Friday, October 17, 2003

Trevor has blessed us with his very first photo essay. Can anyone say yippee muthafuckin kai eh? Thank you to you in the 3rd row.

I have this feeling the clippers are winning an nba championship this year.

If the raiders bench gannon, they’ve still got a shot at the wildcard.

I need to find a little a character like dilbert that I can prostitute for like years and years and years and it never gets old because I constantly infuse it with fresh ideas assisted by the fact that the concept itself is readily adaptable to the changing setting of the modern workplace.

But I doubt I will.

I read this SI article about this couple that motorcycled around the world for like 4 years. That would be pretty cool.

GOD I can’t believe I said that, so STUPID.

Bob’s Big Boy is from Glendale, you know.

Foodland is a grocery store chain out here that was founded by some guy named “Sullie.” He was this army private that went into business with this middle aged Korean grocer and they built mad shops and then he incorporated his own skidaddle and spread around the isle and it gives safeway a run for its money out here.

We like to go in safeway and joke that we're gonna ride the george mobiles.

It’s a good bet that next year’s world series champs will be the los angeles dodgers.

I’m pretty sure the spirit of Walt Disney is now haunting the Anaheim Mighty Ducks. That and the ghost of Emilio Estevez’s career.

I really like the back to the future movies.

Major league baseball is hardcore bumming about the yanks and the fish in the series. C’mon, they’re gonna lose mad bank.

The jurk storr called & they’re running out of you.

gots werk ta due crew. But that don’t mean it’s not nuggin nogget time, hellz no. I gots a verse, strait out of a hearse, yo this curse it couldn’t be worse unless you’re a beantowner you don’t give a browner but green eyed bandits are the most skinless and unpredictable kine, only not.

Chuuchin’ chuchinstein. Wakefield acres landmark alley, strait up in your grill.

Suckin hard, going for the finish line, realizing 2 more laps to go, fuck this shit, throw it, gaffle it, choke it, chiken it, lean cuisine that shit, strait up & down, take it cradle to tha grave style, all up in their grill, don’t let em talk shit like that, they don’t know the score, they don’t know the poodle they don’t know your noodle all you can say is step to tha curb and flex your armstrongs and Jonathon your Livingston seagulls, strait up & down, no panickin’.

So that was so damn profound, like, if you didn’t realize it, I’m like, um, not disrespectin your grill or nuthin, but contemplate, was it retardation or the state of the nation, I mean strait up & down, was it rockabilly, did it have soul, was it gangsta was it sweet was it meaty was it neat.

Fuck this shit. oh & motherfuck E-40. strait up & down, he can come up on his hands & knees and beg for the dee and get strait bitch slapped back to cape canaveral for a fukn free rocket to the land of the lost, cuz he is lost cuz homey don’t know how to put on a show & he’s a bitch ass mark.

Fukn curse. Seriously. Boston sux ass. The yanks will always own their asses. Strait up & down, sorry to piss in your milk and spit in your tea but reality is more than an escapade and I roll in hotter than an escalade if you catch my drift, strait up & down.

Fukn I’m so down with this strait up & down shit that I may fukn patent that shit, I mean, has anyone patented that gangsta ass shit? fuk those fools and fuck e-40 and motherfuck the Denver broncos.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

I just erased the first draft of the first sentence of this post. Now you can wonder all day what it was. Carlton is gonna kick my ass for that, but yo, fuck the kingpin. Bitch.

So yeah, werk. Anutha day anutha dolla. Wonder if the official cub scapegoat is in at the office today? Somehow I doubt it. homey can’t even walk the streets na mean? Fuck that. give this guy a fukn break already. I’m not gonna say another word and just direct you to the best breakdown of it I’ve seen on the good ol triple dub so far, courtesy of the Kansas playa JG.

So what else? Jurk storr ain’t called today. Joke’s almost done, gimme a few more days months years and I’ll get it outta my system. Promise.

The ocean did call. Fresh outta muthafuckin squid sandwiches, can you believe that shit?

Mildly disturbing biggie smalls line:

“you looked so good I’d suck on your daddy’s dick”

really big? Um. Ok. If that’s what makes you happy, but, um, you’re scaring me. Can you just go back to talking about selling crack and pounding hoes? Gracias.

I’m digging bubba sparx’s new song, you know with the video that’s a take off of that “oh brother where art thou” movie? (which was a take off of Homer’s Oddysey – OH you already knew that, well sorr-ee mr. Fukn ultima mega edumucated buttcracker malone). I like the hook with timbo singing and shit, don’t know if that’s really him singin it, but I dig it nonetheless. Bubba seems like good people to me.

It makes me feel old to remember that when I was in high school for the most part the only people that had pagers were doctors and drug dealers.

“allow me to lace these lyrical douches, in your bushes”

yah, biggie, that’s more like it.

that’s all I got for you at this precise moments folks. Now go skull fuck doctor laura in effigy and write a book report on that shit. aloha.

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Fuck I almost smashed my fuckn monitor through this like plate glass window I was getting so antsy waiting for ms word to load. Ferreal son. First off, strait out the gate, I’m gonna take a cue from true, strait up, velocity verbosity, and fukn thank all y’all for reading this shit. strait up and down kids. Yo strait down yo lane and fukn up yo area it’s strait up non-gangsta shit.

Fuk where the fuk was I? Oh yeah, strait up & down, yall don’t even know how many dog shit ass thoughts that just strait are like invading my noggin, it’s like this guy puts it so perfectly on his very first post, I’m like strait up jealous that he could see it so clearly, it’s like if you don’t supply a fukn drain for the excess gray matter, shit ain’t gonna fly kid it’s gonna die. And then rot & fester in your medulla oblongata and strait up & down that shit will poison your mental more than that mom in flowers in the attic poisoned her kids but kinda like that, na mean? Like a slow poison like that after a few years yer all skinny and shit and can barely like hang and then a couple years later like your little bro dies and then you’re like, yo, FUCK that bitch and the ho-ass grandma and that punk ass granddad, yo, fuck them.

But not my mom & grandmas and grandpa (rip) they some down ass with the coz peeps, na mean, it was like a representation from a movie to make a point which I totally lost.

Oh yah so like back to true’s shit, strait up & down, na mean, like thanks to all yall, c’mon, give yourselves a hand, na mean, fuck me, I’m just like this guy throwin tomatoes up against the wall and callin it art but yall come in here and look at it and say nice things for the most part and for that I will be forever appreciative and humbled and na mean? Gracias from mi corazon, that’s on the real, strait up & down.

And no I’m not black, I’m white, and yes it does matter, race matters, na mean? But shit dawgs if I wanna talk like fukn ice-t or ice cube or vanilla ice that’s strait up and down my prerogative na mean? I ain’t bobby brown and you ain’t whitney and this bag ain’t full of ye-yo so strait up and down cough up my pokemon cards.

Fuck I don’t know jack shit about poke-mon, just came to mind yo. Yo yo yo yo yo. Do NOT even think about playin wit my yo yo.

See that’s the type of shit I’m talking about, where else besides bloggerville can I say “don’t play with my yo yo” jus’ bitin’ old ice cube lines and like say “strait up and down” over and over again and somehow it’s like respected or not respected or at least read by a few people. whatevs. I suck you suck wouldn’t you like to be a pepper too? No I don’t suck & neither do you and diet dr. pepper does NOT taste like regular dr. pepper, na mean? I’m a muthafuckin pepper from way back, strait up & down, and I will not sanction that shit no way no how.

Oh just to clarify, when I was mentioning screaming yesterday, I had more in mind Sam Kinison than that old Iron Maiden singer, but I felt like putting a pic of the ex-front man just cuz, na mean, it was bobby brown style, which I already elaborated on. FUCK this telephone, na mean?

Shit cuz that telephone just rang I didn’t get to finish my thought, and it was deeper than atlantis na mean? Damn that’s bad, no that’s good. So yeah, sam kinison, here’s something I bet you didn’t know, I could have seen him live except for the fact that I’m a big lazy pile of shit. freshman year at Cal, Sam coming to play at whatever ballroom or shit on campus, and I was a little bitch and didn’t go cuz I couldn’t get anyone else to go with me. Nobody else wanted to cough up the 25 bones or whatever it was, so I let it go. I LET IT GO. And then just a few months after said show, of which I indicated “ah I’ll get another chance to see him sometime” he fucking dies in a car accident. Literally like 3 months later, this is not on some metaphorical shit, check the concert dates, punks. And I didn’t go, just cuz I didn’t want to go by myself. What a little bitch. What the fuck I need somebody to go with me that shit for? I can’t sit by myself and have a fukn beer and laugh and enjoy comic genius? Me=dumbass.

So anyway, sam was like my fave comedian and is still up in that like upper echelon, although in retrospect I realize he had maybe 2 really hilarious years at the top but then kinda went into a tailspin on the drugs and the rock and roll mentality of the whole trip, he became too much of a superstar that the awareness of it as well as the associated lifestyle may have hurt his pure Schwartz or whatever. I mean, he never even really worked the elite club circuit, (I mean he was big in Houston before moving to LA, but c’mon) except as like a door guy and mop up end of the nite duty at the Comedy Store in Hollywood, he was too hardcore, basically, Rodney Dangerfield gave him 6 minutes on an hbo “battle of the comics” special or some shit like that and he blew the FUCK up. Like right the fuck away. And Sam’s hbo special was off the goddamm muthafuckin chain. Off of it. so yeah Sam was what I was thinking when I was referencing that scream shit in the post below. Yeah.

So anyway, sam’s bro & best bud remember the moment that he died, he had just been in that accident, some drunk kid rammed right into him & his wife, bro & buddy run to the car, sam looks kinda fucked up, but maybe ok, and he like doesn’t even see them, his buddy’s holding him and Sam is like looking off into space, talking to somebody (God? He was an ex evangelist preacher, pretty damn good it seems) and he’s like saying “Why now? Why now? I don’t wanna die yet.” He just keeps saying “why now?” and then he gets like this content look on his face and is like “oh. Ok, ok.” And then peacefully just dies.

I don’t know whut that means but in this documentary I watched yesterday (which you should check out btw, it’s called like “why did we laugh” or something like that), his buddy says it was like, although his best friend died in his arms, it left him with the most amazing feeling of peace, which he’s carried through to this day.

RIP you bad ass motherfucker. Oh & say wuddup to Randy for me cuz holmes ain’t been around in days (days = almost a damn year already), ferreal, strait up & down.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

just screaming won’t do the trick. It’s the way you scream. It’s the validity, the truth, the meaning behind the scream. It can be funny, solemn, frightening, but as long as it’s real, they’re can be a lot in a scream. A lot.

There’s something to be said for going against the grain. For not melting in with the rest of the pot, for doing your own thing even if you’re denied the chicken wing.

Even if you’re doing the goddamm wang chung and the whole rest of the kids in the cleared out disco ball infested school cafeteria are doing the running man.

There’s also something to be said for not being a total pain in the ass fuck everything pop culture hate mongering martyr. I mean, really, fuck poo-pooing just for the sake of street cred. But ying to the yang, fuck uttering a yessir and an aye-aye when a verdict of copacetic is the furthest thing from your cerebral cortex’s bullshit detector.

What with “media whore” being in the common vernacular as a seemingly newfound position of respect in the modern wave of reality television, wherein any and every washed up actor slash rocker slash pop culture footnote has an avenue by which to bend over and get fucked, or rather, fuck the memory of any memorable work, be it good, bad or ugly, that they may have contributed to the machine, this little tidbit (pulled from this Paul DiAnno interview) struck a minor chord with me this fine morning:

“Most people who have had the slightest amount of notoriety will do all that they can to hold onto the reigns of the horse that they are riding just in the hope that they not be thrown but that is simply not the case with DiAnno, not by a longshot. DiAnno is more the type to devour the horse because he can run faster, stronger and get further by using it as fuel rather than transportation.”

On a totally unrelated side note, I just had what I feel is a fantastic idea for the Omen part 7. Rush Limbaugh and Dr. Laura Schlessinger have a weekend of forbidden penetration involving a plethora of prescription drugs and arcane sex toys, resulting in a demon seed unlike the world has ever known. Shenanigans ensue.

Monday, October 13, 2003

I like to call people named Bobby, or, I guess, maybe even Robert, Bobbo, I think it rolls off the tongue in an avant guarde (ok, not that) or at least nice sounding (nice sounding? Jesus age Christ can’t you come up with something better than that?) (oh, and yeah, hi, second set of parentheses in a row, yeah, I was gonna put a set in that last one, but I’m not sure what the procedures are for something like that, but I was gonna mention that, um, is it Jesus H. Christ, or jesus AGE Christ, yeah, could someone let me know about that, pretty sure actually now that it’s H, but well, if so, what does the H stand for, hellacious? Prolly not) fashion. Bobbo sounds good is what I was trying to say, before I got mildly sidetracked.

Speaking of mild, I never buy mild salsa, always hot, I’d rather be like having my head on fire and sweating profusely than feel that I denied myself some realm of spiciness and the full range of taste of said chipotle, using chipotle as strictly a general term for something en fuego in the taste sense, for lack of better phrase-ology, which seems to be an ongoing problem this morning.

Oh yeah I was gonna say, this broad just called with congressman Tom Delay with some dogSHIT horse manure message for the boss, like, ok lady, um, yeah, totally, I’ll have him get RIGHT on that, I’m sure it’s a very MUY importante press release or whatever you have for him, despite the fact that the number of astro medallions currently hanging from my neck (which is, I will impart to you at this time, mucho) is not even near to the amount of times you have called already regarding this matter and the fact that you have gotten nowhere with said efforts should be a very good indicator that it just ain’t gonna happen, na mean? Yah.

Tom Delay reminds me of Art Vandelay, ya know that fake name from Seinfeld, which reminds me of another importante cosa I was gonna habla a ti, but first, primero, that other story, about the broad calling, reminded me of this one part in Casino, you know, when Robert Deniro (who I would not call Bobbo, this is an exception to the rule, I mean, he might not like that, in fact, I can already predict the very serious expression which would cross his face if such umbrage were emitted. This leads to rule 1 dash A, in that you should know said Bobby or Robert well ie in a friendly manner, to a degree where it's ok to fuck with them a little bit, because, i don't know, it sounds goofy, and some people are not down with light hearted giggles at their own expense. Anyway.) Where was I? oh yes, Deniro calls up, um, that pimp guy that Sharon Stone is in love with and keeps running away to, um, shit that famous actor, um, shit, you know, damn, can’t remember his name, great actor though, anyway, the slimeball is like taking down Deniro’s number to call him back, and he’s like “yeah, yeah, 5436, yeah call you right back” and like making like the jurk off motion with his hand and not writing shit down cuz he ain’t gonna call back Sam Rothstein’s ass, no way no how.

And so yeah, that’s what I was doing with this broad when she called, like “yeah, let me get your number, oh yeah, 1-800 etcetera, yes I will impart this very important and vital message to Mr. Jurk Storr at my nearest opportunity in fact I may just board a lear jet in 3 seconds and fly to Afghanistan and personally deliver it to the sheik rhami mohammed who kneels with the dogs of Ashtar.”

This confused her a good deal as I don’t think she’s down with the dee oh gee’s of the ash-bombers like yo. Werd.

So, oh yeah, I saw a seinfeld last night which I’m pretty sure I had never seen before. This is exciting in that it never happens, unless about 85 astro medallions line up perfectly underneath the aurora borealis and like shoot photon rays through a prism and then you get like a perfect spectrum which includes the not often seen shade of mauve as seen in the batman butler handbook. Ok made up that last part.

But anyway, this seinfeld episode, I was trippin, my dawgs, cuz it had Kramer’s mom in it. and it was the one where kramer’s first name is revealed as Cosmo. Now I knew his first name was Cosmo, but I never realized there was an actual revelation episode. Oh and George thinks that his model girlfriend is yuking up her meals after they eat in order to stay skinny, which pisses him off not for health concerns, but because he’s wasting money on food which she’s barfing up, oh, and Jerry has the chance to have a ménage a trois, which he passes up, because he can’t see himself becoming an “orgy guy.”

So that was a very necessary breakdown of a random seinfeld episode which you probably could not have lived without.

It’s kinda lame that I’m werking today as it’s a national holiday but not a state holiday, which they switched with like prince kuhio day, which I didn’t get off either, but you know, I am so vital to the Hawaiian economy, that, well, it’s crucial. Banks are closed though, which means that my lunch appointment with Sir Mix-a-Lot to hang out in central downtown Bank of Hawaii’s main vault and count our scrilla is totally gonna have to be rescheduled. Shitty.

update: Speaking of Bobby, ya needs to check out Skull Bolt. As for calling him Bobbo, um, take your chances, but I wouldn't go there. He's liable to unscrew your medulla and flambe' your oblongata. chuuuuuch.

Sunday, October 12, 2003

Ah a picture really does speak a thousand words sometimes. Well, maybe, a 100. Look at the expression on the face of the kid with the Tim Brown jersey. He’s like, “um, ok, I always figgered that being a Raider fan in Cleveland would allow me to talk yang when the silver and black came to town, and now I gotta go into Mrs. Ferguson’s first period English class and get a boatload of shit over the sorry, sorry, pathetic state of raider nation in this day and age my brutha.”

Ok I extrapolated or interpolated or overemphasized one or more words or phrases in that thought process but you prolly get my drift.

Most disturbing statistic, at least to me, in Oakland’s 13-7 loss to the Browns: Rich Gannon 21 of 33 for 165 yards and 1 TD.

That looks like ok stats, yeah? Nothing to present the guy with like the key to the city or anything, but not embarrassing. There’s only one problem.

Gannon should be on the goddamm bench.

What the FUCK are you waiting for Bill Callahan? Do we have to be mathematically eliminated from playoff contention before you’ll take so-called drastic measures?

I’m not pinning this shit on Gannon. Those numbers would seem to indicate he may even be turning his sorry ass play around. No, I’m pinning it on you, coach. Gannon needs to ride the goddamm pine because quarterback is the most high-profile position on the team and the symbol of the offense and the whole squad in general and if you shake up that position you will demonstrate that you actually have a nutsack instead of like a little Al Davis controlled robot riding your taint and like using your pubes for a pair of reigns. The team will react, trust me. They will realize that, fuck it, Armageddon has hit, so they might as well play like they aren’t complete & total pussies.

You cowardly piece of shit. Stand up to the old man. Stand up to Gannon. Stand up to Oakland. What the FUCK are you waiting for? What the FUCK is it going to hurt? You just lost consecutive games to the Bears (the fucking BEARS) and the Browns. Put Tuiasosopo in there, show everybody that nobody’s position is safe, give the media a major mindfuck, jostle the team out of its malaise, give a young kid the chance to run that offense, old and creaky as it may be, and see whut the fuck happens.

Cuz it can’t be worse than what’s happening now. The Raiders are the laughing stock of the league. You need to take the most extreme of steps to wake these fucking old grandpas out of their fuckn jock itch infested self-induced hypnoses. Bench their leader and shake that locker room the fuck up.

And Bill, c’mon, be realistic, you’ll be lucky to make it through the season unless you do something totally unexpected and off the fucking wall. Like bench your starting quarterback who also happens to be the reigning MVP of the league.

Fuck him & fuck you.

Go Raiders.