After Barnacle Bill identifies himself as the one knocking on the fair young maiden's door, she tells him she'll come down and let him in. This is how Barnacle Bill responds:
Well hurry before I bust in the door
I'll rare and tear and rant and roar.
I'll spin ya yarns and tell ya lies
I'll drink your wine and eat your pies
I'll kiss your cheeks and black your eyes...
(He's Barnacle Bill the sailor).
Well, it seems to me that Barney and I would have been good pals. Not that I support blacking the eyes of anyone, especially a woman, but hell, at least he's up front about that. Now, if I were that maiden, I'd probably not open the door after I heard Bill's proclamation intended physical abuse, but that's just me.
I have some friends that are similar to Barnacle Bill, actually. Not that they beat up women, but they're just a little rough around the edges. The difference is that of all the people I know personally who bust in doors, spin yarns, drink wine, eat pies, and blacken eyes, not a single one ever admit to it. Certainly not right outta the gate like that. And, if something crazy does happen on account of their gallivantin' and carousin', they usually have some excuse. I think they oughtta chest up a bit. Take some responsibility and let everyone know they might get hammered and punch things. Let everyone know what they're up against. If all those cards on on the table right away, who could blame Barnacle Bill if he knocks someone out?
Personally, I fall more in line with Willie and Waylon (the Outlaws) in "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys". There they say:
Cowboys like smokey old pool rooms and clear mountain mornin's,
little warm puppies and children and girls of the night.
Them that don't know 'im won't like 'im
and them that do sometimes won't know how ta take 'im.
He ain't wrong he's just differ'nt, but his pride won't let 'im
do things to make you think he's right.
See? Those guys won't let nobody dictate what they can and can't enjoy. Neither do they feel obligated to 'splain it. That's why I don't feel conflicted about liking whiskey and cigareetes (in relative moderation) and still feeling like a good dad. It's why it doesn't seem weird for me to love museums and academia as much as I like farts, football and boobs. I'm done feelin' guilty about who I am. I have good moods and bad. I love life too much not to explore it... good and bad. Besides that, I'm done letting society determine what is "good" or "bad". I think I'm capable of making that decision on my own, thanks.
"If ya don't understand 'im and he don't die young, he'll prolly just ride away."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Being a young, middle class white American male is really tough, man. Everything I say is racist and insensitive. Goddamn minos. I just invented that slur for all recognized "minority" groups in the world (psst... that means any human being on earth, as well as a few animal species).
Everyone has stereotypes and prejudices, and sometimes they're funny, but you can't always say so. Unless whoever you're laughing at is a middle class white American guy. Everyone can make fun them, whenever or where ever they please. That's ok by me, but the thing of it is, I can't really make fun of anyone else. Ever. Or, if I do, it has to be in the the most light hearted, unoffensive way possible. It's true I sometimes walk around in public in a blue blazer and tie, whistling Perry Como tunes and being extraordinarily polite to people. I even make it a point to over-enunciate, just for humorous effect. It's hilarious because there are times when I'm a living, breathing stereotype. In fact, I dare anyone not to laugh and point if I actually do try to dance (which I only do after copious amounts of Pabst Blue Ribbon). There are few things that can generate such a resounding chorus of instant laughter and merrymaking at the expense of another. Of course, I feel guilty for getting a chuckle out of a Mexican dude in a truck that's horn plays a snippet of "La Cucaracha" and the back window is a giant Jesus sticker. And God forbid I admit to thinking a Jerry Curl is a hilarious hair style, or laugh myself to tears at the latest Baliwood show-stopping musical numbers while checking out some "Namaste America".
If only I could be a real minority, I'd be given the "Carlos Mencia Get out of Jail Free Card". That is to say, because he's a Mexican guy, it's ok for him make fun of his own people. It's also ok for him to tease all other recognized minority groups, weather or not he's a card carrier (i.e. handicapped people, fat people, gays or any ethnic group). I wish I had that card too. I want to spread the love. Even my having a gay mom and members of my immediate family of every race color and creed does not grant me access to this magical well of hilarity. Unfortunately, I can only make fun of myself; and that's no fun at all because everyone's already doing it for me. I don't want to steal their jokes, so I just make fun of the British.
Think of that combination of words without a negative connotation for a moment. Make and Fun. Sounds like a party I'd go to, I don't know about you...
Laughing is a good thing. Violence and hatred on the other hand, are wiggita wiggita wack. I say let's laugh at each other. Let's laugh together, and instead of throwing stones at one another, throw them at Bill O'Riley. He's the real douche. A kind of person who does hate, and is therefore incapable of seeing humor in trunk jewelery. He doesn't know why Perry Como is funny. The bass line of a Mexican polka or corrido does not crack him up. Neither does a Jewish guy haggling over one lemon at the grocery store. Instead, all of these are "offensive". All of these piss him off, and now we're not allowed to laugh at them. What a cock gobbler.
It shows progress when we can all make fun of each other. Equally.
Everyone has stereotypes and prejudices, and sometimes they're funny, but you can't always say so. Unless whoever you're laughing at is a middle class white American guy. Everyone can make fun them, whenever or where ever they please. That's ok by me, but the thing of it is, I can't really make fun of anyone else. Ever. Or, if I do, it has to be in the the most light hearted, unoffensive way possible. It's true I sometimes walk around in public in a blue blazer and tie, whistling Perry Como tunes and being extraordinarily polite to people. I even make it a point to over-enunciate, just for humorous effect. It's hilarious because there are times when I'm a living, breathing stereotype. In fact, I dare anyone not to laugh and point if I actually do try to dance (which I only do after copious amounts of Pabst Blue Ribbon). There are few things that can generate such a resounding chorus of instant laughter and merrymaking at the expense of another. Of course, I feel guilty for getting a chuckle out of a Mexican dude in a truck that's horn plays a snippet of "La Cucaracha" and the back window is a giant Jesus sticker. And God forbid I admit to thinking a Jerry Curl is a hilarious hair style, or laugh myself to tears at the latest Baliwood show-stopping musical numbers while checking out some "Namaste America".
If only I could be a real minority, I'd be given the "Carlos Mencia Get out of Jail Free Card". That is to say, because he's a Mexican guy, it's ok for him make fun of his own people. It's also ok for him to tease all other recognized minority groups, weather or not he's a card carrier (i.e. handicapped people, fat people, gays or any ethnic group). I wish I had that card too. I want to spread the love. Even my having a gay mom and members of my immediate family of every race color and creed does not grant me access to this magical well of hilarity. Unfortunately, I can only make fun of myself; and that's no fun at all because everyone's already doing it for me. I don't want to steal their jokes, so I just make fun of the British.
Think of that combination of words without a negative connotation for a moment. Make and Fun. Sounds like a party I'd go to, I don't know about you...
Laughing is a good thing. Violence and hatred on the other hand, are wiggita wiggita wack. I say let's laugh at each other. Let's laugh together, and instead of throwing stones at one another, throw them at Bill O'Riley. He's the real douche. A kind of person who does hate, and is therefore incapable of seeing humor in trunk jewelery. He doesn't know why Perry Como is funny. The bass line of a Mexican polka or corrido does not crack him up. Neither does a Jewish guy haggling over one lemon at the grocery store. Instead, all of these are "offensive". All of these piss him off, and now we're not allowed to laugh at them. What a cock gobbler.
It shows progress when we can all make fun of each other. Equally.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Merchant/Atlas in '08!
I don't want to get up here and preach politics, Fat Ass, but things are getting complicated. Now we're bombing mud huts in Somalia? Hmm... The only place on the globe that's more unstable than Iraq (and we all know where that got us).
Now, while I despise almost all politicians (jackass and elephant), and emphatically disagree with just about everything they say or do, I don't want to start singling people out (ahem, Bush/Cheyney). And while it pains me deep in my soul to see what's happening in the Middle East (Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Israel, Somalia) no one can just undo what's happened. Nor can we sit here in our comfortably air conditioned office buildings, or quaint little country bungalows pretending that nothings happening about which intelligent and decent people should be concerned. We are at war, and as heart breaking as that is, there's no going back. We've got to find a solution, and just about everything our current leaders (demos and repubs alike) have done has failed miserably thus far. I'm afraid for the future of America, the country I dearly love. I think there's only one thing to do. Elect Larry Merchant as President.
Larry Merchant knows fighting. Not only that, but he's well connected, well spoken and has the stones to bust through a post fight melee in a ring, walk up to a 250lb pugilist who's just proven that he can single handedly beat up anyone in the world, stick a mic in the face of said pug and call him a bum. He's belligerent at times, but no one can argue with him. He'll always tell you like it is. Larry Merchant never lies, and he has no fear. Once, while discussing George Foreman's incredible feat of becoming the oldest man to win a Heavyweight Championship at age 45, Jim Lampley said, "It's one of the greatest performances in sports history. Some people compare it to Jack Nicholas winning the Masters at age 46." To which Larry responded (quite appropriately, if you ask me), "Say what you may, Jim, but no one was punching Jack Nicholas in the face when he won the Masters!"
Larry's running mate (VP) could be Teddy Atlas... the ex fighter who sounds like he might be retarded, but then shocks listeners with insightful, well composed commentary. That's another guy who knows how to win a fight. Also, Teddy can beat your ass. I promise. It's said that he once held a gun to a young Mike Tyson's head (whom Atlas trained in the early years under Cus D'Amato) when Iron Mike made an unwelcome pass at a female relative of Teddy's. Atlas also is credited with predicting Tyson's downfall due to his personal conduct and jackassery. Teddy knew that acting a fool would bring about the merciless ass whupin' Tyson received at the hands of Buster Douglas, and continued to receive by every notable fighter hence.
Larry Merchant, as noted above, is known to be belligerent at times, and this will not do if he is to become president. Also, he tends to ride Manny Pacquiao's nuts a little too much (in my personal opinion). Fortunately though, he can hire Burt Sugar to be his first advisor. Burt Sugar may be the only man with not only the stones, but also the knowledge and ability to wax poetic to put Larry in check when he gets outta hand. Burt's got sand in his craw enough to make Merchant listen up.
Now, once we all go vote for Merchant/Atlas in '08, they can appoint some of their peeps (I believe that's the most grammatically appropriate term for them) to other cabinet positions. Emanuel Stewart as Secretary of Defense, for instance. I'm telling you right now, there is no one better. All anyone needs to do is listen to Emanuel Stewart, and he'll tell you how to win a fight, no matter the circumstance. I'll bet if we called him right now, he'd have a better Strategy for Iraq.
Do I even need to mention who'd make the best Secretary of the Treasury? You guessed it. Don King. Oh c'mon, you and I both know that Don King is no less villainous or ruthless than any of the old white politicians who currently handle our nations finances. Besides that, who (other than those guys previously mentioned) is going to fuck with Don King? No one, that's who.
George Foreman can fit in there too. I'd like to see him as Press Secretary. Here's an example of his natural talent for diverting the nation's attention. In 1997, he fought Shannon Briggs, a big, hard hitting heavyweight. Foreman was 48 years old at the time (though closer to 49), and proceeded to beat Briggs' 26 year old ass for at least 8 out of 12 rounds. When the fight was over, however, the judges gave the fight to Briggs. Amongst a thunderous chorus of boos from the crowd, Larry Merchant shoves his way through the ring to stick a mic in Foreman's face. Larry asked him if he was upset about the decision, since it'd been clear to everyone watching that Foreman was easily the winner. (paraphrasing) "He's a young guy, Larry, and I'm old and gettin' ready to retire. He needs it a lot more than I do. I ain't mad. By the way, I'm 48 years old, and I feel great after 12 rounds of boxing. You know how I stay in such good shape? By usin' the George Foreman Grill every morning..." At this point, Merchant interrupts, saying something like, "George, can we talk about the fight?" To which Foreman responded, "I GOT to sell my grill, Larry!" Now, if that doesn't demonstrate a natural ability to get people to ignore an 800 pound gorilla in the room, I don't know what is; and isn't that the job of the Press Secretary? I think so.
There's more to mention here, like appointing some boxing judges to the Supreme Court. I mean, as long as we're calling things how they are, boxing judges are no more crooked than some of those who are Justices right now. And, at least we'd know that rather than pretend it ain't so like we do today.
Look, if we're in a fight, and we're losing, we need to take action. If we keep losing rounds, we'll need a knockout to win. Those boxing personalities mentioned above would clean up the face of modern American politics. Wow! You know things are bad when it's up to BOXING personalities to clean up politics, but at least the corruption in the boxing world is blatant and on the table. No one tries to hide from it or deny it. Sadly, that's WAY more honest than just about anyone in Washington right now. I like my coffee black and my corruption apparent. That's how I roll.
Merchant/Atlas in '08!
Now, while I despise almost all politicians (jackass and elephant), and emphatically disagree with just about everything they say or do, I don't want to start singling people out (ahem, Bush/Cheyney). And while it pains me deep in my soul to see what's happening in the Middle East (Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Israel, Somalia) no one can just undo what's happened. Nor can we sit here in our comfortably air conditioned office buildings, or quaint little country bungalows pretending that nothings happening about which intelligent and decent people should be concerned. We are at war, and as heart breaking as that is, there's no going back. We've got to find a solution, and just about everything our current leaders (demos and repubs alike) have done has failed miserably thus far. I'm afraid for the future of America, the country I dearly love. I think there's only one thing to do. Elect Larry Merchant as President.
Larry Merchant knows fighting. Not only that, but he's well connected, well spoken and has the stones to bust through a post fight melee in a ring, walk up to a 250lb pugilist who's just proven that he can single handedly beat up anyone in the world, stick a mic in the face of said pug and call him a bum. He's belligerent at times, but no one can argue with him. He'll always tell you like it is. Larry Merchant never lies, and he has no fear. Once, while discussing George Foreman's incredible feat of becoming the oldest man to win a Heavyweight Championship at age 45, Jim Lampley said, "It's one of the greatest performances in sports history. Some people compare it to Jack Nicholas winning the Masters at age 46." To which Larry responded (quite appropriately, if you ask me), "Say what you may, Jim, but no one was punching Jack Nicholas in the face when he won the Masters!"
Larry's running mate (VP) could be Teddy Atlas... the ex fighter who sounds like he might be retarded, but then shocks listeners with insightful, well composed commentary. That's another guy who knows how to win a fight. Also, Teddy can beat your ass. I promise. It's said that he once held a gun to a young Mike Tyson's head (whom Atlas trained in the early years under Cus D'Amato) when Iron Mike made an unwelcome pass at a female relative of Teddy's. Atlas also is credited with predicting Tyson's downfall due to his personal conduct and jackassery. Teddy knew that acting a fool would bring about the merciless ass whupin' Tyson received at the hands of Buster Douglas, and continued to receive by every notable fighter hence.
Larry Merchant, as noted above, is known to be belligerent at times, and this will not do if he is to become president. Also, he tends to ride Manny Pacquiao's nuts a little too much (in my personal opinion). Fortunately though, he can hire Burt Sugar to be his first advisor. Burt Sugar may be the only man with not only the stones, but also the knowledge and ability to wax poetic to put Larry in check when he gets outta hand. Burt's got sand in his craw enough to make Merchant listen up.
Now, once we all go vote for Merchant/Atlas in '08, they can appoint some of their peeps (I believe that's the most grammatically appropriate term for them) to other cabinet positions. Emanuel Stewart as Secretary of Defense, for instance. I'm telling you right now, there is no one better. All anyone needs to do is listen to Emanuel Stewart, and he'll tell you how to win a fight, no matter the circumstance. I'll bet if we called him right now, he'd have a better Strategy for Iraq.
Do I even need to mention who'd make the best Secretary of the Treasury? You guessed it. Don King. Oh c'mon, you and I both know that Don King is no less villainous or ruthless than any of the old white politicians who currently handle our nations finances. Besides that, who (other than those guys previously mentioned) is going to fuck with Don King? No one, that's who.
George Foreman can fit in there too. I'd like to see him as Press Secretary. Here's an example of his natural talent for diverting the nation's attention. In 1997, he fought Shannon Briggs, a big, hard hitting heavyweight. Foreman was 48 years old at the time (though closer to 49), and proceeded to beat Briggs' 26 year old ass for at least 8 out of 12 rounds. When the fight was over, however, the judges gave the fight to Briggs. Amongst a thunderous chorus of boos from the crowd, Larry Merchant shoves his way through the ring to stick a mic in Foreman's face. Larry asked him if he was upset about the decision, since it'd been clear to everyone watching that Foreman was easily the winner. (paraphrasing) "He's a young guy, Larry, and I'm old and gettin' ready to retire. He needs it a lot more than I do. I ain't mad. By the way, I'm 48 years old, and I feel great after 12 rounds of boxing. You know how I stay in such good shape? By usin' the George Foreman Grill every morning..." At this point, Merchant interrupts, saying something like, "George, can we talk about the fight?" To which Foreman responded, "I GOT to sell my grill, Larry!" Now, if that doesn't demonstrate a natural ability to get people to ignore an 800 pound gorilla in the room, I don't know what is; and isn't that the job of the Press Secretary? I think so.
There's more to mention here, like appointing some boxing judges to the Supreme Court. I mean, as long as we're calling things how they are, boxing judges are no more crooked than some of those who are Justices right now. And, at least we'd know that rather than pretend it ain't so like we do today.
Look, if we're in a fight, and we're losing, we need to take action. If we keep losing rounds, we'll need a knockout to win. Those boxing personalities mentioned above would clean up the face of modern American politics. Wow! You know things are bad when it's up to BOXING personalities to clean up politics, but at least the corruption in the boxing world is blatant and on the table. No one tries to hide from it or deny it. Sadly, that's WAY more honest than just about anyone in Washington right now. I like my coffee black and my corruption apparent. That's how I roll.
Merchant/Atlas in '08!
Monday, January 8, 2007
Mike MacDonald from Rude Buddha was there...
This weekend my cousin was in town. He's a good guy, that one, and he loves to mix things up. Stir the pot a little bit.
Whenever someone comes to LA for the first time, the host (that would be me in this for instance) is under the unspoken obligation to play "tour guide" to an extent. Fortunately for me, I live right on Hollywood Blvd, so a liesurely stroll down to the Walk of Fame is always in order. After that, being in Hollywood, the next stop is usually the Sunset Strip.
Now, the Strip is a place I generally avoid at almost any cost. Driving through it is one thing, but actually getting out of the car and spending time down there is quite another. My cousin is the kind of guy though, who would really thrive in a place like that. A sea of young, beautiful idiots. Oh yes, that's a playground for a guy like him.
My brother Jake, his girlfrined Heather and I hopped a cab and took our kin folk down to the Saddle Ranch. You know, that crazy bar with the mechanical bull? Yeah. Anyway my cousin had a plan, which we excecuted at least ten times that evening, and which turned out to be a hell of a lot of fun.
He'd find a group of two or more cute girls, then cassually stroll over there to order his drink. After a few minutes, I'd then walk over as if just passing by, and as I did, I'd do a double take on my cuz. "Excuse me," I'd say, "Are you Mike MacDonald from Rude Buddha?" He'd act flattered and a little coy before admitting to being the one and only. I'd then ask for a quick autograph, and my cousin the fake celebrity would be happy to oblige. Unfortunately, he didn't have a pen. Uh oh. Neither did I. Well, maybe this group of hot girls has one? Sure enough, I'd get a quick signature, then proclaim my admiration for his music one more time, and I'd be on my way. I could hear twitterpated girls giggling and asking him to sign their arms, napkins and other various keepsakes.
This racket worked like a charm. There were a couple of times I'd ask some girls to take a quick photo of me with him, and hand them my phone. Then, inevitably, they'd all want a pic with him too. It'll be great for myspace!
Nothing came of this scam, except a rockin' good time. That's the way I like it. No harm done, just funnin' with people. That's all. There were no hurt feelings, and no one lost or gained anything, really. That's my kind of yarn. Spreading love through the telling of a little white lie. A lie that we wanted to tell, and most people wanted to hear.
Whenever someone comes to LA for the first time, the host (that would be me in this for instance) is under the unspoken obligation to play "tour guide" to an extent. Fortunately for me, I live right on Hollywood Blvd, so a liesurely stroll down to the Walk of Fame is always in order. After that, being in Hollywood, the next stop is usually the Sunset Strip.
Now, the Strip is a place I generally avoid at almost any cost. Driving through it is one thing, but actually getting out of the car and spending time down there is quite another. My cousin is the kind of guy though, who would really thrive in a place like that. A sea of young, beautiful idiots. Oh yes, that's a playground for a guy like him.
My brother Jake, his girlfrined Heather and I hopped a cab and took our kin folk down to the Saddle Ranch. You know, that crazy bar with the mechanical bull? Yeah. Anyway my cousin had a plan, which we excecuted at least ten times that evening, and which turned out to be a hell of a lot of fun.
He'd find a group of two or more cute girls, then cassually stroll over there to order his drink. After a few minutes, I'd then walk over as if just passing by, and as I did, I'd do a double take on my cuz. "Excuse me," I'd say, "Are you Mike MacDonald from Rude Buddha?" He'd act flattered and a little coy before admitting to being the one and only. I'd then ask for a quick autograph, and my cousin the fake celebrity would be happy to oblige. Unfortunately, he didn't have a pen. Uh oh. Neither did I. Well, maybe this group of hot girls has one? Sure enough, I'd get a quick signature, then proclaim my admiration for his music one more time, and I'd be on my way. I could hear twitterpated girls giggling and asking him to sign their arms, napkins and other various keepsakes.
This racket worked like a charm. There were a couple of times I'd ask some girls to take a quick photo of me with him, and hand them my phone. Then, inevitably, they'd all want a pic with him too. It'll be great for myspace!
Nothing came of this scam, except a rockin' good time. That's the way I like it. No harm done, just funnin' with people. That's all. There were no hurt feelings, and no one lost or gained anything, really. That's my kind of yarn. Spreading love through the telling of a little white lie. A lie that we wanted to tell, and most people wanted to hear.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Ugh. I'm really hung over this morning, Heavy D. Help me.
The bar is a strange and magical place. I feel like I can keep on drinkin, and nothing will happen to me. I never realize how drunk I am until I get home... then it's all gloom and doom. Last night, I was dizzy, but hanging in there just fine until I walked in my front door, then all that Pabst and whiskey sucker punched me in the stomach. Don't worry though, we walked there and back home. Sober driving is an issue I can (and do) really get behind. I mean, let's face it, if you drink and drive, you really are an asshole, and if (God willing) you get home safely, someone should hit you in the face while you're sleeping. Jack Daniels is an ass hole too. He pretends to be cool... like he's all fun and light hearted and shit, but he is not your friend, or mine. Let's not hang out with him anymore.
Even if I'm not hung over like this, I still feel like an ass after a night of hangin' out with Jack. He always turns me into a buffoon. Why then, do I insist of maintaining his friendship? Honestly, I don't even know. Last night, he was like, "I think you should tell that English girl about your fake hatred for her countrymen. She'll think that's funny." Nope. She didn't. Jack was wrong again. She spent the rest of the evening insisting to me that she was only half British. And despite my many attempts to explain the joke, it didn't sink in. Jesus those damn Limeys are a thick headed bunch of stuck up douche bags.
That's just a little humor for ya. Get it...? Because I was just complaining about the English not getting my joke about hating the English. THen I made a derogatory comment about the English, as if I really do hate them. See... it's funny because I'm contradicting myself. Y'know, like how sometimes it's funny to say the opposite of what you really mean? And sometimes, it's funny to purposely ruin a joke.
(hurl)
Anyone got an alka-seltzer?
The bar is a strange and magical place. I feel like I can keep on drinkin, and nothing will happen to me. I never realize how drunk I am until I get home... then it's all gloom and doom. Last night, I was dizzy, but hanging in there just fine until I walked in my front door, then all that Pabst and whiskey sucker punched me in the stomach. Don't worry though, we walked there and back home. Sober driving is an issue I can (and do) really get behind. I mean, let's face it, if you drink and drive, you really are an asshole, and if (God willing) you get home safely, someone should hit you in the face while you're sleeping. Jack Daniels is an ass hole too. He pretends to be cool... like he's all fun and light hearted and shit, but he is not your friend, or mine. Let's not hang out with him anymore.
Even if I'm not hung over like this, I still feel like an ass after a night of hangin' out with Jack. He always turns me into a buffoon. Why then, do I insist of maintaining his friendship? Honestly, I don't even know. Last night, he was like, "I think you should tell that English girl about your fake hatred for her countrymen. She'll think that's funny." Nope. She didn't. Jack was wrong again. She spent the rest of the evening insisting to me that she was only half British. And despite my many attempts to explain the joke, it didn't sink in. Jesus those damn Limeys are a thick headed bunch of stuck up douche bags.
That's just a little humor for ya. Get it...? Because I was just complaining about the English not getting my joke about hating the English. THen I made a derogatory comment about the English, as if I really do hate them. See... it's funny because I'm contradicting myself. Y'know, like how sometimes it's funny to say the opposite of what you really mean? And sometimes, it's funny to purposely ruin a joke.
(hurl)
Anyone got an alka-seltzer?
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Hi Bitch Tits! Are you losing weight? Oh. It doesn't look like it, I just said that to rub it in.
So I've been working with a company recently called Ownit Mortgage Solutions, trying to get some of their turn downs. I met with the owner twice, and things seemed to be going well, though he didn't really send anything my way. Well, I opened the business section of the LA Times yesterday, and to my surprise, saw a huge article about Ownit explaining how they went belly up in a hurry. They went into the toilet so fast, and so severely in fact, that they can't even pay their employees. Wow. Guess I'm not the only grifter in this business.
Speaking of grifting, I've been thinking of starting a weekly Video Blog, or "vlog" in addition to this one. Any of you computer savvy butt nuggets out there have any advice on that? I mean, my ideer was to shoot it on a reg'ler digital camera I have, then edit it in iMovie. I could then upload it to Youtube, and post it here, right? I have however seen other people forego youtube, and post their videos directly on to their sites. Is this a better option? Why? Does anyone know how to do that? Oh, c'mon, don't get all upset because I called you a butt nugget. I was only kiddin'... fuckin' douche nozzle.
Vlogging might be fun. I once took the ol' camera out on a late night Hollywood romp with Lexi, and who should jump out of a van to scold me for filming a passed out bum? Ghost Face Killa of the Wu Tang Clan, Theodor Unit, that's who. At first, I didn't believe it was him, but when I asked for confirmation, he opened his jacket displaying and extensive collection of ridiculous bling. I was momentarily blinded by the street lights bouncing off his insanely gawdy ice. Had Mr. T not pimpped out Nancy Reagan in his younger days, I'm certain he'd be jealous.
Anyway, your thoughts would be much appreciated. I'll try to get another sumpin' sumpin' up here later on. Until then, keep on keepin' on. Send me your ideers and advice. I'm lookin' at you, Nitz, Riz and J-Bo. Butt holes.
Kisses!
Kory
So I've been working with a company recently called Ownit Mortgage Solutions, trying to get some of their turn downs. I met with the owner twice, and things seemed to be going well, though he didn't really send anything my way. Well, I opened the business section of the LA Times yesterday, and to my surprise, saw a huge article about Ownit explaining how they went belly up in a hurry. They went into the toilet so fast, and so severely in fact, that they can't even pay their employees. Wow. Guess I'm not the only grifter in this business.
Speaking of grifting, I've been thinking of starting a weekly Video Blog, or "vlog" in addition to this one. Any of you computer savvy butt nuggets out there have any advice on that? I mean, my ideer was to shoot it on a reg'ler digital camera I have, then edit it in iMovie. I could then upload it to Youtube, and post it here, right? I have however seen other people forego youtube, and post their videos directly on to their sites. Is this a better option? Why? Does anyone know how to do that? Oh, c'mon, don't get all upset because I called you a butt nugget. I was only kiddin'... fuckin' douche nozzle.
Vlogging might be fun. I once took the ol' camera out on a late night Hollywood romp with Lexi, and who should jump out of a van to scold me for filming a passed out bum? Ghost Face Killa of the Wu Tang Clan, Theodor Unit, that's who. At first, I didn't believe it was him, but when I asked for confirmation, he opened his jacket displaying and extensive collection of ridiculous bling. I was momentarily blinded by the street lights bouncing off his insanely gawdy ice. Had Mr. T not pimpped out Nancy Reagan in his younger days, I'm certain he'd be jealous.
Anyway, your thoughts would be much appreciated. I'll try to get another sumpin' sumpin' up here later on. Until then, keep on keepin' on. Send me your ideers and advice. I'm lookin' at you, Nitz, Riz and J-Bo. Butt holes.
Kisses!
Kory
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Nothing Doing
Today has been a lonesome day
Today has been a
Lonesome day
Today has been a lonesome day
looks like tomorrow 'll be the same old way.
Nothing to write about this morning, guys. Sorry. Back in my skirt chasin' days, I used to tell dames that I was really only good for about 3 dates. After that, I run out of material. Sometimes, they'd think that was charming, assuming I was only kidding and that I always had lots of clever things to talk about; then they'd realize that what I said was fairly accurate and they'd stop returning my phone calls. ha ha!
Here is a hilarious picture I came accross recently:
Nancy Reagan on the lap of Mr. T, kissing him.
While I disagree with Ronald Reagan politics, I sure think he was a swell guy. I mean, anyone who makes jokes just seconds after they get shot is automatically cool in my book. Being cool though, doesn't mean you'd make a great president. It does however save you from being both a poor fool, and thus pittied by a large man with a mohawk and a shit load of trunk jewelery.
Represent indeed, sir.
Today has been a
Lonesome day
Today has been a lonesome day
looks like tomorrow 'll be the same old way.
Nothing to write about this morning, guys. Sorry. Back in my skirt chasin' days, I used to tell dames that I was really only good for about 3 dates. After that, I run out of material. Sometimes, they'd think that was charming, assuming I was only kidding and that I always had lots of clever things to talk about; then they'd realize that what I said was fairly accurate and they'd stop returning my phone calls. ha ha!
Here is a hilarious picture I came accross recently:
Nancy Reagan on the lap of Mr. T, kissing him.
While I disagree with Ronald Reagan politics, I sure think he was a swell guy. I mean, anyone who makes jokes just seconds after they get shot is automatically cool in my book. Being cool though, doesn't mean you'd make a great president. It does however save you from being both a poor fool, and thus pittied by a large man with a mohawk and a shit load of trunk jewelery.
Represent indeed, sir.
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