoes i keep this little memory of you i see you in my mind when i need to Thank you for your red shoes. Some say the world isn't fair at least for one minute i didn't care It's all in how i see it and what i choose Nothing seems black when i see your red shoes Thank you for your red shoes That minute i saw you i remember you and your red shoes now i have his memory of you i see it in my mind when i need too

Mon, 18 Apr 2005 16:05:40 GMT

if you can identify these qoutes, i will marry you.

1) What you need is a fatty-boom-batty blunt, and I guarantee you'll be seeing a sailboat, an ocean, and maybe even some of those big-titted mermaids doing that lesbian shit.

2) Evil is an ABSTRACT! It's a HUMAN construct! But true to his irresponsible nature, Man won't own up to being it's engineer. So he chooses to blame his dark deeds on my ilk. But his selfishness is limitless. It wasn't enough just to shadow his own existence, he turned Hell into a SUFFERING PIT! Fire, wailing, darnkess! The kind of place ANYONE would do ANYTHING to get out of! And why? Because he lacks the ability to forgive himself! It is beyond your comprehension to do simple recompense for the sins you commit. No, you choose instead to invent a psycho-drama and dwell in foundless belief that God could never forgive your grievous offenses. So you bring your guilt and your inner decay with you to Hell where the hoards of thousands of gluttons for punishment infect the abyss since the first one of your kind arrived generations ago, begging to be punished. In doing so, he transformed Hell from cold and solitude to PAIN and MISERY! I've spent eons, privy to the flames, inhaling the decay, hearing the wail of the damned. I KNOW WHAT AFFECT such horrors have on the delicate psyche of an angelic being!

3) Yeah, hello, this is RST Video, customer number 4352, I need to place an order. Okay, I need one each of the following tapes: "Whispers in the Wind", "To Each His Own", "Put It Where It Doesn't Belong", "My Pipes Need Cleaning", "All Tit-Fucking Volume 8", "I Need Your Cock", "Ass-Worshipping Rim-Jobbers", "My Cunt Needs Shafts", "Cum Clean", "Cum-Gargling Naked Sluts", "Cum Buns III", "Cumming in Socks", "Cum On Eileen", "Huge Black Cocks and Pearly White Cum", "Girls Who Crave Cock", "Girls Who Crave Cunt", "Men Alone II: the KY Connection", "Pink Pussy Lips", and, uh, oh yeah, "All Holes Filled with Hard Cock". Uh-huh... yeah... Oh, wait, and, what was that called again?

4) For years in this industry, whenever an African American character, hero or villain, was introduced - usually by white artists and writers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes. Now, my book, "White-Hating Coon," don't have none of that bullshit. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's descended from the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you European motherfuckers were hiding out in caves and shit, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black reader can look up to. Cause I'm here to tell you, the chickens is coming home to roost, y'all. The black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the realm of comics and sci-fi fantasy. We keepin it real, and we gonna get respect by any means necessary.

5) All you motherfuckers are gonna pay. You are the ones who are the ball-lickers. We're gonna fuck your mothers while you watch and cry like little bitches. Once we get to Hollywood and find those Miramax fucks who are making that movie, we're gonna make 'em eat our shit, then shit out our shit, then eat their shit which is made up of our shit that we made 'em eat. Then you're all you motherfucks are next.

good luck...i place my bet on andrew thad or chris, fat.