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4 out of 7 scientists prefer Chewbacca's crossbow
meanwhile, behind the facade of this innocent looking doghouse...
copyright 2002-2011 ultrablognetic |
Friday, November 15, 2002
Aloha bloggerville. Please don't think I'm purposefully neglecting you, it's just that it is a busy busy morning, which is good, because the busier I am at this here job the more mooloah comes flowing into my pocket. The sad thing about busy business is less time for my incoherent ramblings in this here space. I must say though as devoted as I am to my ahem, er, art, as I misguidedly tell myself that this is, I prefer cold hard cash to the happy feeling of creation, which although it fills me with joy the monetary rewards are yet to be forthcoming.
 But be that as it may, I am not the kind of person solely driven by the almighty dollar, so I will forego the millions of dollars I could earn during this five minutes and give them over to you, my dear dear reader. Why? Because I am a craftsman, and this is my craft, and the craft fair is currently closed and I am as the Beastie Boys say, very crafty.
I have been slightly concerned as of late with the inherent lack of a certain quality in this space as of late. By certain quality I mean quality. As in it has kind of sucked. Am I being overly critical? I think I am. Am I looking for sympathy and or pats on the back? Possibly. Am I just typing and whatever comes out is the result? Most definitely. Actually, I should shut my ass/mouth, because I did receive a very nice pat on the back from c monks over at utter wonder this morning, which was very very appreciated and caused me to have a moment of satisfaction in this otherwise stinky business. Thanks dude for the kind words, they mean a lot, and if you don't get a speeding ticket on your way to work Monday morning you can thank my connection with your local constabularies for hooking your ass up. Ultrablognetic, we don't just bullshit around here, no, we pay off exorbitant bribes to law enforcement all over the country. From the privacy of your own home you can enjoy my mafia connections and while Guido is bashing skulls you can savor a nice hot glass of Nestles chocolate. Actually you better put that in a mug, high temperatures and a brittle container might not be the best idea. I mean, maybe it would be OK if you have some of that industrial strength paul revere shit, but, just to play it safe, on the other hand, have a glass of cold milk, I don't want to get sued up in here. Ok well my alotted 5 minutes seem to have expired. Time to scrounge up a picture and slap this thing on blogger and be about my business. What is that business you may ask? Well as Kool Moe Dee once said, "forget it, let's go the bank, I just wanna get PAID." Thursday, November 14, 2002
The date was February 9, 1997. A Sunday. My heart was fresh from the recent spark of true love, keeping me warm on the cool yet humid nights. It was the rainiest season on Oahu in almost a decade, my first winter on the island. I was lounging with my roommates, sparking, getting ready for the Soundgarden show. Chilling out on the lanai, taking in the breeze and the greenery, drinking beers, enjoying the company of food, folks, and fun. Once everyone had the appropriate buzz on and the time was ripe for world domination, we disembarked from the Kailua condo and headed into town, ready to rock out with one of Seattle's less grungy grunge bands.
 The drive was just another cruise over the Pali Highway, tropical rain forest all around, intermittent water falls from the afternoon rains cascading down the rocky moss encrusted mountainsides could be heard but not seen in the dark valley. The smell of rain still on the wind, the little nelly in the belly excitement that comes with great expectations of a night of big time live music. The hum of the engine, the bristling of tires on blacktop, the lights of Honolulu as we rolled down the final hill through Nuuanu, Punchbowl on the left, so many dead soldiers, so many ghosts, so many stars.
Blaisdell Arena, Ward Avenue, cars, lights, people, electricity. Tailgaters tanking beers and talking story in the five story parking structure. Ingesting the last of the intoxicants before entering the jungle and paying for $6.00 bud lites. An old Chinese man took my ticket and tore neatly along the perforation. He gave me a smile as if to say, it's just another day kid, but you might as well enjoy it. Section GA, Row 34, Seat 32, presented by GoldenVoice. The band was late but the crowd was mellow. If there was an opening band, I don't remember. When Sound Garden came on, the crowd went nuts. They tore into Blackhole Sun and kept it bumping. About a half hour later, we noticed that the sound was getting a little sloppy. In the middle of a song, the bass player stopped playing and just looked at his band mates, who looked back at him and kept playing. The bass player then proceeded to pull his instrument over his shoulders, throw the bass guitar to the ground and storm off stage. The remainders of the band trooped on for a few more songs, but it didn't quite sound the same. I think a roadie came out and took over on bass. The music degenerated into a high school garage band jamming through their necessary practice time so they can rush it to Pizza hut before the salad bar closes. The show ended abruptly about ten minutes later. And that was the last Soundgarden concert ever. It was the last stop on their tour, and they broke up a couple months later. As for me, I get paid to slang not to chat, so I'm outtie.  Feelin' kind of funky this morning. Like the dumbass that I am, I succeeded in setting the alarm last night but failed miserably on the checking the volume of the alarm portion of the exam. This thereby made Mrs. P late for school and me barely on time to work with none of the perks of a well-planned and leisurely attended AM. These perks include a shower, breakfast, coffee, CNN Headline news, and the chance to listen to the sound of the crying whipoorwhill. OK well I heard the bird but I think I ran it over with my car in the rush of getting around town.
Dangety danget. Straight edge today ladies and germs. This is the first day at work without the evil bean in quite some spell. I guess it's good for me. I would drink a coke, there are plenty in the fridge here at the skunkworks, but I don't want that syruppy sugary caffeine buzz, I want that hot soothing brown bean pep me up. Ok now let me let out a cathartic whine. Waaahh. (spelling) How do you spell a whine phonetically? Whatever. Well I should get some work done. Wednesday, November 13, 2002
yo yo yo and a bottle a brass monkey, and when I hit the slopes well you know I gets funky. Um, or, uh, something like that, but it all depends on the size of the gat. Gyeah. Today I feel like babbling like babylon so if babwa wawa in the chacha ain't your thang, you might want to change channels, dawg.
Oh just to break up the fount of nonsense for um one second, you really should head over to hosemonster-ville cuz he blessed us with part 2 of his Nohr story, something I have been waiting for for a few months now. Isn't it weird in a sentence when you have "for for" and you look back at it, and it looks weird, but it's right, so you're like, wow,  that is not a problem. Don't even get me started, I could go on for days on end, and I just might, and well, what can you do? It's my blog, I run the show, and like Andrew Dice Clay says on his "The day the Laughter died" album, "I'll probably be the only one left in this fukn room when the show's over." He goes on to say, that this show ain't about jokes, he don't do no nursery rhymes in that show, and I don't give the audience what they want, I give you what you NEED. Two very different things. You may not know that what I'm giving you is what you secretly need, so sit back and read and digest and no goddamm interruption ferchrissake.
So where the hell was I? Oh yeah, justifying crappy and incoherent writing. I feel that by justifying horse manure, there will be a solid communication between I the genius author and you my reader(s). Now by genius please understand that I mean idiot. And by idiot I don't mean idiot savant I mean dumbass, as in total and complete moron, as in utter and extreme nincompoop, as in he who knows nothing yet speaks volumes. Therefore and forthwith I shall extend to you, my audience, who I heartily appreciate and dare I say stalk like a cheetah after a baby vulture (?) that if you understand that, then there is little left to comprehend and your grade for the day is B+ in ultrablognetic 101. Class dismissed. PS: I rang the bell. I rang the bell. I rang the mothafricken gasoline wanking g-style clackafrackin bell. The bell, the bell, the fricken fracken bicken backen bell. PPS: the invoice goes to Lodi, CA. I love Lodi even though I've never been there because it brings to mind that CCR song, "Stuck in old Lodi, again" "If I only had a dollar, for every song I sung, every time I sat there playing, while people sat there drunk, you know I'd catch the next train, back to where I'd been, oh Lord, stuck in old Lodi, again." Has anyone actually been to Lodi? What is it like? I'd ask my customer this, but I don't know, I don't want to offend him and stem off the cash flow, 'na mean? So like, all my Lodi peeps, gimme the 411. Tuesday, November 12, 2002
 So whut's up party people? There was a football game last night, I don't know if any of you watched it. My Raiders stomped in a pretty simple and easy affair against the Denver Donkeys at Sellout Field or whatever the fuck it's called. After a four-game slide it was nice to have a gimme game. Gannon played like a champ, basically having as close to a perfect game as possible. There were some people that doubted the mighty Raiders, most notably Bartley, who has already ate crow so I won't beat this thing too much to death, except to say that the Raiders are the mightiest team in the land and we're looking forward to the Donkeys coming to Oaktown so we can give them the same treatment in front of the Raider Nation.  The greatest receiver ever to play the game, Jerry Rice, had his 200th (and 201st) touchdown of his carreer, and Trace Armstrong had his 100th sack in the 500th edition of Monday Night Football. The clown shoes combo of Madden and rolling eye Joe weren't able to ruin the experience of watching the greatest show on turf roll over the Denver Bitches (sorry, Donkeys) like mollasses over a hot batch of cornbread. It was like Christmas at the orphanage. Touchdowns seemed to be getting passed out like religious pamphlets at a parade, that is if you were wearing the required uniform of silver and black.  Oh, and don't think I forgot about my Cal Bears, who went into Tempe, Arizona, aka Ham Fisted country, and pulled out a win over Arizona State. Now that was a good game, very close until the fourth quarter when Cal pulled ahead by basically doing it golden bear style. Whereas the Raiders rolled over an obviously inferior opponent, the Bears had to work for their win, which made the game pretty entertaining.
Don’t think I'm complaining about the Raider game, I mean, I love watching the Donkeys get stomped all over as much as the next guy, but sometimes it's nice to have like a challenge you know? Maybe the Broncos can hire like a better coach and quarterback so they're more ready for the next game. Maybe a girl-scout cookie fund raiser or something could scrounge up some money for some real players. I don't know. Anyway, fuck 'em. So what else did I do this weekend? Hit up two first birthday parties on Saturday, baby luaus brudda, and they were pretty fun. Lots of peeps and Winnie the Pooh was in the heezy fa sheezy. Ono grinds at a phat barbeque at Kailua beach yesterday, saw Igby goes Down Saturday night (very, very good flick, highly recommended - like a modern day Catcher in the Rye type trip - Macaulay Culkin's little bro is quite the acTOR). Went gym, watched football, soaked in dope weather (kind of overcast, but we held off the rain until today - word) stoked my clippers won at Orlando, good vibes mon, good vibes, nice 3-day weekend action, hope yours was nice too. And to you Denver Donkey fans, hey don't hate the player, hate the game, see you in Oaktown bitches!  |
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