FREE/SAVE TIBET/FERRIS

if, by some miracle, i manage to survive the ensuing deluge of poo-poo heading straight for me at 60-70 knots, please let's celebrate with an international festival of love and joy this coming wednesday. in the meantime, however, please begin a nationwide campaign in my honor, selling as many FREE NAV t-shirt, buttons, painter's caps, slap bracelets, trapper-keepers, and acid-wash parachute pants as possible. in fact, why don't you paint SAVE FUCKFACE on some watertowers in your area. we'll all know that by "FUCKFACE" you really mean "me."

gosh that sure would make me feel better. you know what doesn't make me feel better? parliament lights. what diseased mind conjured up such a foul device, i'll never know...

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CLICK!

click!

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OW, MY BRAIN!

if you commit first degree murder by giving someone third degree burns, do they send you to second grade?

jesus christ my brain hurts...

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PS

oh, and if for any reason i happen to die any time soon, someone please publish my blog, take the meager sales revenue and blow it all on horses and prostitutes. what you do with either is your choice.

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AW SHUCKS, KENNETH

and all this time i thought highschool was about orgies.

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NIGHT SWIMMING

i hosted a dinner party tonight that ended in supremely illegal drunken swimming that promises to get me good and evicted from this straight-laced business of mine. unfortunately, those that i would have preferred to drink with, Reckless, Nelio, Pete, Doris, Em, Reg, and Nik were sadly absent from tonight's festivities.

much love in these trying times. keep hope alive....

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SUCH AN ODD ONE, THIS ONE

on occasion, i've had the idea that there are really a number of very different people swimming around in my brain-soup, talented people of course. why, just yesterday i absently conjured up an image of walking into the middle of a silent wheatfield and opening my wrists to the dusklight, not to die, mind you, but so that my blood could push its way into the black earth like roots while my body wilted and withered away. i must say, minus the blood, it was a very beautiful Marquezian image of natural immortality. then later, when i had to use the bathroom, i caught the image of myself in the mirror and lamented, "(sigh)... so much dick and so little to do..."

both are a bit odd in their own right, and these, of course, are things i would never discuss in polite society, but i think they each illustrate the power of unhinging the creative mind to perform above and beyond what is normally required in an average day. don't be afraid of your freedom, bitches.

word.

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YOU FUCKIN' DIE, I SAID...

well thanks a fucking lot. thanks a big fucking lot, fucker. thanks for stealing my bike. yea, thanks. that's real nice. because i can totally afford another bike. nice. oh yea, like i'm not fucking unemployed and don't have any income or anything. right. thanks a big fat fucking lot. or that it's two miles to class, yea, i guess you thought of that, didn't you, asshole. well you just fucking die, shithead. you fuckin' die, i said...

fuck.       you.

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HMMMMM...

ok here's something fairly fucked up: i was letting my mind wander on its own little demented tangents, as i often do in moments of boredom, about what it would be like to get into a massive car accident. i know. it's fucked up. i don't mean i want anyone to get hurt, including me, but it would be a real trip to drive off a bridge, a really tall bridge, into the water. it would be a thrill, wouldn't it? i wouldn't want to die, though, that'd be a drag.

i wouldn't want my car to get hurt, either...

anyone else think about fucked up things like that? i can't be the only one.

rock.

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YARRRRRRGH!

i'm bringin' the beard back, bitches...

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ME LUCKY CHARM(S)

i don't want to jinx it, but watching the yankees go down tonight against the LAA'soA (or whatever the fuck i have to call them now) made me think that perhaps i'm the catalyst that brings the good mojo to the baseball teams... first the blessed, blessed BoSox (to whom i pledge my undying loyalty and my hetero-sports-crushes 4-eva) and now the Angels...

wait....

technically if i'm the catalyst, i'm merely decreasing the activation energy of the reaction from not mojo to mojo... well... in reality i'm only increasing the likelihood of a Team-Mojo* intermediate with equal chances of converting back to Team + Mojo as TeamMojo, but we can assume both BostonMojo and LAMojo were present in exceedingly small quantities, so let's just ignore the rate-limiting Team-Mojo* to TeamMojo conversion and focus on the Team + Mojo step and, given the relatively fast rate to which the Red Sox and the Angels were converted to the TeamMojo product, we might assume k_{(lucky charm)} of the Mojination reaction is large? yes? However, i'll need to wait until the '05 world series before i can assign V_max... if LA fails to win the series this year, do we assume i have a higher affinity for Boston than LA? or am i ignoring the competitive [NY]?

we'll just have to wait and see, but the algebra for the postseason becomes exceedingly complex as the playoffs continue.

i'll keep you posted.

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DIE, DIE PAT BENATAR

dear ms. benatar,
throughout my life i have enjoyed your music. from the first time i heard "invincible" vis a vis the kids-can-make-a-difference-too epic, the legend of billie jean, to the haunting "love is a battlefield," and, let us not forget, the ever-poignant "hit me with your best shot," i have stood by you in true Child of the Eighties loyalty. we have grown and blossomed together; you into a seasoned and legendary performer... nay.... vocal powerhouse, and i a young man.

however, after watching the popular reality show, filthy rich cattle drive, featuring a daughter that i've been informed you and neil giraldo sired together in a once-blessed-yet-now-cursed union, i feel a powerful compulsion to destroy any record of my participation in, or association with your music. furthermore, i've taken to a "seek and destroy" attitude towards any likeness of you, the mention of your name, or the use of any/all the lyrics from any of your songs in polite conversation (up to and including the words "love," "is," and "battlefield"). in addition, i find myself absently carving "DIE, DIE PAT BENATAR" into my skin, and seriously investigating the possibility of traveling back in time to kill you, therefore eliminating the slightest chance that you might have any additional children whose mere existence threatens the existence of the universe, itself.

please understand that, previous to this past weekend, i could sing every line to "we belong" with the deepest of devotion, so you can imagine my disappointment when i discovered the song did not, in fact, refer to a lost love affair with a man from your past, rather a lost love affair with The Dark Lord, himself; an affair that produced the hellish beast of a she-devil you may or may not claim as your own... pardon the expression... flesh and blood.

how could you do this to us, pat benatar? we loved you so, but now...

well, now i'm left with no choice but to bid you a bitter farewell. i'm not one to judge another person on the character they've instilled in their offspring, but i do have one lingering question for you that i think you'll agree deserves a thoughtful response before we part company for good:

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND, PAT BENATAR? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND??

why, oh why haven't you commissioned an angry mob of simple, luddite, english farmers to stab at your daughter with greasy pitchforks, hoist her limp, freakish body on their shoulders, carry her to a tidy brick commons, and burn her at the stake, thus ending your abominable insult towards an otherwise loving and providing god? i ask you, pat benatar, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND??! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!?

thank you and farewell. sincerely-
-R

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TAINTED WHAT NOW?

we all made out with a girl in the common bathroom of our freshman dorm after drowning 14 busch light and baby sips of boone's farm, and while we we could taste the karkov plastic vodka jell-o shots on her lips, we always heard the downloaded version of Soft Cell's 'Tainted Love' blasting out of our roommate's computer speakers in the background. we knew it. we loved it.

but what else can we attribute to marc almond and soft cell? well, thanks in no small part to the wonder of satellite radio, i know exactly what marc almond and soft cell ended up doing with their glamorous lives... that something, my friends, is 'Sex Dwarf':

Isn't it nice
Sugar and spice
Luring disco dollies
To a life of vice
I could make a film
And make you my star
You'd be a natural
The way you are
I would like you on
A long black leash
I would parade you
Down the high street
You've got the attraction
You've got the pulling power

Walk my little doggy
Walk my little sex dwarf
(Here, doggy, doggy)

We could make a scene
We'd be a team
Making the headlines
Sounds like a dream
When we hit the floor
You just watch them move aside
We will take them
For a ride of rides
They all love your
Miniature ways
You know what they say
About small boys

Sex dwarf...
(Look it's so huge!)

ummmm..... sure, marc. whatever you say. what's that, marc? sex dwarf, you say? suuure! why not! sex dwarf! sounds perfectly reasonable. hey why don't you sing that song, 'Tainted Love' that we all loved and made lots of money and never made a reference to how relatively large a man's penis is when he's abnormally small in stature. yea, why don't you play that one...

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MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN

"...oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head..."

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WHERE GOOD TASTE COMES TO DIE

recently, one of my good friends fulfilled his lifelong dream to appear on The Price is Right, and was lucky enough to win a brand new car. there's something awe inspiring about a dream realized, no matter how unique, and i feel as if i should get some of my own dreams down on e-paper...

ahem... below is a short list of things i would like to accomplish before i depart this cruel, cruel world:

1. live in a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
2. develop technology or policy that blends long-term economic incentive with environmental protection that will have cascading effects throughout the developed and developing world.
3. get S.E.Bextor to polish my knob with Tiger Balm.

modest wants, my friends, modest wants. did you ever have a day in which you didn't believe a single word you said? with the exception of this post, today is that day for me. i sat through an ethics class today; the topic was 'gender in science,' which quickly deteriorated into a discussion of gender discrimination in the sciences, and i, in my own charming idiosyncratic way, played the devil's advocate in the midst of a powerful spell of boredom.

needless to say, i will neither have sex with a woman, nor will i find gainful employment in this state so long as i live. ahhhh the strides i take to entertain myself... thanks to Pete for a sweet weekend; one of many i'm sure.

i'm in a terrible rush... someone check my spelling and grammar for me...

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