Here is what I am thinking right now. If you would like to comment on anything here, please click on the date for that Random Thought. Danke schon.
12.31.02: Happy New Year's Eve everybody!
And do me a big favor and don't drink and drive tonight. We're under zero tolerance here in Georgia so it's pretty much a no-brainer, but even still, no one wants to see you start off the new year dead, or in jail. So go easy on the Golden Grain.
Well, I hope you all had as good a 2002 as I did. I finally made it out of the shithole town I languished in for 12 years for the big city, hooked up with the girl of my dreams, and things are flowing nicely for me career-wise, with a good bit of new freelance work, and Tailothepup's new album is in rotation at one of the bigger radio stations around here. My Art-O-Mat pieces have totally sold out (which actually means I have to get off my lazy ass and make more). Plus, 2002 was the most massive year so far for this site hit-wise, thanks to all of you. November and December were especially crazy, bringing in the most hits I've gotten since I opened up shop back in '99. So again, thank you all. I will do my best to keep you coming back with all sorts of kooky crap. I luv ya. (And yes, one of my New Year's Resolutions is to start getting the goddamn Headcheese in on time. Sorry.)
Anyway, enough of my nauseating ramblings. Happy New Year! Don't throw up in your mouth if ya pass out on your back!
12.29.02: Okay, in a couple days I'm going to do the right thing; archive this massively long page, and start a new one in honor of the new year. Yay! No more nine-mile long page of my pointless ramblings! Ah, fun. That's enough thinking for today. I'm going to go lie down now.
Oh, and by the way, white chocolate chip cookies are evil. Here's the proof.
12.28.02: Hey, guess what? The Poopy Butt has appeared on another website in a language I can't understand, this time Danish! (I think! It actually looks like German, but the site comes from Denmark... Mmmm... danish...) First Spanish, then Hungarian, and now Danish. Maybe I'll offer an official Moonlight Sonata t-shirt or something here, but I think perhaps I'll have to learn a few new languages first...
On another note, I don't want it to seem like I'm turning this page into an obituary lately, but I was really saddened to learn that Mary Hansen of Stereolab was killed in a traffic accident recently. I don't want to trot out that lame-ass "God's got one hell of a band" cliche either, but hey, it's at least nice to think about. R.I.P. Mary.
12.27.02: Happy Holidays everybody, hope you're having (or had) a great holiday (like I did). Wow. That sentence reads horribly. Too bad I'm over the cold I had for a few days, or I could blame it on the Dayquil again. Oh well. The sentiment was there, though oafishly delivered. Ha. I got to slip in "oafishly". Dunno if it's even a word. Guess it is now. Huzzah! Merry Christmas!
Speaking of holiday sentiments, I think it's time to rethink my Christmas card strategy. As in I don't have one. But I got a buttload of Christmas cards this year, and I think maybe I should finally start sending some out myself (next year, obviously). Used to be I utilized the "bachelor guy" excuse, as in "ehh, I'm a guy, and I'm too lazy and bitter to bother with that kind of junk". But lately I've been pondering that it would even be fun to draw some up for folks. Which sounds pretty cheesy, but I'd probably do some with Elric the Magical Elf or something. He's fulla the speert o' Chrissmus, yessiree poop.
So for all you good folks who sent me Christmas cards this year, I promise I'll get on the ball for next year. Hell, I'll even make it a New Year's Resolution. Even though I made a New Year's Resolution back in 1986 that I'd never make another New Year's Resolution. But I believe I can appeal that one.
Here's a great place to get your holiday cards, courtesy of our friend Odd Todd.
12.24.02: I'm going to be taking a day or two off from the Randomizing here for the holiday. Hope everyone's having a happy holiday season and all that good stuff, and that you get lots of presents, providing you're celebrating a present-oriented holiday around this time. (How's that for wishy-washy?) Be back in a couple days.
12.23.02: Let's all bow our heads for a moment of silence, or noise, if you prefer: punk godfather and Clash founder Joe Strummer has slipped the surly bonds of earth at the too-tender age of 50. I feel awful, because I just went off on a tirade yesterday about punk being dead. First Dee Dee Ramone, now Joe. What's Keith Richards doing that's keeping him alive, for god's sake?!?
Here's where you can read about Joe.
12.22.02: Okay, I'm NOT trying to sound like I'm patting myself on the back here (although it'll probably come across like I'm tooting my own horn), but I got some positive feedback from some kind soul out there who read my work in the Carolina Morning News, and I felt like sharing it. It's always nice to get a few kind words, so here goes.
If you were wondering, it was for an editorial cartoon I did (I have a daily gig with CMN) chiding people who use handicapped spaces in parking lots just because they feel they're "tired" from all their Xmas shopping. There's a big difference being "tired" from spending too much money, and not having the use of your legs. If you really want to use the handicapped spaces, I'm sure there are lots of people out there who would be more than happy to cripple you. Then you can apply for the license plate and windshield sticker no questions asked. Please pardon my rancor, but my mother was confined to a wheelchair for almost the entirety of my childhood, so I bear sort of a grudge against these fakers. But anyway, Christmas is coming up, so there's nicer things to think about. Right? Right. Sorry about that.
Whoever called in that vox, thanks for the vote of confidence, and happy holidays.
12.21.02: Sorry, no real entry for today. I feel pretty miserable, and there's a constant low buzzing in my brain thanks to congestion. Not to sound like a total bitter pill, but here's something you should probably read if you're planning to fly anywhere for the holidays. Just remember freedom in this country isn't quite all sunshine and peaches like it supposedly once was.
Aw, shoot. I'm sorry again. Forget I said all that. Happy holidays. Happier if you take a car or bus, though.
12.20.02: Last night I actually channel-surfed for the first time in many moons. It was a big part of my daily routine, but now I just don't have time for it. But I've been sicky, so I didn't feel like doing anything more strenuous than pushing the buttons on a remote.
The evening started off good, with a very funny David Cross stand-up performance. But inevitably that ended, and sure enough I was sent flipping through the nine million frigging channels we get up here for new blood. Believe it or not, having a buttload of different HBOs and Skinemaxes or whatever doesn't always help. After a half-hour of settling, sighing and compromise I found myself shuttling between Pootie Tang, National Lampoon Goes To The Movies, Blair Witch II and Slackers. It was Russian roulette to see which one could hold my fevered attention for more than eleven seconds.
Pootie Tang was the first to go. I've tried to watch this thing before and goddamn is it not funny. How can it not be with so many funny people in it? Like last time I tried to watch it, I gave up after ten minutes. I get it. He talks funny. Not funny enough for a whole movie.
National Lampoon Goes To The Movies was the second one out. Anybody who argues NL has lost their sense of humor need only look into the backcatalogue for this little gem. Passing kidneystones is a laugh riot in comparison. And as a topper, I just missed the lengthy tit-shots of Teresa Ganzel's gigantic rack. (If you don't want to rent the movie, you can pay to see them here.) And seeing Christopher Lloyd as a young man wasn't enough to keep me interested. Buh-bye.
Blair Witch II I gave five minutes, tops. It was more awful than anything I can remember seeing recently. Honestly, this franchise got what it deserved. I'm glad to see it went down in flames if this is the best they can do with a budget and legitimate camera equipment. It looked like it had been edited by high school students who've seen too many Korn videos. Shite.
So I settled on Slackers. Christ it was awful. Two things kept me watching it: 1) Jason Schwartzman (Rushmore) was pretty funny in it, he obviously did the best he could with the material, and 2) James King was in it. If you don't know who that is, James King is the prettiest girl with a boy's name around (who else would there be? Michael Learned, for fuck's sake?). Anyway, point is I would live to regret checking out the rest of the movie. Here's why.
I'm sure a lot of you know who Mamie Van Doren is. She was one of the real busty pin-up girls back in the 50s. A lot of the movies she did ended up on Mystery Science Theater 3000 (with damn good reason), and John Travolta's character references her in Pulp Fiction. She used to get mentioned in the same sentence as Jane Russell and Jayne Mansfield, for the same reasons.
That was ages ago. Mamie's over 70 now. I don't know if she ever did a nude scene before, but she does one in Slackers. All of a sudden, ker-plop, out come her monstrous yet remarkably well-preserved-looking (presumably thanks to body makeup) boobs. Then Jason Schwartzman starts grabbing them and even sucks on her nipple. I had an easier time seeing the guy pimp off his retarded sister in Gummo than this. I've been wondering how either actor was talked into doing this scene. Maybe for Mamie it was a sort of "let's give people a look finally before they fall off" thing (though she was uncredited for her role). For Jason Schwartzman it could either be immeasurable street cred or a career Kevorkian. Only time will tell. All I know is that scene haunts me. My brain is desperately scrambling for a reason why it even exists. I fear none shall ever be found.
12.19.02: Lately Wampus and I have been warming up for Tailothepup practices by playing some Bill Frisell tunes. If you aren't familiar with the works of Bill Frisell, you owe it to yourself to check him out. He served as lead guitarist for John Zorn's venerable noisecore outfit Naked City, has recorded with Elvis Costello, and has produced a number of very different, but very beautiful solo recordings over the years. If you were lucky enough to catch the animated Far Side special that was on TV about ten years ago, you should know that Frisell composed the score for it, and it imbued the almost totally wordless half-hour with a wonderfully macabre feel. (If you're interested, you can buy the score on CD- it's called Quartet. Honestly, you should just go ahead and buy it.)
Anyway, Wampus got a hold of Frisell somehow and told him we'd been working out arrangements of his stuff, particularly "Egg Radio" and "Twenty Years". Get this- he wrote back with some very encouraging words. He looks like a real nice guy on his album covers, and damned if he isn't a real nice guy. However, I do worry about the fact that I always see him wearing Chuck Taylor All-Stars. I wore those things religiously until I was about 21, when I finally realized they were the cause of the screeching pain in my knees, feet and lower back. Don't get me wrong, I loved them goddam shoes to pieces, but they gots no shock absorption. Whenever I see someone my age or older wearing them I think, "How the hell do they do it?"
Here's where you can read all about Bill Frisell, whom I hope doesn't mind me calling him nice over and over.
12.18.02: I am officially sick as a dog. One of my roommate's friends came to stay for a bit and brought some virulent manner of Andromeda Strain with him about a month ago. It's worked its way through almost all my roommates, and now my immune system is ground zero. Joy joy.
Regardless of that misery, I took in the sneak preview of The Two Towers last night. With all the emphasis that my sick-ass body can muster, I must proclaim that it was utterly awesome. I was a hundred percent blown away. I'll probably sneak in a review of it if I'm feeling a little more coherent, but I'm sure it'll be mostly ridiculously sycophantic accolades. Great stuff.
That being said, I think it's time to quit having previews before movies. Time was I enjoyed the little mini-movies that ran at a modest number of FOUR or FIVE, not TEN or fucking TWELVE before the feature presentation. Even if they used the SAME FUCKING MUSIC for all of them, and nine out of ten started with the line "In a world...", it still got me jazzed up for the film I was about to take in (I'm not going to mention the goddamn Coke and car commercials we now have to suffer through, just like at home). But every movie I've seen for the past two years has been prefaced with an unconscionable spray of celluloid diarrhea to the eyes, ears and mouth. I already went on a rant about that upcoming Extreme Ops pinch-loaf somewhere on this page (I tried to find which entry, but this page is getting way too long), but now we have to sit through some moronic grade-A bullplop about Hilary Swank (Matt Damon in drag) and a bunch of other douche-bags going to the earth's core to... whatever. It's fucking Armageddon in reverse, and everyone involved with that movie should be thrown screaming into lava. It even gets in the hoariest of all movie-preview cliches:
"...Until something went wrong."
We should get discounts for having to be exposed to this level of insult. I don't care how good the movie is. I was given some hope by the fact that no one in the theater seemed to like it, even the folks who laughed at the abysmal Jim Carrey-is-God preview, who obviously arrived at the theater via short bus. Yeah, a dog using a toilet like a person to the strains of a ten-year-old Technotronic song. Oh! Oh! My funny bone, you're breaking it! And I'm not even mentioning the Dumb and Dumber "sequel" (did that piece of crap need one?), or the lacquered wolverine turd that somebody slapped the name Terminator 3 on. Some brainless supermodel is the new Terminator. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
I need to go lie down now. I've run out of synonyms for "shit" anyway.
12.17.02: Okay... what if I were to tell you that in Japan there is an arcade game where you take a plastic hand, complete with finger outstretched, and jam it into a big, fake ass? And that there's a CGI woman onscreen who reacts with moans and groans and such? And that if you score enough points, you are rewarded with a plastic novelty turd? Why, you'd point at me and say liar liar pants on fire, wouldn't you? You'd write it off as just some crazy bullshit I write about on this site, and you'd never believe a word I said again.
The game is called Boong Ga Boong Ga. You can see evidence of its existence here and here. Be forewarned that once you see these pictures, you will no longer believe in any kind of god. And never, ever doubt anything I say again.
"What the heck.!! It's just waiting for the stress of city life Give a shot HAVE A FUN!! ENJOY!"
12.16.02: Thanks to the efforts of an incompetent, nutsac phone maintenance guy with, I'm guessing, the gentle touch of Edward Scissorhands, we haven't had any internet/email connection for almost five days. I realize the irony of this happening after my last TRT entry (below). Just know that it really wasn't my fault this time, and it's all fixed finally, so everything will be back to normal today. Sorry about all that crap.
12.11.02: Sorry I've been slack on the entries lately, between working on games and getting portfolios ready to mail out I've been pulling some really late nights. I thought about just faking a bunch of entries, but you good people deserve better than that. So I'll try to get on the ball in the future.
If you go to the Daily Letter at Odd Todd's website TODAY, you can see a letter from yours truly, along with the latest musical offering from Tailothepup. But you have to go TODAY, because Todd puts up a different letter every day, hence the whole "Daily Letter' thing. You should check out Todd's website anyway, because it's a lot of fun. And thanks to Odd Todd for the exposure.
12.07.02: Tonight was pretty amazing. Now that I'm a contributing cartoonist, I got on the guest list at Stomp & Stammer's 6th anniversary party at the Echo Lounge. The Echo is really cool place, aptly named "Lounge" because you can escape the crowds in this little couch-filled area on the side. You know how sometimes they call a place a "lounge" when it's just got those stupid round diner tables and there's no place to put your feet up. Not so with the Echo. Wampus and I ordered up some PBR and settled in for a good night.
We were in no way disappointed. Three bands performed; Oh-OK, The Sunshine Fix and Jucifer. The first two bands were very enjoyable hanging-out music, high-energy and fun without anything too goddamn cliche. We watched as a guy and girl moved through the lounge area with this strange lighted box. The guy would approach different patrons, who would then hand him their drivers' license. He would write a bunch of stuff from the license down on a little pad inside the box, then return it to the person. Suddenly we were besieged with paranoia. What the hell was happening here? Had our government finally become a full-fledged dictatorship? Were we witnessing a "Selektion" of some kind? What the friggety frig?!?
Finally Wampus figured it out. These guys were cigarette company reps, who would come in, seek out the smokers, check their IDs and give them a free pack of butts. How weird is that shit?
Before Jucifer took the stage, I decided to mingle with the crowd and ran into an old friend from college. He pointed up at the stage and said "See all those amps?" I looked stageward to see a wall of amplifiers being set up, roughly nine feet high by, oh, say twenty-five feet across altogether, give or take. My friend continued:
"That's for one guitar and a drummer."
As I schmoozed with members of the Stomp & Stammer staff, this was confirmed. "It's going to be loud," I was told.
Okay, think back to the loudest thing you've ever heard in your life. Maybe it was a bomb going off in your neighbor's garage. Possibly one of your dumb little buddies popped off a Pep Boys airhorn a little too close to your ear. Or perhaps you had a mishap with some homemade M-80s that left you deaf as Pete Townshend.
If Jucifer was within a mile of any of that stuff, you wouldn't have heard those things at all.
When they started up I thought my balls were going to fall off. We're talking ear-splittingly, sperm-curdlingly loud. If an elder god were to start a speed-thrash band it wouldn't be as loud, or as good. While they played, I constantly thought somebody was bumping into me. After a point I realized it was the sheer force of the sound pushing against my clothes and flesh. I got as close as I could to the stage, before the noise affected my inner ear and I started to stagger. Conversation- even at a screaming pitch- was impossible and utterly eclipsed. All this from a hot chick with a guitar and a drummer (whom I can only presume was hot, I couldn't really see him). Make no mistake: Jucifer fucking rules.
And so do Jeff Clark, Mike Hunter and everyone else at Stomp & Stammer, who were nice enough to invite me and get me out of the house. Thanks a bunch guys.
12.06.02: You know, I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say that there are some guys out there for whom the act of standing at a urinal and relieving themselves has lost its luster. When I was a kid, taking a whiz was a non-stop source of entertainment. Writing your name in the snow, or "crossing the streams" with a buddy like they clearly told you not to do in Ghostbusters (and at a young enough age so it didn't seem "weird"). Sorry gals, but you're just not anatomically equipped with your own built-in squirt gun. However, you got the boobs, and let's face it. They trump everything in terms of sheer unadulterated niftiness.
But maybe you're one of those guys I mentioned before. Yeah yeah, whizz whizz, maybe throw in a few kegels, flush, no big deal. Well, prepare to fall in love with taking a number one all over again, matey. These folks have got you covered. (And in case you're worried where that link will take you due to past yucky links on this page, don't worry. There's no pee-drinkers or anything. What kind of guy do you think I am, anyhow? Oh, alright... read the new Headcheese... ya got me there...)
12.05.02: Our own live-action version of Mr. Burns, Strom Thurmond, turned 100 years old today. If I was him I'd go for the gusto and try to make it to 150. If you get that far, why not shoot for the Big 300, and then keep on keepin' on and try to unseat Yoda's all-time record? Just look how much shit he kicked up in Attack Of The Clones. Them octocentenarians are a spry lot.
Here's a list of things that Strom Thurmond is older than.
Tonight was mad nutty. Like partying until roughly 5am. Much more craziness than I've been involved in in a long while, but this is a good thing. Not only was the party a total drunken blast of Bacchanalian Rawk fury, but at some point on the ride home we snatched the front of a fiberglass recycling bin that had been laying on the side of the road for weeks. We're talking like a six foot by seven foot thingy. Heavy as hell. We just heaved it onto the roof of the car, then held it in place with our hands sticking out of the windows. So this is like 4:30am and it's frigging freezing out. We braved knuckle frostbite for this ugly bastard. But it's ours now. Whatever it is.
12.04.02: Getting pretty psyched up about The Two Towers' upcoming premiere. I fear only one thing- that the success of the first flim will make some people think that it's okay to dress in a "Tolkien-inspired" fashion at the premiere. Going to DragonCon once a year is enough. I don't need another one of those panic attacks from being surrounded by hippie rennaissance-fair rejects.
Here's where you can check out the Two Towers trailer in the safety of your own domicile.
12.03.02: There was nothing on last night, so I ended up watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on HBO. Honestly, it wasn't bad. If I was a kid right about now (physically, not just mentally) I probably would have loved it to bits. One of the things I thought was really neat was the part where (don't expect me to get too specific here, I was drunk and having a hard enough time keeping up as it is) Harry and his li'l buddies got caught sneaking out after bedtime, so as punishment they were sent to a dark forest full of monsters.
Jesus, if every time a kid did something bad in school, they were sent to a dark forest full of monsters, fucking Columbine would have never happened. Shit, just being threatened with being sent to a dark forest full of monsters would be enough to keep my ass in line. Perhaps modern educators would do wise to consider the "dark forest full of monsters" angle.
Here's some monsters kids and parents should definitely watch out for. Seriously.
12.02.02: I was eating scrambled eggs this morning when an old SCTV sketch popped into my head. I don't know why TV and movies randomly and suddenly flash into my brain-pan. I always figured my fillings pick up signals from somewhere, because within 24 hours I see the exact show or movie I was thinking of. No joke, it never fails. Ralph Wiggum says something in my head, then bam, it's in the Simpsons episode that's on ten hours later, and I go, "shit, I wish I'd told somebody, they'd freak". I used to joke about being telepathic in a useless way.
Back to the sketch. Remember SCTV? Like Saturday Night Live, only thankfully with no musical guests, and from Canada, therefore better. Lots of funny folks got their start there, like Martin Short, John Candy, Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas, to name just a few. It used to come on after SNL where I grew up, which meant I had to stay up WAY past my bedtime and watch it on my little black and white TV with the sound turned down, or I got in big trouble. But it was always worth it, if only for the opening credits where several TVs were thrown out of windows. Sometimes that's as long as I could keep my eyes open.
Okay, so, in this sketch, and bear with me because I haven't seen it in ten years, Dave Thomas plays Walter Cronkite, who is hosting a game show. The game show is called "DIALING FOR DOLLAR$". The banner on the set reads "$DIALING FOR DOLLAR$" Remember that, it's important later on. The point of the show, if I recall correctly, is that people call in and answer questions for money. Alright, first off, let me say that Dave Thomas as Walter Cronkite is straight-up hilarious. For one thing, he starts off almost every sentence with a "blubt". You know, press your lips together, then grunt and push air out of your mouth. That sound. Sometimes it can be defined as "a blustery sound of indignation or surprise". Try it, it's fun.
The phone rings. Walter answers, but all we hear on the other line is an eerie sound like a little crank being turned. This goes on for a few beats, Walter makes with the "blubts", and we finally hear the caller's voice. Now, I'm going to tell you this first, because if you haven't seen this sketch, I want you to mentally imagine this voice. It's the late, great John Candy, lovable old huggable John Candy, speaking in a low register. Are you ready? This is what he says.
"I want your blood."
Then, CLICK! He hangs up, in a brilliant display of comic timing. And you know what? That would have been enough. It was easy to recognize Candy's voice, and since you never see him in the sketch, you're left to imagine him, which made it even funnier. Who knows, you may have envisioned him in a housedress and tap shoes standing over the corpse of the local paperboy, which he's mutilated in some bizarre occult ritual of his own design. It's up to you. But then, it gets better...
Walter gets another call from Candy. That strange sound is heard some more, prompting more blustering from Mr. Cronkite, then the voice speaks again, proving (to me at least) that Hannibal Lecter was miscast. I have to paraphrase here, since I don't remember exactly what was said.
"You know what that sound is, Cronkite? It's a vise. I'm gonna stick your head in it and turn the crank until that little moustache of yours spins around."
Okay, here's why I think this is so fucking brilliant. One, there's the weirdness/non-sequitur angle, which is great in small doses. (Are you listening, Brak Show?) No explanation is ever given for why this man wants to squash Walter Cronkite's noggin like Joe Pesci did to that guy in Casino. The closest thing there is to a motive is when the man complains about the fact that since the show's banner begins with a "$", presumably for symmetry, it really reads "DIALING FOR DOLLAR". Perhaps this drove him to distraction, maybe while forced to watch the show at his invalid mother's house, where he's breathily making prank calls from the other room to relieve his soul-crushing boredom.
Two: not only do you get to see a respected veteran journalist thrust into a hell of his worst imagining, but everything is left up to your imagination, which is always going to be funnier than what's right in front of you anyway (unless you're a humorless dolt). The sound doesn't even sound like a crank. I don't know what it really was. It's funny. And the icing on the cake: Picturing Dave Thomas' perfect caricature of Walter Cronkite with his head being smooshed in a vise, until his moustache spins around like a trick bowtie.
Which I did, this morning. And scrambled egg came out of my nose when I laughed. Over a sketch I haven't seen in ten years. God bless SCTV. Long live John Candy.
And god knows why this entry is so long. If you made it this far, thanks for indulging me. Here's a little SCTV treat for you if you did.
12.01.02: God knows why, but there's a rumor going around that there will be a Simpsons live-action movie. Now, if you feel the way that I do, that sentence alone should have given you a momentary bout of Tourette's Syndrome. A live-action version of The Simpsons is the kind of idea they'd make fun of on The Simpsons. I'm not a politically active person by a long shot, but hearing things like that make me want to don a gasoline-soaked muumuu and pull the Buddhist monk routine with a Zippo.
Thankfully Simpsons writer/director David Mirkin has quashed this dumbass idea in interviews, but that hasn't stopped your average internet geek (read: someone with oodles of free time) from coming up with "dream casts". No, that's not referring to the unfortunately ill-fated Sega console, but a list of actors people say they would pick to play whomever, like an amateur casting agency. I used to do it too, but I was 16, and my casting choices were always right. Like when my friends and I cast a fantasy Justice League movie (how geeky is that). I said that William Sadler should play the Martian Manhunter. Seriously. Think of him as Death from Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey, then think of him as the terrorist who did Tai Chi naked in Die Hard 2: Die Harder. Now add green and mix the two in your little brain blender. See? Martian Manhunter. Told you I was always right. So right, in fact, I'm pretty sure a fistfight resulted.
Anyway, one of these little Simpsons-movie cast lists suggested- are you ready for this- Fran Drescher as Marge Simpson. I'd have an easier time seeing a movie with Charles Manson with a Magic 8-Ball up his ass and clown make-up on playing Jesus Christ. (Actually, that might be interesting.) Sometimes, when I play Gauntlet, I pretend the little enemies are Fran Drescher, and that I'm throwing a never-ending supply of axes at her. This is one of the few things that soothes the pain I feel from Fran Descher's existence. Repeat after me: Marge Simpson is a cartoon character. There's no shame in it, and no reason to shitty everything up with a shrieking, squinty-eyed harridan.
Same goes for Homer. Homer as a live-action character is almost as good an idea as a kiddie show starring the dad from ALF and Michael Jackson. Some wank actually suggested Drew Carey in the role of Homer. The only upside to this concept is if they re-enact that scene where Maggie shoots a nail gun at Homer and nails his ears to the wall. Seeing Drew Carey getting blasted with a nail gun might be worth eight bucks.
On second thought, no. If Hollywood were to read what I just wrote, the whole thing would be a done deal. With Adam Sandler as Flanders to boot.
Here's where you can read about the upcoming Simpsons movies. You should. You'll feel better. I did.
11.30.02: My apologies re: the late Headcheese this week. All I can offer in explanation is that I've been eating a lot of leftover turkey, and I think that tryptophan stuff messed me up on what day it is. I didn't even realize it was Saturday. But hey, what are you going to do. Turkey's good stuff. Thanks for all the emails noodling me to get off my ass and get to work though. Nothing works better than feedback.
Speaking of tryptophan, here's a site all about Trypticon. They don't have anything to do with one another, but the names kinda sound alike and Trypticon was one of the coolest frigging Transformers anyway. Big-ass chunk of walking purple plastic shaped like a dinosaur. The trump card in any battle, in my opinion.
11.29.02: Dunno about you, but my Thanksgiving was great. Got to spend some quality time with the main squeeze and some very good friends. Not to go all soggy on you all, but it really was one of those "Here's what I'm thankful for" type moments. That, and some damn good eatin'.
In the spirit of "Black Friday", here's some ideas for what to do with your leftover turkey, courtesy of Fark.
11.26.02: I'm going to be taking a day or two off for the holiday, so Happy Turkey Day everyone. Hope you eat lots of good stuff, especially that cranberry sauce that comes out of the can still shaped like the can, that stuff is straight-up awesome. To tide you over for the break, here's One More Reason I Love The Japanese. And soy sauce.
11.25.02: I think I've lost faith in Futurama. I loved it for the first year or so, but now it just isn't funny. Things started to go awry when they brought in that whole Fry-Leela love thing. Bad idea. Then they hired that Gore daughter as a writer, who apparently thinks Daddy is comedy gold. I got news for ya, Kristin- Al Gore is as funny on Futurama as he is any other day of the week, which is to say... he isn't. Though that time he kissed Tipper on camera was pretty funny. Funny in a gouge-your-eyes-out kind of way. Maybe that was the inspiration for that hideous Prof. Farnsworth-Mom sex scene that was one of the few recent highlights.
Now I feel bad- apparently Futurama has been cancelled. And these folks are really not taking it well. But you gotta admit, it used to be funny.
11.24.02: If you scroll down, you'll notice that I've moved some entries to the Review section. This is because they were reviews, and not random thoughts. Just to show you that I'm not a complete slacker when it comes to organization. Well, yeah. Okay. I'm a slacker anyway. Plus I now have "Blinded By The Light" stuck in my head because of the Starcade review. You probably have it stuck in your head now too. I'm sorry.
11.23.02: Tonight we finally got our first video game up and running. Sure, there's still some glitches, but for two guys to put it together when they were drunk most of the time, it ain't bad at all. To celebrate, why not get drunk and play it? In fact, I find most video games are a whole new challenge when you're intoxicated. Especially the ones where you have to successfully aim something. Makes you wonder how so many drunks shoot each other. I can't even line up a zombie in TimeSplitters 2.
Anyway, next game coming up: Boobies. Lots of boobies.
11.22.02: This isn't really a Random Thought per se, but if you're really stupidly bored, why not check out the new Reviews section. I kind of busted my ass on it. Well, I didn't pull any allnighters, or anything like that, but what the hell. Plus there'll be reviews for all sorts of crap in the future: Toys, Hot Sauce, Energy Drinks, Anime, you name it. If I bother to do it, that is.
11.21.02: Usually when I'm working on comics or whatnot, I'll be making spontaneous noises and shouting non sequiturs. Luckily I live with a bunch of people who do the same thing, so I don't feel like a total goofus. But hey, at least the Swedish don't think I'm crazy. Here's proof. Still, it's fun to think that maybe, just maybe, I'm picking up transmissions from the brains of people hundreds of miles away. Alright, so that's a little weird.
11.20.02: [Since this entry was essentially a review, I relocated it to the new Reviews section.]
11.19.02: Here's some great news: a vaccine has been found that cures cervical cancer. Okay, it doesn't cure it, it prevents it. Aaaand... it won't help any women who are already sexually active. SO, it's really only good news for up-and-coming proto-women. But still good news nonetheless. Check out the picture on the link- what part of the procedure involves spreading stuff on a Milk-Bone?
Yeah, not much of a Random Thought, I know, but cut me some slack. I just ate some hot sauce called "Satan's Blood" and I'm kind of light-headed. 800,000 Scovilles. Takin' it easy tonight.
11.18.02: When I was a kid, I found this spot of land in my hometown where there weren't any houses or buildings, just a little cluster of woods next to a creek. I used to ponder declaring it my own country, and running it my own way as Supreme Dictator, or whatever. I think I ended up forgetting about it because I couldn't come up with a good enough name for the place. Or maybe I just had a reality check as I got older.
How wrong I was. Here's why.
11.17.02: [Since this entry was essentially a review, I relocated it to the new Reviews section.]
11.16.02: I was eating a Nutella sandwich when I came across this little gem. If you're familiar with Nutella you'll understand why I was relieved there were no picture.
I was out until 2am or so playing bass with the peeps (great fun, with the added bonus of turntables, beat sequencers, and electirifed banjos and mandolins yet!), so forgive me if I'm not overly loqacious this entry. Hung over and I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs. All for the rawk, yo.
11.15.02: Okay, It's no secret that I love Asian culture. If it's not the deeply rooted traditions and stiff codes of honor that get me, it's the let's-throw-everything-in-a-blender mentality that comes with they way they view American culture. Avant-garde madman John Zorn shares the same love I do- he even named one of his early record labels "Hip's Road" after a boutique sign he saw in Tokyo. But above all, I love Asian culture because nobody does Dada better. Trust me. Ernst had nothing on these guys.
Here is the proof. The descriptions on the site are correct. This is the greatest thing you will ever see in your life. Afterwards you may as well roll over and die. Nothing will ever top this.
11.14.02: Conflict is on a lot of people's minds lately. The conflict in the Middle East, whether or not we should go to war with Iraq, etc. But I think these things are taking our focus away from the real fight that's tearing our nation apart: people battling over who has a hairier ass.
Here's the whole sordid story. Don't let this happen to you. Especially if your booty looks like a Sasquatch.
11.13.02: I think the whole idea of publicly using three names has come a long way. I mean, back in the day, you pretty much had to be a killer. You know, James Earl Ray (even though he didn't do it), Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wilkes Booth, David Lee Roth. Then in the eighties there was that whole thing where everyone on an African-American sitcom had three names with like a jillion letters in them. T'Keyah "Crystal" Keymah. Keisha Knight Pulliam. So now it's little twiggy white chicks like Sarah Michelle Gellar and Jennifer Love Hewitt. C'mon, girls. Live up to your namesake and start slaughtering people. It can't be any worse for your careers than The Tuxedo and Cruel Intentions. Ecch, that Ryan Philippe. Ecch.
Here's where you can discover George Lucas' secret for coming with alien names in Star Wars. Ha, you thought his kids came up with them. The real answer is far more sinister.
11.12.02: My friends and I had a discussion today about our weight. Yeah, we're a bunch of guys, and we talked about our weight. Don't give me any crap. We also had an in-depth discussion of masturbatory habits if that makes you feel better, but I don't have a transcript of it and I can't do it true justice in summary. So weight it is.
Most people immediately hate my guts when I tell them I have to struggle to keep my weight up. I have some sort of mutant metabolism that burns through anything. I still weigh the same as I did in high school, over ten years ago. That and the fact that I can eat virtually anything and not gain an ounce are the pluses. The downside is if I for some reason have to skip meals until late in the day, I black out after a long period of wrenching abdominal pain, coupled with blinding headaches. Not so good for a frequently penniless person such as myself. Still, if someone gets it into their head to punch me, odds are they'll hit a bone that's sticking out somewhere and bust the shit out of their hand. All while I stand over them laughing. It's the closest thing to an exo-skeleton.
Anyway, I don't know if any of you've seen Al Roker. He lost 100 pounds. Here's the thing- he did it the same way Carnie Wilson did. So I was all like, "aw, what a cheater", then I felt really bad for thinking that. I mean, if you can't lose weight dieting, then what else are you gonna do. Plus a skinny fucker like me shouldn't even be commenting like that. So big ups, Al. I saw that time when Dave Letterman totally humiliated you on his show by showing a Photoshopped image of your face on some morbidly obese naked brotha holding a beachball in front of his hacky sack while he got you to say "LOOK OUT, IT'S EL DINGO!" on the phone, not knowing what was on the screen at the time. You didn't speak to him for like a week until he apologized, on the air, I think. That must've hurt like an unholy bitch. So good for you, Al.
Here's where you can get the whole exciting Al Roker story. I'm gonna go get a sandwich.
11.11.02: Sorry the Random Thoughts have been so slow in coming lately. We're still working on the Armageddon games, and we don't want to put out anything that sucks, so we're taking forever with it, so, you know, you might actually want to play these games. And sometimes the games decide not to work properly, even though you coded it right, and did everything else right. And then around 6pm or so, it's Drunk Time around here, and that lasts until 2 or 3am, which makes it difficult to get the fuck out of bed until 1pm. Tough being a video game designer. Real tough.
Here's where I bought this sweet new bass from. If you're in town, check 'em out- they not only gave me TWO free t-shirts, but they sent me a postcard thanking me for my purchase. Nice guys.
11.10.02: I went and took in the IMAX version of Attack Of The Clones today, and I have to say I'm a bit torn. Lucas shortened the film to two hours for IMAX. Now, AOTC is my favorite Star Wars, but here's the thing- the IMAX cut is actually a better edit in my opinion. If it'd been released in theaters back in May it might have gotten better reviews. Most of the badly-acted love scenes were gone or at least truncated (no more Anakin riding that goofy puffball horse in the field on Naboo before he and Padme roll around with each other), and the pace of the film was a lot quicker. Jar Jar and Jimmy Smits are now cameos. The focus was on all the whiz-bang stuff, which was of perfect digital quality (and on an 8-story screen for god's sakes) and was so loud it made the floor shake (ahh, those seismic charge fart-bombs Jango Fett cuts loose with). Everything was so friggin' huge you could see the veins in Yoda's eyeballs, the hair on Watto's grody neck, and the clotheslines hanging between towers in the lower-income areas of Coruscant. Okay, maybe only I saw that one. Interestingly enough, no matter how loud the movie is, the surrounding morons and their cell phones and hellish drop become exponentially louder. It's a fact. Mr. Science proved it.
11.09.02: Today I tried something called "Mad Dog's Revenge". It's not a sauce, it's not a condiment, it's a "food additive". It's also one million Scoville units. If you're unfamiliar with the Scoville scale, that's roughly 450 times hotter than Tabasco. We're talking deep, bellowing-for-the-Lord-to-come-and-take-you-now, pounding-on-the-floor agony. Amazing stuff. And strangely enough, it was a GOOD burn, I mean, yeah it hurt, but once it sets in you feel like you take on a god.
Here's some info on the Scoville scale. And here's the link to the "Mad Dog's Revenge" people. God bless 'em.
11.08.02: I'm seeing a lot of this lately; people writing "a hoard of (plural fill-in-the-blank)". I mean, I'm looking at a published ad in a magazine for Jedi Outcast, and it actually says that. "A hoard of new enemies." Okay everybody- it's "horde" you're looking for, and you have no excuse, because there used to be that Evil Horde on He-Man, remember, and the leader Hordak looked like ten times more of a badass than Skeletor did. "Hoard" means to amass, or save up. And once you get that straight, try working on "nuke-u-lar" and "irregardless". Please, for god's sake. "Regardless" obviously means "without regard". You don't put frigging "ir" on it as a prefix, unless you want to sound like a hillbilly.
Increase your word power- go here. Sorry I'm testy this morning. Rrrreeeeealllly hung over.
11.07.02: I don't know if it means the end of the world, or what, but Krull is on TV right now. That's right, Krull. When I was a kid, and Krull came out, the mere fact that I expressed interest in seeing it guaranteed a salvo of "dead-arms" from my peers, if not a full-blown kick in the nuts. Even the short-bus kids knew they could now make fun of me, for I was truly stupider than them due to my interest in that movie. And rightly so. Who knows what my preteen eyes saw in that piece of whale shit back then, 'cause looking at it now (of course I watched it) I can't really imagine. Rock-bottom production values, horrible acting (and Liam Neeson's in it! Mention Krull to Liam for a free kick in the nuts), crap, crap, crap. But I just wanted to see it for the "glaive"; that five-pointed weapon-thingy that the mincing little girly-armed "hero" of the picture uses maybe once, and that was to open a can of warm PBR. I even bought that "game" for the Atari 2600 of Krull, and get this- I even attempted to play it. For that, I kicked myself in the nuts.
Here's some tricks for the Atari 2600 Krull game. Interestingly enough it says nothing about the trick where you eat cyanide to end your obvious suffering.
Sorry the boob links (11.05.02) got all changed and stuff. Like the Black Fortress, internet porno moves overnight.
11.06.02: Alright, so thanks to Chris Rock, and the prison "drama" Oz, even schoolkids know that "tossed salad" refers to the act of one man eating out the ass crack of another man, usually with syrup on top to presumably sweeten the experience. Okay now. Anybody out there watch Frasier on NBC? What's the deal with the little song he sings at the end of every episode, with that line about "Baby I hear the blues a-callin', tossed salads and scrambled eggs"? He says "tossed salad" at least three times. Is "scrambled eggs" some kind of female variant on the procedure? Is "tossed salad" some sort of reference to Frasier being homosexual? I mean damn, it seems like the critics (Entertainment Weekly, I'm looking in your direction) can't insinuate enough that Frasier and Niles are gay, due to the fact that they appreciate more highbrow culture such as opera and art galleries instead of football and toga parties. That kind of attitude always bugged me. I mean, shit, if anything should set off your gay-dar, it's a bunch of guys who spend their Saturdays getting drunk together and watching a bunch of burly, sweaty men in tight pants chase a ball around. Course, that's just my opinion.
Here's some more boobs. Or knockers. You be the judge.
11.05.02: I have a theory. Some have disputed me on this, but I feel there is a difference between boobs, boobies, titties and tits. A minor difference, perhaps, but it seems to me that different breasts call for different slang names. I'm not going to go into the second-stringers like "funbags", or "jobblies", or whatever else grade schoolers or the British come up with, for the sake of my argument here I'm just going to focus on the most commonly-used terms. I will present evidence forthwith, and all are welcome to voice their opinions on the matter. And yeah, okay. I think about breasts a lot.
Okay, so... these are boobs. These are boobies. These are tits. And that would make these titties.
It's probably a stupid theory. But you got to see some nude chickies, so what do you care. Next time: knockers and jugs.
11.04.02: Recently a super-tricked out slot-car racing set has become part of our household. Let me tell you something- if you're feeling depressed for whatever reason, dead cat, V.D., whatever- you should take the money you were going to plunk down on a therapist and blow it on one of these dealies. A good one'll even be cheaper. We're talking sheer, unadulerated joy from the moment you open the box (it has a plastic handle so you can carry it like a suitcase, and pretend you're the world's coolest/most retarded businessman!), to the act of putting the course together, to the sheer, NASCAR-can't-fucking-touch-this thrill of sending one of the cars into orbit because you held back too hard on the trigger. Wait 'til you have to "deflower" the cars at first by holding the front end down on the track while you gun it, and that hot ozone smell hits your lucky, lucky nostrils. Extra credit: Polish off a few bottles of good red wine, and stack the corks on the track in a pyramid. Then race to see who gets to smash it up first. You can even draw little pedestrians on them. See? All the fun of celebrity-style drunk driving, in the safety of your own home! Trust me. Most people take pills for this kind of bliss. Plus it frigging glows in the dark. Hot damn.
And hey, if you're like me, and you giggle stupidly everytime someone says the word "slot", you should take this test. I flunked. It was high school all over again, but this time I was wearing pants and I didn't have an afro.
11.03.02: Speaking of butts, if you're like me, I bet a good portion of your day is wasted wondering just what the hell Britney Spears' back end looks like. Well, don't let your endless fantasizing about a pop goddess' posterior make you miss another job interview. Here it is!
11.02.02: Well, I was going to work on my Espanol anyway now that I live in the big city with a large Hispanic population, but now I definitely am: The good folks at Pumbo linked to my "Moonlight Sonata" animation and brought me a buttload of traffic from overseas. So... let's see if two years of high school Spanish was good for something... Muy gracias, Pumbo. Muy, muy, muy gracias. Shoot. I can remember more, but unfortunately it's all naughty words. Oh well.
Even Hungary's down with the Poopy Butt. Now I have an excuse to learn Hungarian as well. (I don't know how long these links will work until I do learn the language.)
11.01.02: Let the shitty "holiday season" begin! Yay! Click here to learn how you can beat the "holiday blues" if you're one of those real well-adjusted types like me who sticks his head in the oven everytime Xmas draws near. Just remember: 'tis the season to be jolly. And there's all manner of jolliness to be found in bottles. Joyuex Noel!
I saw a preview for a "movie" called Extreme Ops. It's about a group of kids who fight terrorists with snowboards. I'm officially going to start smoking crack now. I don't think I can handle real life anymore if this is what passes for entertainment. I simply wasn't given the cognitive tools to deal with teenagers downing helicopters with rapelling line and bleating "Whatta rush!" It would appear someone gave the fart-sniffing early primates who make Mountain Dew commercials a movie deal. Bling Bling was right. Crack is the answer. Crack, and lots of it. Crack-a-moo.
10.31.02: Happy Hallowe'en!
Okay, so hopefully, you're not STILL racking your brain trying to come up with what you're going to dress up as for All Hallows'. I'm sure you're one of those people who had your idea way back in June, and you've been slaving away on it since then, and tonight's going to be the great unveiling. Right? Right.
Alright, just in case I'm wrong, MTP is here to help. Go here for some last minute costume ideas. Okay, so technically, MTP isn't helping, it's Fark. But we sent you there, jokey. So be sure and send us a picture when you're all done.
10.30.02: Happy Birthday Erika!
The greatest billboard in the world resides in our fair city. It's a jeweler's advertisement, and it reads: We'll Give You The Ring; You Give Us The Finger. I will try and post a photograph.
Meanwhile, you can read about virtual cockfighting. Seriously. Just in time for the holidays too.
10.29.02: Here's the other side of the Bob Crane story... a site hosted by Bob Crane's son, Scotty Crane. If you want to pay, you can see the actual photos Bob Crane took of the wimmen folks. You can also read Scotty Crane's anti-Auto Focus diatribe and a whole mess of negative reviews of the film. Oh well, I enjoyed it, but then hey, it wasn't about my dad.
10.28.02: Yesterday was a double feature day: I saw Auto Focus and Jackass (second go-around for that one). Both were great, and it was a great way to spend a day; bare boobs by the truckload and guys lighting fireworks out of their assholes. You owe it to yourself to see both, especially if you're a fan of Hogan's Heroes or vomit. Tell 'em Mikey sent ya.
I learned from Auto Focus that Richard Dawson is from the UK. Who knew? What happened to his accent when he did Family Feud?
10.27.02: Everybody remembered to set their clocks back, right? Well, duh. Of course you did. I mean, if you turned on your computer to get to this site, odds are your OS told you that you had to set your clock back. Sorry. I was up all night with everyone getting into the spirit of the season (i.e. drunk).
Hate daylight savings time? Check this out.
10.26.02: So I was out looking for Candy Corn yesterday, to feed my monstrous, tooth-rotting, Betty-Ford-Clinic-worthy addiction to Candy Corn, but I couldn't find the kind I wanted, the super-pimped-out Brach's Harvest Mix (with fatass Candy Pumpkins). Then I got to thinking about the candy I used to get back in the day when I was a Trick-or-Treater (you know, last Monday, haha). When I was a kid it was all "Mary Janes" and "Now and Laters" (the old kind), shit that stuck your teeth together like you forgot to get a tetanus shot and got lockjaw, and sucked every filling in your head out when you finally pried your jaws open. Seems to me the candy companies have been softening up their products as of late, possibly fearing a lawsuit from the mom of some kid who now looks like Hank from Bumfights thanks to their candy. Used to be Now and Laters were called that because the halflife of the goddamn thing was fourteen thousand years. You had to eat it "now" and "later". Nowadays you put one in your mouth and it dissolves quicker than one of those god-awful Listerine strips that Ozzy Osbourne hated so much.
Here's some candy to avoid this All Hallows' Eve, unless you like what eggs do to your house's siding.
10.25.02: I just learned that a "heel turn" is a phrase for when somebody who was good suddenly turns evil. I thought it sounded like some sort of goofy ballet step, but no. Good to evil. And, I presume, evil to good. Useful if you're planning to write soap operas.
Here's a list of terms I wouldn't use (or look at) at work, or in front of your mom. Unless she's freaky like dat.
10.24.02: No random thought yesterday, there was some weird thing going on where the internet was all screwed up. I heard some well-adjusted young folks took out some major DNS servers. Always great fun.
I just got the new Simpsons episode guide. Looking through the synopses of seasons 11 and 12, I got the sinking feeling that a lot of episodes just plain aren't shown in syndication. I think this is why we end up seeing the one where Moe gets a facelift twenty times but we never see the one where Homer gets his thumb chopped off. I'd email the network again, but I think those guys suspect I'm a crazy crank already (note the Random Thought for 10.02.02).
Here's the new Simpsons book. I highly recommend it if you're as stupidly obsessed with the show as I am.
10.22.02: I had this really weird-ass dream last night where I was actually on the show Courage The Cowardly Dog on the Cartoon Network. What's weird is it was more like a nightmare, because there was some sort of strange storm outside the house we were in- you couldn't see anything but white overcast sky out of the windows, but you could hear the storm. It made this horrible noise, sort of like a tornado sound, but somehow forming out the vowels E-I-E-I-O. It got louder and louder until I woke up. I can't explain why it was so scary, because damn if it doesn't sound goofy to me now. Courage was nowhere to be found.
10.21.02: Of course it's always a problem after Hallowe'en to have rotting pumpkins on your doorstep. If you've got a lot of free time on your hands and some killer sideburns you can build something to take care of the issue, like this dude.
10.20.02: In case anyone was wondering, that new Transformers: Armada cartoon on Cartoon Network bites the biggie. It's even worse than Transformers: Robots In Disguise, if that's in any way possible. I tried again last night to make it through an entire episode. No go.
Read the excellent comic book instead.
10.19.02: I've almost got my Hallowe'en costume ready. It's the same thing I do every year: fishing hat + Hawaiian shirt + avaitor sunglasses + drunken stupor = Hunter S. Thompson. I used to go in for the elaborate stuff, but carrying a big latex mask around all night kind of puts a crimp in my drinking agenda, so I''ve downsized over the years. The only thing I'm missing is the cigarette holder. I went to this tobacco store in the mall to get one, and it was really weird. Like all these people smoking fat-ass stinky cigars in the back. I asked the woman behind the counter where the holders were, and she just said something in broken English and pointed to a bin. The cheapest one they had was $10. For two inches of plastic. So I was all like, no thanks, enjoy your death sticks, and left. No wonder people just stick the nasty-ass things in their mouths nowadays. $10? Get real. Cigarettes shouldn't be the only thing it'll smoke for that much.
Ladies- bereft of a good costume idea this All Hallows' Eve? Look to the good folks in Key West. Then send me a picture. Pretty please.
10.18.02: The other day I went into Eckerd to get some manila envelopes, and the girl who was ringing me up noticed the t-shirt I was wearing. It's got a reproduction of the old "X-Ray Spex" ad you used to see in the back of old comic books. At first she seemed to think it was cool, but then she asked, "How much did you pay for that?", with a tone that suggested, "Way to spend your money, dipshit." I kind of mumbled, "Uh, I don't remember", and went on my merry way. What the hell?! What's wrong with a frigging X-Ray Spex t-shirt?
Here's one way to keep a secret.
10.17.02: Last night we went and got pumpkins, scooped out all the wonderful seedy goop and carved them up (Hallowe'en is the only holiday I tend to give a crap about). I think mine was rotten. Everyone else's smelled good when they opened them up. Mine smelled like someone had been using it as a toilet. It was a true Charlie Brown moment. Still, I persevered, and emptied it out real good, then we roasted the pumpkin seeds, which I am currently eating for breakfast. Pumpkin seeds are real good with paprika and chile powder, turns out. I didn't know this.
Here's some stuff you can do with your pumpkin, before the neighborhood kids kick it off your steps. Click here if you wanna send me your pumpkin recipes.
10.16.02: Last night I had a bad dream about the so-called "fourth" Indiana Jones movie. I say it was a bad dream because the movie was really awful. Like Indy was an old man and stuff. Most of the movie took place in his house. Kids would try to break in to get a look at all his cool artifacts and stuff, and he'd chase them off waving his cane, yelling "You damn kids!" The funny thing is that the night before last I had a bad dream about Star Wars: Episode III sucking ass. The first 3/4 of the movie had nothing to do with anything, then at the end Anakin and Obi-Wan duked it out over the lava pit, like the was no other ground to cover otherwise in the story but Lucas HAD to put that in. I think I have deep-seated fears about movies I care about sucking and they're manifesting in my dreams.
Here's a lot of Indiana Jones IV rumors that will give you bad dreams too. Nothin' wrong with a trilogy, folks...
10.15.02: Today I'm off to buy a staple gun. Why? Because I'm going to staple Avril Lavigne's goddam mouth shut. For good. That way, I won't have to look at anymore ugly-ass pictures of her with her mouth wide open, as though she's about to receive a MX-missile sized dork down her throat. First we had to put up with EVERY SINGLE PICTURE of Christina Aguilera where she was biting her tongue suggestively, now this. Maybe I'll get a nail gun. I dunno. But really, try another pose. You look like a twit. I can handle the stupid necktie thing. But close your friggin mouth before a bug flies in there.
I'm not alone on this matter either.
10.14.02: Finally I was priviliged enough to witness the grand, life-affirming spectacle that is The Anna Nicole Show on E!. Why, my life was changed in mere moments, the air smelled fresher, and food tasted better. Suddenly everything around me was bathed in an angelic halo of divine beauty, and to top in all off I grew seven inches taller.
I'm kidding. Here's a tip to all you Hollywood hopefuls out there for whom fourth grade was too "highbrow": Get a boob-job, take your clothes off for a millionaire insta-corpse, inherit all his money, and eat everything that isn't crawling or able to defend itself. E! is just waiting for you, ya human train wreck.
Here's something for those of you who can't recall what Anna Nicole looked like before her arms were Christmas hams with golfball-sized wads of cellulite dangling from them.
10.11.02: No random thought for a couple days, I will be up in Winston-Salem on bizness. Check back on Sunday night for more, and enjoy an early Headcheese.
10.10.02: So I recently got this game called Quantum Redshift for the Xbox. I think it's fucked up my hand. Or rather, I should say, I think the fact that I can't stop playing it has fucked up my hand. You have to use the right trigger on the controller as the accelerator and because you go so damn fast in this game, your finger is on the trigger pretty much full time. So after a good seven-hour session the other night I still can't curl up my right index finger completely. Plus it hurts like a bitch. I guess that's a sign of spending a bit too much time on the bastard.
But hey, even I knew to quit long before this guy.
10.09.02: I read that horror writer Stephen King is finally retiring, and there won't be any more Stephen King books after like 2004 or 5. I bet the population of Maine is breathing a sigh of relief. "Oh please, Mr. King, don't retire! We love being eaten and run down and sodomized and locked in refrigerators by all manner of demonic entities in your work! Please! Don't leave us!" I mean, it's not like his work tends to take place anywhere else. It's a miracle there's anyone left in the frigging state by now in his novels. But then, hey, I don't know, I've never been to Maine. Maybe it's Boredom Junction U.S.A. and possible slaughter in a King book is all it's got going for it.
Here are some ideas for Stephen King's final work.
10.08.02: Last night I ate something called "Colon Cleaner". It's a hot sauce that has like a few hundred thousand Scoville units or something. I ate it on Chicken-On-A-Stick. Then I drank a lot of wine and went to bed. I had a dream I wish I could remember totally. In it I was watching some really bad 80's movie where Whoopi Goldberg and some 80s actor dude were spies. The movie was a straight-to-video type thing that was actually a paid advertisement for some Vegas resort run by mobsters. It was their big foray into the medium of film. At one point Claudia Schiffer showed up as an assassin in this skin-tight black vinyl outfit. She was like the major villain. Whoopi and Dude are taking off of a hotel rooftop in their zippy little private jet and Claudia jumps out after them and grabs onto the tailfin with her teeth. Eventually the plane went so fast she flew off and splattered on a radio tower or something, kind of like Meet The Feebles-type gore. It was funny as hell. I wish I could remember more.
No more Colon Cleaner before beddy-bye though.
10.07.02: You probably already know this, but there's this stuff called Febreze that they really need to rename "Bachelor's Buddy". If you're the type that's averse to bathing, as I find myself occasionally, it's just spritz-spritz into the nether regions of your clothes and voila, no more Mr. Stinky. Great for job interviews and the sudden appearance of females in the immediate vicinity. They can smell a million times better than us dudes can, you know. And remember the golden rule: if you can smell yourself, then everybody else has been able to smell you for three days. Keep America beautiful, eh?
Here's what I always figured was the inspiration for Febreze.
10.06.02: At some indistinct point in the recent past hair started growing out of my ears. Black hair. Like nosehairs. I can see the point of nosehairs, you know, to keep you from sucking something potentially harmful like a cupcake into your sinuses, but ear hair I don't get. And sometimes the dude or chick who cuts my hair will do me a favor by discreetly buzzing it off with the buzz-buzz trimmer thing, but usually they leave it be. Especially if it's a chick doing the cutting. I don't blame her. You can imagine ear hair sprouting from an Abe Vigoda-type individual, but on a young guy it's rather weird. I used to joke about growing them out and braiding them. Maybe pull a Howard Hughes sort of thing. But I don't have the cojones for such a bold fashion statement, so I just rip 'em out with a pair of pliers.
Otherwise I might end up looking like this guy.
10.05.02: So I saw Red Dragon, and I really dug it, but I showed up during the previews, so get this- I had to sit in the very front row, about fifteen feet from this gigantic screen. This was rather headache-inducing during the god-awful preview of The Ring, with all the stupid jump-cuts and whippy camera and such. Still, the movie was really good, and I liked Manhunter, which was it was first adapted as (even though director Michael Mann had to shove his usual frigging techno-pop crap into it). But get this- there was a baby yelling and laughing in the audience for half the movie! What kind of retarded parent brings a fucking child to an R-rated Hannibal frigging Lecter movie?! Isn't that in the same ballpark as that woman smacking the daylights out of her kid that got caught on tape? I don't get it.
Anyway, if you do see Red Dragon, that's Ellen Burstyn (uncredited) as the Tooth Fairy's grandmother's voice, and the kid from Home Alone 3 doing the young Tooth Fairy's voice. Ha! Bet he wished he was home alone then! Bwar har har.
10.04.02: Here in the ATL we have something called "The Varsity" and "Varsity Jr.". Supposedly they're restaurants, but I don't think you want to eat anything there. I've been advised against it by many residents of our fair city, but beyond that, I don't think you want to eat anyplace that serves up such fine-sounding fare as (these are written on the awning of the one near our house) "Bag of Rags" or "Brown Mary Steak". What the fuck is a "Bag of Rags"?
Here's more about the Varsity. Be warned- this website will start yelling at you.
10.03.02: Not to enrage people who go by the name "Ani", such as Ani DiFranco and Li'l Anakin Skywalker, but isn't that the plural form of the word "anus"? Or is it "anuses"? Is there ever a call for the plural form of "anus"? I mean, when are there a bunch of anuses around? Wait, don't answer that...
Here's the most famous Ani. Not plural for anus, that is.
10.02.02: Around here we get Simpsons twice every weeknight, and it is very much a part of our daily ritual. Lately they've been repeating episodes that they only showed a week ago. Like we got the Sherry Bobbins episode twice in the span of a week. Yeah, it's a funny episode, but I really hate singing, so seeing it AGAIN made me really irate. So I emailed the local affiliate and, under the clever and assumed nom de plume of Shemp Wifflebottom or something, asked them if they were retarded, or just had no short-term memory, like that guy from "Memento".
This morning someone emailed me back saying it's the syndicate that chooses the episode and not them. Now I feel bad.
Here's what the people at the syndicate are probably suffering from. Now I got that goddam Sherry Bobbins music stuck in my head.
10.01.02: The longest one-syllable word in the English language is "screeched". This was told to me in confidence by a bottle of Snapple Mango Madness. No joke.
Here's everyone's favorite Screech.
09.30.02: The other day we went into this great used bookstore. You had to angle your shoulders to squeeze into the aisles- there are that many books. I found this awesome book on Andy Kaufman. Then when we went up to get our stuff rung up, the guy behind the counter was cursing intermittently, I presumed because there were kids knocking stuff over in one of the aisles.
Later my friends told me the guy had Tourette's Syndrome. Call me ignorant, but I thought he was just being funny.
Here's somebody else's encounter with Tourette's. And here's the Andy Kaufman book.
09.29.02: Here's one for you fans of the Bard: Shakespeare's famous line from Hamlet:
"To be or not to be: that is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..."
Yeah yeah, we all had to memorize that back in skool, but did you know it's a perfect anagram for:
"In one of the Bard's best-thought-of tragedies, our insistent hero, Hamlet, queries on two fronts about how life turns rotten."
I haven't, like, tested it out letter for letter or anything, but you can if you've got a lot of free time. It proves what I've always said: Shakespeare = alien robot wolverine. Sorta. Here's some more weird evidence to that fact.
09.28.02: Not that I've been drinking a lot lately (ahem), but for the record: Warm Heineken + those little pretzels = the taste of a postage stamp. Exactly. Try it yourself and see. It kind of validates that whole theory from The Matrix, about why so many things taste like chicken, don't it? Huh? Gettin' paranoid yet? How about this then- how come cat feet smell exactly like Fritos? What's up with that?
09.27.02: I read recently in a biography of the legendary Captain Beefheart that he's been married to the same woman for around thirty years. For some reason, I found that odd, given his persona. I always pictured Captain Beefheart married to some sort of gigantic exotic tropical bird with multi-colored feathers.
Learn more about the Good Captain here.
09.26.02: Okay, so we now have in our possession a Transformers:Armada Optimus Prime (retail $39.99). If there is any doubt in your mind that this toy is unbearably cool, let me remind you of one thing. When you push down on the top of his head, his visor moves up and down like he's talking. They love us, them Japanese folks. They do.
Go here if you want to see for yourself. How 'bout that Matrix, hah?
09.25.02: I saw a billboard today for Coors beer, I think (the product doesn't come in real clear in memory), featuring a much-sexy picture of blond twin hotties. I thought about this for a bit, about how much we hetero dudes fantasize about getting it on with twins as being pretty much the biggest score sex-wise, and I realized... isn't that incest if they're getting it on? I mean, if they weren't hot, and blond, and identical, wouldn't it seem that much more obvious? And possibly icky?
