Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

A letter from my pal John Kerry (with my comments in red)

A letter from my friend John Kerry (with comments in red)

Dear Steve,

Yesterday, 25 Democratic Senators joined our effort to filibuster the Alito nomination (swanky…just yesterday I took a piss and didn’t get a single droplet on the seat). -- that's more votes to filibuster the Alito nomination than there were votes against Justice Roberts' nomination itself just a few months ago, (we still lost our asses but this time it was just 87% of the cheeks and hole!)

This morning, 42 Senators (in an effort as meaningful as Webster declaring for the NBA draft) voted against Alito's nomination (then went to the strip bar and glared at the Japanese businessmen who seemed to be getting all the love from Candace and Vanessa). That's the highest number of votes against any Supreme Court nominee since Clarence Thomas in 1991 (this might mean something if I was a Detroit Lions fan or Leif Garrett’s addiction counselor and hard up for anything that smacks of progress).

It's hard to lose (but harder to win apparently) -- but it's important to fight for what we believe in (as evidenced by the gains we have made since banding together under this email list…..oh wait, scratch that, just..umm…go watch Rocky and send more money). I want to thank the hundreds of thousands of you who signed our petitions, (hundreds of thousands…eleven or twelve including two for Kennedy, it’s an inexact science) called your senators, (I LOST MY DRIVER’S LICENSE CAN YOU HELP I HATE THE LINE AT THE DMV!!!) wrote letters to the editor (ok just stop it) and, most important, refused to stand silent (sitting quietly is SO much more meaningful) while President Bush worked (after vacation) to pack the highest court in the land with far right ideologues, (damn if only someone could have done something to not let that happen like last November or something that would have been totally bitching).

We fought a fight that needed fighting, (?!?!?!). We made sure the nation knew the truth about the Alito nomination, (like you lost the election and reinforced the notion that Democrats are a bunch of whiny pussies so no matter how valid your argument may be it’s going to get ignored and this dude is going to get passed up to the bench no matter how red faced Teddy gets because no one takes a fucking thing you have to say at all seriously anymore if ever). We made sure America heard how a right wing ideological coup sandbagged Harriet Miers' nomination (wait, you would rather SHE got up there?!?!?) and replaced her with Judge Alito (seriously, Kerry must think I’m high to follow this line of reasoning).

No one will be able to say, in five to ten years, that he or she is surprised by the decisions Judge Alito makes from the bench (that could be accurate, pointless but accurate). People who believe in privacy rights, (you have plenty of privacy but refuse to take it!!! SHUT UP!!!!!) who fight for the rights of the most disadvantaged, (57 Sauce for all my people!) who believe in balancing the power between the President and Congress had to take a stand, (but instead turned on American Idol and sat down to take a crap. Isn’t that just a hard kick to the nuts.)

We also made it clear to the Bush administration that no matter what they throw at us in 2006 -- whether it's extreme nominees, special interest giveaways, shortsighted policy or Swift Boat-style attacks against Democratic candidates -- we will never surrender, (ummm…..aren’t you the guy that basically let the Swift Boat Vets shove a rusty propeller up your butthole the day of y our acceptance nomination?). We will always fight back (with much slapping but to no discernible effect other than it gives Bill O’Reilly something to talk about other than Holiday trees so in some small way you are serving the betterment of America.)
Now, we must be clear about something else, (something else implies we had clarity about something previous, but please continue). Winning the 2006 congressional elections is the only way to change the dangerous path George W. Bush has put us on, (other than winning the 2004 election which I screwed like a drunken Ukranian goatherder turned loose on the fettered beasts in the barn after getting a lapdance from Maria Sharapova). We need to defeat those Republicans who have overlooked this administration's incompetence, (not so much overlooked but bolstered but again…please continue) turned a blind eye to its failures, (WHAT FAILURES….why do you hate America?) and lent a helping hand to its dangerous ideology, (dude if they lent a helping hand you’re the fucking Gates foundation and Bono rolled into one for these clowns. Jesus).

Together, we have to act to make sure 2006 is the year Americans (yes!), led by Democrats, (doubtful) stand up (but I’m so comfortable) to incompetence, (HA! Do y ou recall your entire FUCKING PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN!?!?!?) cronyism (if I help you what’s in it for me?) and corruption, take back Congress, and get our nation moving in the right direction again. (I thought we just moved too far to the right. This guy is hard to follow!)

I look forward to fighting alongside you, (it’s like the Charge of the Light Brigade and Groundhog Day all rolled into a calzone of delicious loserdom)

Sincerely, (HA!)

John Kerry


Thursday, January 26, 2006

Hey jealousy

I don’t have much time to get my dulcet words tipped and tapped out today but I would like to say this. My dog is the cutest damn dog on the planet and all of you ugly dog owning people should rightfully be totally jealous.

That's're the best.


Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Vincent you are not the crap

Guitar playing to me is like hooking up with girls in high school. It seems to come so easily to some yet to me it’s all fumbling and bumbling and feeling like a dope. I don't know if you can correlate the abject misery and time alone with a four year old copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue to guitar playing but if it can be done I'm your boy. My ineptitude was put on display at practice last week. We were working on a song of Philito’s that has this kooky Latin feel break in the middle where Trey (our real guitarist) plays this Magnificent Seven feeling rattlesnake thing and Philito (also a real guitarist who plays bass for the Prophets) is Sambaing away on the bass line and me……


Not too tasty.

One thing about the two guitarist in the band dynamic between Trey and I that is different between that of our former guitarist Wesley and I is that Trey is trying to actively make me a better guitar player. That’s not to say that Wesley didn’t care, he just let me find my own road for the most part with mixed results but to his credit he said that’s your style so go forth and be stylish. In the earlier days of the Prophets my guitar playing was a source of humor to all of my real guitar playing friends, (probably still is those fuckers), and I was fine with the joke but as time went on and we started recording I would listen to my style and begrudgingly admit, “Son that style is dogshit.” The joke had run it's course and as the band evolved it became apparent I needed to get things tightened up. To that end Trey has been showing me stuff that when he does it looks as hard as cracking a fart after lunch at Taco Bell but when I attempt it it’s like shitting out a Volkswagen Vanagon with the pop-up camper top. Not that I have ever really shat such an object but I think we can all agree that it doesn’t sound too comfortable.

Anyway back to la session de musica from the other night, Trey showed me a pretty simple chord to play that when I took about forty five seconds to position my fingers in the awkward and painful shape required sounded really cool with the song. No more CRONK and CHONK, it was really adding some flavor to the stew and I was joyful in the joyful noise I was making. Took a five second break, the fingers lost their iron grip on the strings and it was BWAAAANNNG BLOOONGGG TWANGADOO BONGGG all over again.


And there I stood like Danny DeVito in “Twins” when he lamented to Arnold that he got all the crap DNA….sad was I. The fellas were very supportive and in true mature fashion I pouted and hammered away at that cruel bitch of a guitar getting progressively more distraught and angry. Mercifully things wrapped up soon after and I took the bitch home with me determined to break her like Drago was going to break Rocky. Of course we all know how that turned out. “The guitar……it is like iron.”

Not wanting to be thought of as anything less than supremely glorious I have endeavored mightily to become a better guitar player. I practiced and practiced but my fingers just were not willing to twist and bend and behave the way that others do. I don’t want to play solos or any of that shit but I do want to play credibly and add something to the songs other than CRONK CRONK CRONK CHONK CHONK CHONK. The desire is there but the fingers and hands were not really getting with the program. Until…..

This morning I was amusing the more wee of the wee lassies playing with blocks and little plastic zebras and the like. She toddled (as toddlers are wont to do) over to the guitar case where Cruella de Musica resides and started banging on it and chewing on the corners. Ah well thinks I, here comes a life lesson for the bonnie child seeing her magnificent Pops as human and fallible. I glumly broke out the twanger quite aware of the mess to come when I would try to play the chord of DOOM. But like magic the digits assumed the position and a strumming we did go with the girly twisting and spinning away to the beat. I just stopped strumming to tip tap this here entry and announce to the world that I have finally gotten to first base with the guitar. If I keep practicing maybe I’ll get its metaphoric bra unsnapped and be able to play “Angie’ by the Stones by the time I’m fifty.

Baby steps Doctor Bob, Baby steps.

Monday, January 23, 2006

A whore from Whore island

My first column for On Tap will actually be birthed next week. I wasn’t exactly sure which tact to tack to and went in lots of different directions before settling on something awesome…talking about myself. I have lots of ideas for the next few months though. Some interviews and reviews in mind. One thing I want to do is have a very frank interview over drinks with someone that I truly honestly hate and would like to see dead. That could be cool. I also think I’ll interview myself as I know that will be spot on terrific.

In other news…

Lately in the casa de magnifico (aside from repeated viewings of Anchorman on HBO) we have had a lot of discussions with the elder offspring about the value of honesty and the problems that lying can bring down up one’s head. It's not that my wee lass has issues of any sort with it, this sort of value system teaching is just a central theme of parenting. Good parenting involves teaching your children to always tell the truth after you have consistently lied to them since birth about everything from Santa Claus to why that one cousin is always falling asleep at Thanksgiving dinner and crashing his car into the mailbox. It's just the right thing to do, (as Wilford Brimley once famously declared about eating Oatmeal). We do have to keep the future therapists in appointments after all.

Lying is a biological human characteristic as much as flight or fight or drunk dialing after drinking Jose Cuervo, it just happens. Why? Who knows? The ramifications are almost always worse from the lie than the event being lied about. Sure there are exceptions, I mean if you’re some lawn mowing duder with a wife and kids who happens to be giving BJ’s at the local rest stop after work maybe it’s better to let the fantasy of the work happy hour perpetrate. I don’t know about that particular situation but I bet there are a few mid-level White House officials who have an informed opinion on which way to spin it. But for the most part telling the truth wins out over not for all parties involved. I speak from experience as I was a horrendous teller of tales as a kid and a teenager and consistently found my nuts in the wringer as a result. It only took me about twenty years to figure out that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Lying, especially after cocktails, is way too hard to manage down the road. At least with the truth you have the story straight as sad, twisted, boring or magnificent as it may be.

Anyway as I was chatting with the family about this stuff and being super parent of the millennium I thought about a situation where someone sorta slandered, busted my balls, lied about me from last week. Y’see there’s a band around town that works really hard to get done what they need to get done to get where they want to go and they generate a lot of commentary in the process, mostly good but sometimes not so much. That comes with the territory and as they say any press is good press…..but is it really? Not surprisingly to any of you I’m sure I’m not really focused on them as much as me and my peripheral involvement in their business. Check this out……………

Great review and the reviewer is obviously a big fan and thumbs up for the band. That should be it right? No reason for me to have anything to do with it at all other than read it and think, “Good job, local music getting press is good, I need to get my picture in the paper, what’s for lunch, damn my hair looks good today” and the rest of the usual thoughts I have when perusing the internets. But if you scroll through the comments you’ll see a reference to me (despite my imposing presence Lilliputian really could only refer to me… matter how tall and commanding I appear when I enter a room) from a whore from Whore island (thank you Ron Burgundy) calling her/him self Jen in response to a not so positive comment left by another anonymous soul calling him/herself Rob Styles:

“Of course "Rob Styles" is in a band (probably that two-faced lilliputian from the pharmacy prophets or some other irrelevant local band).”

What the fuck is that? For the record I am not Rob Styles and even if I wanted to say something about the show I couldn’t as I wasn’t there. So Jen the whore from Whore Island is a fucking liar but he/she/tranny can lie without consequence due to the beat into the ground conundrum of faceless shitheads talking shit on the internet. How do I reconcile this with my awesome parental teachings about the value of honesty and the absolute certainty of consequence for telling fibs? That’s something I’m still working on. I mean if there’s any semblance of karmic justice Jen (whore) will get shot in her/his wretched genitalia by a pistol wielding Killers fan who got slipped some Ketamine in his P.B.R. and flipped out in rage and despair when BedHead stopped producing his much-loved hair goop (for that greasy slept in the trash bin look) or some shit but I really can’t count on that. Posting denials as I did is lame and just validates their bullshit. What to do what to do? Sure I’m reading too much into it as Jen the whore from whore island didn’t come out and say I was this Rob Styles as much as imply that it probably was me but still…….

That is not the kind of reverent adulation that I deserve from you people.

Maybe I can drop a note to the NSA telling them that this Jen is actually sending coded messages to Bin Laden and have her shot in the face by a sniper. Hmmm, that could work, (in a very scary way it probably WOULD actually work). Or maybe I should just look at it in a different light and think that of all the bands in town, all of the hipster dorks and metal freaks and shaggy haired mopers with band names like September’s Withered Ovary this whore from Whore Island found my band just relevant enough to talk shit about it.


I still want that whore dead.

I have to go now, I'm having lunch in Pleasure Town.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Skins Mark Duex

I left things off at the local yokel bar and the Brokeback Mountain brothers ass-slapping away and everyone yelling at the TV sets.


The game was hotly contested and things were not looking that great for the home team. Memories of games lost at the final moment were sending everyone into throes of stress and distress. It was tight and the brothers Dimm were the tightest of them all. As I related in the last post I had joined the throng at the bar leaving the lovely Mrs. to her taquitos and the company of Uga and Footsie Lisa. The three of them had many laughs at my expense (deservedly) and things were fit to bursting. Something had to break the ice…and the ice got broken.

Well, a table got broken but its close enough I guess.

The Brothers in a throe of exultation over the Redskins holding strong on a Buccaneer 4th down went totally insane. Bro # 1 went sprinting up and down the length of the bar while Bro # 2 bent at the waist like he was trying to pass a gourd and screamed “FUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!” over and over. I guess he was getting winded from the wind sprints and needed a break so Bro #1 leapt onto the back of prostate Bro #2. In a maneuver that would have made Tai Bablognia and Randy Who Remembers His Last Name and Who Gives a Shit Anyway envious Bro #2 stood up and simultaneously flipped and spun Bro #1 around and over so Bro #1 was straddling Bro #2, both Bros face to face, with Bro #1’s legs wrapped around the sizable waist of his kin.

It was awesome until gravity, momentum and alcohol took over.

Bro #2 held strong for a few seconds but the weight of his Bro was soon to much to bear. He lurched to his left, wobbled, stood and them both Bros went crashing into a table about five feet over. The table flipped, the patrons that were slowly dying there scattered and glass and cheap booze went everywhere. Chaos ensued. Much yelling and gesticulating and of course Bro hugging finished off the game watching experience.

And that as they say was that. We bailed after the game, at sushi, stopped off at another bar where some dumb drunk dick was buying rounds of shots for the bar. I’m sure he was thrilled when he looked at his $900 bar tab the next day.


So the Skins are out and now I have to slog through another interminable baseball season before I can get my hopes up and dreams crushed by the Snyder Banditos. Such is the life of the fan.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Hail to the Brokeback Bar

Last weekend the lovely lovely paramour of mind relented to the idea of going to a bar and watching the Redskins/ Buccaneers game with me. “The biggest game in years” I ranted and raved, “we have to go commune with others to get the full experience!!!!”


Being a charitable sort and kinda hungry with a hankering for something fried and delicious she agreed and after securing the wee ones in capable hands off we went to meet with the fellow citizens of Fandom de la Redskinsville. To be fair to the fucking morons soon to populate this story we headed out midway through the 2nd quarter so there was plenty of time for said morons to get retardedly wasted before we showed up. And wasted, oh Lord, they were. Anyway…

First we went to the local “sports bar” which was a nightmare. It was packed beyond all recognition and as soon as we walked in I saw some guy screaming at the TV imploring the broadcast gods “GIBBS FUCKING GROW A SACK AND GO FOR IT ON 4th MOTHERFUCKING SHIIIIIIITTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!! PORRRRRTISSSSSSS GO FOR IT MOTHERFUCKING REDDDDSKINZZZZZZZZZZ YAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” It was second down. Needless to say, they went for it. High fives all around!!!

If you ever go to a sports bar and you’re not an afficianado of whatever event is being spotlighted and want to find out something about the event do yourself a favor and keep as far away as possible from the loudmouthed high-fiving mouthbreathers in replica jerseys that ass grab each other and curse out the officials after every play. These are the same shitfaces that buy Three Doors Down records and think Vin Diesel is a good actor. They should be burned alive as their combustible carbon based life structure is worth more in measurable BTUs to the human race than any malformed opinion they might ever come up with. If you want to hear some insight worth hearing gravitate to the quieter drunks in simple team caps watching intently from their seats, usually they at least know what sport is being contested.

When the Redskins got zero yards on a drive and the punter punted a truly shitty punt we were assaulted with a “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BAYBEEE EAT MY ASS FUCKING BUCS YEAH MOTHERFUCKER!!!” and knew it was time to beat it. We had been at the sports bar for approximately 37 seconds.

I desperately wanted to see the game and I was indebted to my beloved for something fried and delicious so we headed up to the local yokel bar that’s been well documented in this here blog. The gang was definitely all there minus Magic and Boob who I think might be dead and if so I’m writing the Better Business Bureau to recommend an A+++ rating to Madame Satan’s House of Voodoo and Curses for giving me the two for one bargain special of a lifetime. Amongst the usual rabble of the despondent and nearly dead there were some new faces there and the bar was really full but my Madame Beauteous and I were able to find a booth. Properly squatted we settled in to grimace and glower and feel the sting of certain doom (me) and enjoy some taquitos (she). Our friends UgaBully and Lisa showed up and joined in the fun. Lisa was totally playing footsie with me which was kinda weird but she covered it up with an excuse of “I thought that was the table leg” which forestalled me and Uga having to duke it out or draw pistols at dawn, (never fun anyway, much less fun with a hangover), and get at it till the death. I’m not a big fan of killing my friends even when honor calls for it so I appreciated Lisa calming down the situation (even though it was all her fault to begin with….TRAMP!!!).

We were all watching the game and having a good time in spite of the stress except for the nonstop assault of finger in the teeth foghorn whistles and truly aggressive latent homosexual beast behavior from two meatheads across the way from our booth. Backward hatted and replica jerseyed they were hugging and high-fiving and ass slapping each other without pause or conscience. The booth next to ours was occupied by some repulsively ugly but otherwise harmless almost sentient beings who somehow became the target of the two residents of Brokeback Football Stadium’s witticisms.


And so on and so forth. It was getting pretty silly, they came over and high fived me and the Mrs. (odd) and then implored me to “GET THE FUCK UP AND GET OVER HERE AND CHEER MOTHERFUCKER WHOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Of course I had to, how could you not?!?! It turns out these two are brothers, (very affectionate brothers to boot!!!), who have never set foot in the bar before that day. Like Spinal Tap said about the Druids, “No one knows who they were…or what they were doing”, these two yahoos were a mystery to all involved.

I have to go now, I’ll finish tomorrow with tales of smashed tables, kissed lips and a $500 round of shots.

Sorry for the delay!

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

You're the meaning in my life

So I’m going to start writing a monthly column for On Tap and I’m trying to think of how to get it started. I pondered doing another fantastically entertaining interview of myself by myself as that tact got this blog going pretty well some time back but I want to break some new ground so I’m shelving that idea.

I wrote a few paragraphs about how I muse about flinging poo like the apes at the Zoo do to people who annoy them at the jerkholes that stand in line to get into Whitlow’s in Arlington. That was funny but after you get past the ape to me corollary it was pretty hard to keep the humor train chugging. Then I started plipping off about my adoration for Hanoi Rocks. That’s always fun but not a great lead-in column. I really need it to sizzle and for some reason many of the lepers out there don't find Finnish dudes playing glam/punk/trash rock sizzling. Idiots, (that means you Doctor Jones).

Of course there’s always the local dickholes in local dickhole bands to write about and I still might go that way. It’s hysterical that into their late 20’s and 30’s these retards think they can shoot off at the mouth about what bands they think suck and are “fags” (whoever isn’t standing next to them at the time) to whatever band dude they’re talking to at the time and that said band dude won’t go running at the first opportunity to reveal to the “sucker” what was said. That leads to lots of “I’ll beat that fuckers asshole off with a baseball bat made out of the petrified cock of God!!!” statements made at band practice until they all end up in the same room and pat each other’s ballsacks and Bro it up about setting up shows together. I have that topic in the back pocket if I can’t come up with other ideas.

I could write about shatteringly important things like politics, religion, hairdos, lotto tickets and the proper way to make a cheesesteak but none of that is flaming the fire.


Thank God for mirrors and the wonderful inspiration that they supply me.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Happy New Year

So far 2006 is awesome. The Skins are in the playoffs, my eyeballs are clear, the flu has passed and things are generally jolly. This is just icing on my personal cake. From CNN - "Lobbyist Jack Abramoff, a close associate of former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, to plead guilty to corruption, other charges, source tells CNN."

I have a feeling my 2006 is going to be a lot more fun than the Hammer's which is good. I'm fun, he's a fucking dick, fun people should have more fun. I mean I might not be sitting in a position of high power like old Tom but I don't have a weasel like Slinky Jack looking to cover his own broad ass by opening up a vault full of shenanigans that I pulled to worry about either. I am so hopeful Delay will go down with a resounding explosion. I want to see his eyes bug out of his head like Large Marge's in Pee Wee's Big Adventure when the verdict comes down. It would also be nice to see critical disaster fall upon Dick Cheney. Keep eating bacon by the pound Dick, you fucking dick you, it's the other white meat y'know!!


There's a long series of posts coming so keep checking back. I promise to be entertaining with more frequency in the next few weeks.

Auld Langs balls and all that!