Saturday, August 27, 2005

Howdy pard(s). Well, being the obsessive compulsive reader over of shite that I am, I noticed a small bit of what I said during my conversation with Malatron that was edited out of the interview transcript that he posted. This is not to say, by any means, that it was a bad call, or whatever, to edit this bit out, I mean, hey, that’s his prerogative, I will not disallow anyone to pull a bobby brown, especially in light of my heartfelt and insistent demand that I be allowed said privileges, but I just thought that for reasons unbeknownst (yes, yes, even to myself, yawn. That’s the last time I clarify that, yes, you’re welcome) I would drop it on you here, me, in my own werds, just for laughs.

The thing about getting older, it's what you do with it, you either keep your eyes open, or you close em. If you keep em open, shit, as you get older, you'll be amazed the shit you figure out, the shit that looks so simple now, that when you were 20 you thought was indecipherable, dealing with people, the way some parts of the world work, etc; but there are a lot of older people that just close their eyes to that shit and watch their money & keep to their shit and say "fuck the world," yes, there's that too, mos def.

yup, atlantis called, they want their depth back. de nada.

Friday, August 26, 2005

I know that people sometimes come up with this shit like “but van halen made more albums with Sammy than they did with Dave,” and to that I just submit the evidence that is van halen 1, particularly song 4 “ain’t talking about love” along with almost every other song, but this in particular, I mean, could ANYONE besides diamond dave have delivered that line “I ain’t got time to mess around,” and then not even bother to say fuck instead of mess, even though it was later bastardized to a prolly better form, (not officially, but vis a vis pop culture, yao ming) and then pull it off so gracefully and mesmerisingly and then live on in infamy and even though he’s combing mad hair over the top of his head and looks like a complete idiot in the modern idiom and sammy is livin large south of the border as a tequila magnate, I mean, really, if you want to talk about quality over quantity (as, granted, I am loathe to do, jinx bathroom) and disregard rock star antics which you just have to, I mean, does anyone impugn against axl rose what an ass he is to the degree of his importance to the music? Of course, but of course not. Ok I’m done. God bless you david lee roth, you dripped with what could rightly be termed soul, yes I said it. But you should really consider shaving your head, at least chopping that shit down to a reasonable turf level ala moi & agassi. Reality, mi amigo. That is all.

I’ve got cold coffee in a mug and hot something in my something. Well, that didn’t really work, now did it. I wrote some crappy crap at crapville acre and if you think I’m gonna direct traffic to that shite well you’ve got an 83rd nipple nobody clued you in on. Actually I liked it and the website of which where it is at is of the highest quality, so thus the truth was not known in that area of this paragraph. Fantastic information, yes?

Fanboy rampage is a very interesting website for me not to poop on, that is if you are interested in comic dorkery, of which I wholeheartedly am. In other news, I’m listening to van hagar. Yes, you may now shoot an arrow made of vibranium into my heart, thereby causing it to explode into like 78 different and unique bloody chunks. Thanks in advance.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

I have to get over this whole writing to get myself writing dillio. I should start typing and words of wisdom should just come spilling out, without even thinking about it, without even sparking a single brain cell, of no effort whatsoever, brilliance needs to exude, or else all is lost and I might as well join the circus. How’s their medical plan, I wonder?

The new alkaline trio is pretty damn good. Thanks to m68 for shooting it my way. Even if he is a buttfucking quitter. S’all gude in the hude. No prize to the first person to tell me whut movie that’s from. I promise I will stop saying “so what else?” after that one. That was my last one. My very last fucking one.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

I’m listening to Tom Leykis via the buzz, right here in the safety of my own office. It’s a nice thing to be able to do. The innernet is a bootiful thing sometimes. Oh and yes I’m an evil chauvinistic bastard sword for partaking in the auditory escapades of the 101 acres. Sigh and sigher.

Um, whut else, oh yeah, I did up another submission, a small chunk of the master thesis, to another magazine, this time a literary journal from some university. I won’t put it here, for reasons unbeknownst even to me. But this would seem mos def a more realistic endeavor than the dillio of whut I did before, which was literally el imposible, and of which I still ain’t heard back after 3 months, which is prolly about standard.

Now I think what I submitted before was crap and what I dropped in the mail today is gold, and in another 3 months I’ll hate it and prolly maybe the original one will be platinum in my eyes? Or frappaccino induced doggerel.

There was some other garbage of which I was going to make you endure but I just don’t have the heart. You’re welcome.

I can’t believe people would say that I’m not vociferous. Yes, unnecessary and ill advised, that I can accept, but that I don’t pound out enuff crap farm fertilizer? Ludicrous, retarded even, and not just for the fact that no one except billy the boy in my throat even intimated it, but for various other reason d’aitres that you well know, so don’t try to bring that hogwash around here that it’s some kind of surprise and that the apple sauce sandwich just appeared on your doorstep. You know and I know & I know that you know that that’s a load of donkey excrement.

Yep, I saw public enemy on Friday. It was overly under attended, which is a damn shame, I blame the promotions department, or lack thereof, but the beautiful thing is that unlike your typical rap star(s), they blew that shit outta the water anyway, and they prolly woulda gone another 2 hours if they didn’t have a plane to catch. The sign of true professionals. You got a show to play, you play the fucking show. Whether there’s one, two, 800, 10 million people in the crowd. Chuck, Flav, even Professor Griff were up there getting trizzy. A mild dispute broke out over whether their new DJ (terminator X retired years ago), a very talented individual, is named Lloyd or Lord, but luckily there was no violence, at least in that regard.

Beyond the land of meaningless werds, however, verily, I was incredibly impressed. As far as rap shows go, one of the best, like, ever. Full on live band, guitar, bass, drum solos, funk, rock, the ghost of Jimi Hendrix, DJ Lloyd (my preferenced nom de plum) bustin a SICK solo mish and unveiling the "matrix scratch," a song called “fuck George Bush,” Flavor Flav antics, Chuck D and raised fists, many of the classics, “I got a letter from the government, the other day, I opened, and read it, it said they was suckas,” 911 being a joke, almost every song almost being an oft repeated anthem, good times, etcetera, why can’t more rap shows be like this, why God, why? Someone really needs to send E-40 the video on this and slap him upside his grill and get the edumucation rolling.