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|Friday, March 28th, 2008|
twenty two year old florida white trash selling sixty year old chinese ammunition to the us for use in afghani weapons since 2002.
|Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005|
Check out the Rubyiat of Omar Khadan (Something like that). It's a pretty neat epic poem dedicated to wine. I first found a copy of it in my grandfather's house. It was originally written in the 12th century in the middle east. Then it was translated by some english noble recluse in the 17th or 18th century but the guy edited and added his own stuff until the translated result was a combination of both of the original and his own contributions. Basically it's all about how philosophy sucks and you can argue all day but don't even bother because you are wasting your time when you could be drinking wine. Now don't hold me to this last part but I think this work got some sort of popular revival during the roaring twenties which is what keeps it from dropping into obscurity. Plus its a good read.
I don't dig the irish poets. Too potatoey.
|Saturday, January 29th, 2005|
Ahh, the South
I got back from texas a few weeks ago and let me tell you, I was not sad to leave. What gets me is all those fuckers really think it's God's country. And the non-stop country songs about how great texas is and all that crap. I want to write a country song about how bad texas sucks. ("Oh, I got syphilis from some Texas Ho, It's hot as hell and the wind don't blow, The women are big and the men are small, they just don't satisfy at all -- Ralph, get to work on it.)
Anyway, me and some of the locals are sitting around drinking and start to telling jokes. So we trade mediocre jokes back and forth for a while when I bust out with one of my favorites, the baby seal joke. They all looked at me slack-jawed and said, "Why would anyone club a baby seal?"
Here's a good racist joke I learned on my trip.
So, there is a trucker carrying a load of bowling balls from Louisianna to Texas. Just before he crosses the border he stops to get some gas. Two black kids on bicycles come up to him and ask if they can hitch a ride. Sure, he says, but I don't have any room in the cab. You two and your bicycles are going to have to ride in back with the bowling balls. They agree and hop on in. The trucker pays for the gas and heads on down the road. Just after he crosses the border into texas he gets pulled over by a cop. The cop comes up to his window and tells him that he missed a weigh station so the cop is going to have to check out his load. The trucker says fine and the cop goes to the back of the truck. About two seconds later he hears the cop yelling into his CB.
"BACKUP I NEED BACKUP NOW! SOME TRUCKER IS TRYING TO TRANSPORT A LOAD OF NIGGER EGGS, TWO HAVE DONE HATCHED AND THEY ALREADY GOT BICYCLES!"
|Thursday, August 5th, 2004|
So these horses are sitting at the bar having a drink, and on of them pipes up and says “man I had a dream last night I was in a race and I was a length behind the whole race but then just at the end, I got this strange intense burning feeling right up my ass and I was able to leap forward and win the race.”
The horse next to this one perks up his ears and says “that’s strange, last night I had a dream I was two lengths behind in a race but just at the end I got this strange intense burning feeling right up my ass and I was able to leap forward and win the race.”
A third horse turns around on his stool after hearing this and says “guys, guys, you are not going to believe this. Last night I had a dream that I was three lengths behind in a race and I got this strange intense burning feeling right up my ass and was able to jump ahead and win the race at the last minute.”
At this point a grey hound, who’s sitting by himself at a table, chimes in and says, “hey, I wasn’t going to say any thing but this is weird, because last night I had a dream I was four lengths behind in a race and then just at the end I got this strange intense burning feeling right up my ass and was able to leap ahead and win the race.”
And the horses all look at each other and say
“that’s strange, a talking dog.”
|Monday, June 28th, 2004|
did you hear about the dyslexic satanist?
|Friday, June 25th, 2004|
a money making device
i bet you can't swallow one slice of wonder bread in under a minute with out the aid of some liquid.
|Tuesday, June 1st, 2004|
i just joined because i read that this is the place for people who do not like this place
i figured i fit that profile
|Monday, May 10th, 2004|
|Monday, May 3rd, 2004|
on being offencive (rest assured there is not a bun in THIS oven)
right, lets try and get right back to it,
my buddy marisa came home friday night, she's been in georgia and i've been sitting her appartment. she was telling me the other night that when she would loose a train of thought durring her pregnancy, and pause in the middle of a sentence while every one around her tried to guess it's finnish, there was this one kid at tower records (we used to work there) who'd always say "it's ok folks, she's thinking for two now." which i just think is knee slapping funny.
i am going to start telling people i am drinking for two. ha. ha ha. i am going to get slapped.
|Thursday, March 18th, 2004|
I watched a documentary on shane macgowan last march. They filmed him stumbling around with a slurpy cup full of booze; no teeth left; two hours of interview and you couldn’t under stand one droopy eyed word of it. And in a video of one concert from the 1988 tour; the pogues playing flawless damned quadruple time irish folk while shane stands there with black sunglasses in the dark; pasty and drooling and all but passed out against the mic stand; missing every cue and painfully off key, you’d have thought he’d been put there by the make a wish foundation. I don’t think there’s a recording of him out there that portrays some stone cold sober; I don’t think he ever has been, man there was possibly whiskey in his baby bottle.
But he writes these songs. Oh these songs. I love the pogues; I love shane macgowan, because of these songs. the music is old irish folk, but these lyrics are macgowan’s.
“There the he-males and the she-males paraded in style
And the old man with the money would flash you a smile
In the dark of an alley you’d work for a fiver
For a swift one off the wrist down on the old main drag”
“The boys and me are drunk and looking for you
We'll eat your frigging entrails and we won't give a damn
Me daddy was a blue shirt and my mother a madam
And my brother earned his medals at Mai Lei in Vietnam”
classic i say.
Old tunes with new stories, the truth of folk right? And then this one is just neato
“Thousands are sailing
Across the western ocean
To a land of opportunity
That some of them will never see
Across the western ocean
Their bellies full
Their spirits free
They'll break the chains of poverty
And they'll dance”
“Thousands are sailing
Again across the ocean
Where the hand of opportunity
Draws tickets in a lottery
Postcards we're mailing
Of sky-blue skies and oceans
From rooms the daylight never sees
Where lights don't glow on Christmas trees
And we danced to the music
And we dance”
the two diasporas right. oh that one makes me misty man.
And you know to see him alive. See him up there with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other screaming “come on you bastards!!” just goddamn hurling himself at the microphone in quintessential irish raging frustration like he had to put the entirety of that stringy, booze wrecked body into getting the inebriated gusto out over that, Christ that travesty of a dental misfortune he’s got. Oh those teeth, oh those teeth.
Man shane macgowan. Teeth and all; gross drunk acne and dead drunk eyes and every thing. Back in the day, back in the screaming at the mic glory days of the pogues day. I would totally have done him.
Happy st pats kids.
A picture of my gross ish secret crush: http://www.shanemacgowan.com/pics/outline2.jpg
Hey, I don’t know smarty computer html things.
Also, what about “whiskey tit” as a band name. Has that been done?
|Wednesday, March 17th, 2004|
so i've purchased two hemingway books. the old man and the sea. and that kilimanjaro one. which comes with a few other short stories. and i ate salmon yet again.
you shall rue the day assfish.
|Friday, March 12th, 2004|
i am reading hemingway's short stories. this is where it is at. this is why they love hemmingway. this is divine. i take it back. i take it all back. i was wrong and i am sorry.
man why couldn't he write a novel. he could only write ideas. ideas that can only last ten pages. that is why. trying to stretch the ideas out to three hundred pages was too much for him. you get a philosophy to cross out every thing that doesn't need to be there and you have to have a pretty convoluted idea to get it filling up three hundred pages and still be true to your art.
i am just spouting. i spent an hour today discussing which would be the most efficiant arrangement of check boxes on an error form for missfiled paper work with my coworkers. i am on the edge of shooting myself and/or others. so if i have a skewed veiw of the real true nature of the late ernest hemmingway's talents, forgive me. lets talk about lawn gnomes. as they relate to the short happy life of francis maccomber. and cheese. and god.
|Thursday, February 12th, 2004|
|Wednesday, January 14th, 2004|
|Thursday, January 8th, 2004|
A Software Engineer, a Hardware Engineer and a
Departmental Manager were on their way to a meeting in
Switzerland. They were driving down a steep mountain
road when suddenly the brakes on their car failed. The
car careened almost out of control down the road,
bouncing off the crash barriers, until it miraculously
ground to a halt scraping along the mountainside. The
car's occupants, shaken but unhurt, now had a problem:
they were stuck halfway down a mountain in a car with
no rakes. What were they to do?
"I know", said the Departmental Manager, "Let's have a
meeting, propose a Vision, formulate a Mission
Statement, define some Goals, and by a process of
Continuous Improvement, Change Management,
Re-Engineering and Service Integration, find a
solution to the Critical Problems, and we can be on
"No, no", said the Hardware Engineer, "That will take
far too long, and besides, that method has never
worked before. I've got my Swiss Army knife with me,
and in no time at all I can strip
down the car's braking system, isolate the fault, fix
it, and we can be on our way."
"Well", said the Software Engineer, "Before we do
anything, I think we should push the car back up the
road and see if it happens again."
|Wednesday, January 7th, 2004|
What do you call masturbation by a 90 year old man?
What do you call two black guys on police motorcycles?
|Sunday, December 21st, 2003|
|Sunday, November 30th, 2003|
|Friday, October 24th, 2003|
the pope shoots lazers from his eyes! the pope shoots lazers from his eyes! oh sweet jesus have mercy! who will save the vatacan!?!
courtacy of a complete ass.