Friday, August 29, 2008
That is a shot of Johnny McCain's VP running mate, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, in her topless modeling days. Finally, someone in the White House unafraid to SHOW US YOUR TITS! And PRO-FETUSES! We need to make sure fetuses have all the rights of non-fetuses in this country, and that is the indelible right to slide feet first through a vagina. You fetuskillers out there make me sick! Did you know that 47% of all abortions today are performed with African tribal spears? That is unacceptable in the eyes of the Lord and in the eyes of Sarah Palin...the sweet, fuckable eyes of Sarah Palin and her 17-year old daughter, who next year will be 18, allowing me to note at that time how stacked she is and mention that I would indeed motorboat her. But in the mean time, good luck on your Geometry test, Sarah Palin's 17-year old daughter!
I'm not exactly sure what "The Maverick" was thinking picking a woman for an important position because she'll probably fuck it up, but I'm going to assume he knows what he's doing. He is The Maverick, of course, just like Renaldo Blackman was in the early '90s. I'm thinking that he just needs some help in the kitchen, because his rich cunt trollopy wife probably can't whip up any good pasta dishes to give him the energy he needs to campaign and rule with a 77-year old wrinkled IRON FIST. Change is here fuckstronauts. Embrace it.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
LINKAGE (it will expire in 7 days, and so it will be preserved below)
Hey, do you want to get fucked in your vagina by a penis? - m4w - 24 (SoHo)
Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: 2008-08-27, 12:57PM EDT
Then, my darlings, my lovers, my Nubian queens, you have come to the right place. Because I am about to unleash this dick all over your ass. Oh yeah. You read that right. This dick. All over that ass. Let me put it to you in even more ridiculous terms.
I have a penis. You can call it a lethal weapon. You can call it whatever you want to call it. Fact is, I'm going to elect your vagina to political office just so that I can assassinate it. I'm going to make sure that your vagina is not registered in the National register of historic places, because I am about to destroy it and I do not want to get fined. Let me break it the fuck down.
First, you'll pull up into my apartment complex in your lifted truck that you stole from your old boyfried, but it doesn't matter, since he's in jail and all. I'll open the door for you, wearing nothing but full body SCUBA gear. Yes, to answer your question, of course it will have a hole in it with my dick hanging out. I'll pull out the case of PBRs that I purchased, and we will slam them. All of them. Shotgun, bong them, whatever. I'll light a few candles. I'll then take your pants off, and singe a few pubes with the candles if you need it. You won't care, as you are already in awe of my penis. You'll be like, "omg, that looks delicious!". I will agree. I will then excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I won't move. You'll ask, "aren't you going to go to the bathroom?", and I will continue to remain still. Then I'll start pissing on you. You'll think to yourself "ohh...fuck". Covered in piss is no way for a lady to present herself, so I'll slap you in the face and tell you to clean up. You'll like it, since you are a sick fuck and you're into that kind of stuff. Whatever. I'll take you to my room, but since you are covered in piss, I'll pull the sheets off first. I'll then proceed to tell you that you look like Rebecca Lobo. You'll say "who?", and I'll get all pissed and make you look her up on Wikipedia before we proceed. The whole time I will be sitting on my bed jacking off while wearing batting gloves.
Ok. So you looked that bitch up, said she was ugly, and got all sad. I said, "no way, baby, she's one of the prettiest women on the planet, just like you". You'll open your mouth in a huge smile, and then I'll jump up, stick my dick in it, and yell "siiiike!". HA! You just got served! SERVED! Oh well. I'll make you bite off my pubes, too. You sick little girl. But then I'll stop playing games and get back to business. And I am in the business of tearing that vag up. I'm like a fucking entrepreneur in that business. So I'll go to town, like a fucking jackhammer on your uterus. A jackhammer with balls. And ball hair. Shifting around, hitting all the spots, pretty much surveying all of the land with my wang, taking you to pleasuretown on the L train, you fucking hipster. I will pull it out, put it on your forehead, and knight you. I will rub ball sweat all over your hair, and then style it like Belinda Carlisle's. You will be moaning. I will make no sounds, like a silent ninja. You'll ask me why I am silent, and if I am even enjoying it. I'll cockwhip you in the face and tell you to shut the fuck up. Huh? You like being yelled at? No? Then DON'T FUCKING CRITICIZE MY SILENCE. You stupid tramp. I'm sorry. Can I put my penis back in your vagina? Thanks.
So, as I'm pulling into the final stretch, I'll start thanking all of the people who made this possible. I'll thank Craigslist, I'll thank God. You'll interrupt me and tell me to stop. I'll give you an angry glare and you'll get the point, lay back down, and shut the fuck up. I will proceed to thank my parents. I'll thank Al Gore for inventing the internet that I solicited you with. And, finally, I will thank you for taking the dick. Then, in my final silent scream of quasi-pleasure, I'll blow it all up in the condom. Because I don't want to get you pregnant. You don't even weigh less than me, and that's just sick. Damn. Get out of my garage.
Here's an artist's rendition of the dick, since this is Craigslist, and I have to post my dick.
- Let's see what kind of foxes this brings out of the woodwork. Come on, willing and able young ladies!
No offense to baseball, which I am a fan of, but July and August for me are mainly taken up by anticipation of foosball season. The college season gets underway tomorrow at 7 pm, when Northeastern travels to Ball State to play a game that the coaching staffs won't even watch, and ends after Penn State's first loss due to the fucking joke of a postseason that they have in place. It's going to be nice to see teams playing games with the intention of actually winning them, along with the temperature slowly falling below stifling down here in Cuba del Norte. That's Cuba of the North for you saxophones out there. Or is it anglophones? I'll ask L. Ron Hubbard the next time that I see him.
College foosball is all well and good and all that, but it is nowhere near as orgasmic and delicious as NFL footballs. World class athletes? Check. Coke off of stripper's tits? Check. Boating under the influence? Checkity check yo'self! Holy hell do the NFL players like to get drunk and boat. Like a regular Captain Chaos out there, floating down the river in a fashion that is anything but broadlike. Boating with broads. Wow. That fucking stuff gets me harder than a piece of steel made out of conflict diamonds. They used to call me Diamond Erection, mainly because they found out in my Google cache that I was searching for nude pictures of Diamond Dallas Page, but still, the fact remains that that is what they called me. So suck it. Straight cache, homey!
On top of that, the Penguins will be taking to the ice shortly after to dominate the fuck out of the hapless East before likely losing again to a far superior team from the West, but a brother can dream. I was all set to make a mock stanley cup and ride around in the back of the whip last year before realizing just how freaking awesome Detroit was. Still, Chris Osgood hoists giant penises. That's just gay. Make it rainbow, Osgood. Make it rainbow.
Needless to say, I've been sporting a pretty serious erection lately, and you just hit me up via email or something if you want to see it. I'm about as shy as an NBA player surrounded by Asian chicks. I was getting tired of the stupid Olympics anyway...if I want to see barely-teenaged girls
dressed like they were going to a prom at an aerobics center holding onto a pole, I'd hide in John Mark Karr's basement. Fuck the Olympics. You can't drink PBR while watching some Bulgarian weightlifter trying to supersnatch 301 kilograms. Bring on the fall, wenches!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I did. It is a difficult realization when you run a website that scolds people who lay in various places like broads, but I indeed laid all over the Oregon roads like a broad.
Every August in the Portland area, Nike sponsors a race called "Hood 2 Coast" that entails a team of 12 running 197 miles from Mt. Hood to the Pacific Ocean in Seaside, Oregon. This thing takes about 28 hours on average (although some of the elite teams can do it in 16), and there is not much opportunity to rest in the course of the run. I slept for about an hour at Mt. Saint Helens High School, and got some burgers at the Jewell School, which does one fundraiser a year (this was it) to cover the entire year's worth of expenses. Nice deal they've got going.
Anyway, I was never a runner. When I did track, I was a jumper (see here). I had run approximately 6 miles in the past year now that I have a job and stuff...although that isn't counting miles spent playing basketball or anything. Still. Not a long way. I agreed to do this last November, thinking that August 2008 would never actually get here. Well, get here it did. If only I had a way of knowing, like with a calendar or something...oh well. So I decided a week ago to begin my training. I did about 2 miles a day three days, one in a tropical gaycane, in preparation for this race. 6 miles would be enough, right? In the 'cane, I hurt my knee a bit, but figured it would go away. I don't really get injured. So on I flew to Portland to run my 6, 6, and 4 mile legs.
And then, it was go time. My teammate gave me the bracelet of running and I slapped it on my wrist, as I'm prone to do with awesome slap bracelets that are in no way gay as fuck or anything and really go well with my eyes. And then I started cruising. And not like, in a Larry Craig cruising for gay sex manner, but in a cruising like Steve motherfucking Prefontaine style. Running legit 7:30 minute miles, which still sucks, but not too much for someone who doesn't ever...well, run. But then the pain came on a back road about a mile and a half in, and I started limp running a bit. Then I had to take periodic breaks. People asked me if I needed help, and since they weren't orthopedic surgeons, I told them to keep running. Douchebags. And then, about a mile later, it happened. I felt a slight pop in the knee, and I fell to that knee. I couldn't believe it. I was laying on the road like a broad. A motorcycle police squadron came up, lights on, to embarrass the everliving hell out of me. "Should we go and get your van?". Fine, fuckers. Go. Van 722.
Oh well. I made about 3 miles. Out of 16 total. My teammates had to pick up the slack. I didn't really have to fly all the way out to Oregon for this, as I could have slept in a Kia van much cheaper if I just went to Hertz or something. Without the knee pain. Whatever. I guess if I do anything like this again, I'll actually have to train a bit for it. But that is doubtful, as running sucks and is clearly best left to the Kenyans.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Wow! What a letdown! That was the look south today on 95, directly into the lazy eye of Tropical Letdown Fay as it floated around Cuba like a broad. Fay didn't appreciate my taunt and started raining about 5 minutes later, which wouldn't be a big deal if I wasn't rolling with the top down. Actually not a bad way to start the day. It woke me up a bit.
Anyway, I was all jacked up and excited to weather my first hurricane, as the tracking and everything from the weekend had Fay running right over the Miami-Ft. Lauderdale area, bringing with it barely hurricane force winds. 70 mph, bitches! As long as you don't drive a Prius, you wouldn't get blown off the road from those gusts. However, my excitement quickly dissipated last night when the updated track showed Fay barely scraping Laudi with her weak outer bands, bringing nothing but a bit of wind and a lot of rain. Just rain? F-word, man! I'm hitting every F key from F1 through F12, because I am just that F-ing pissed. I just composed a symphony in F Major.
Feel free to sing along.
This was going to be perfect! A small, category 1 storm that PROBABLY (I get it, hurricanes are bad, stock up on flashlights and condoms, etc.) would only do negligible damage to the area, if any. I could finally experience one of these hurricanes that people are always talking about and probably live to tell the tale!
But alas, it was not to be. Tropical Abortion Fay is looking as if it will track to the west, as a buildup of strong weatherstuff will weatherforce it somewhere else or whatever the hell these people are talking about on Accuweather. Right now, it is raining relatively lightly with all things considered and relative to the typical afternoon storms in the area. Looks like it's going to continue raining hard until tomorrow morning, dropping about 5 inches of rain (which is nice, because I prefer to be bigger than the rainstorms) on the area but not keeping anybody from going to work.
So it looks like we'll get nothing of note from Douchecane Fay, and that is just unacceptable, Atlantic Ocean. You can do better than this. But in the meantime, make it rain!
Friday, August 15, 2008
Tuaolo was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, a city named for the ancient act of scraping hummus off of another man's penis with your teeth. Esera fought through the gayness and played football for the Oregon State University Beavers, a bit of irony that was surely not his intention. Tuaolo played well enough to be drafted by the Green Bay Packers, and he enjoyed a rather eventless but lengthy (and girthy) playing career in the NFL. He never played for a Super Bowl winning team, but his championness was cemented in 1999 as he played on the NFC Champion Atlanta Falcons team. Although the Falcs were not able to prevail over the heterosexual Denver Broncos in the Super Bowl, Tuaolo still bravely played just well enough to keep his spot on the team. CHAMPION.
In the article linked to, Tuaolo recounts with extreme sadness the internal pain he felt when teammates mockingly joked about two penises touching one another. This pain did not drive Tuaolo to become a gay champion
"I'm pausing,'' he tells HBO correspondent Bernard Goldberg, "because you just took me back, took me back to me biting my lip again." Tuaolo would laugh at the jokes on the outside, but "inside it would be tearing me up, that I stood there and listened to it and didn't say anything about it."
This pain did not drive Tuaolo to become a gay champion; indeed, he became one in spite of it, triumphing over not only opposing players, but also over homophobia and gayness itself. Esera Tuaolo was bigger than gayness. He was gayness, whatever that means. I'm losing my train of gay thought here.
After Esera retired from the NFL, he finally came out in 2002 as a man who prefers the exclusive company of other men, to which he credited his newfound happiness. No longer did he have to disguise himself by doing shot after shot of (apple-flavored) tequila, and no longer did he have suicidal thoughts (suggestively) dancing through his head. Tuaolo mentioned that he didn't give it his all due to the possibilities that the increased attention that becoming a star would bring could lead to his being outed, publicly humiliated, tarred and feathered, and forced to Honolulu with shady men in dark, secluded alleys. His friend said that did not have any dreams to play in the NFL, and was really just doing it for the paycheck. And let me tell you, I can surely respect that. Esera Tuaolo will always be a gay champion in my book, which will likely be entitled "GAY CHAMPIONS". It will largely be about gay champions.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Just look at the guy. He was freaking 8'11", wore Ford Tauruses for shoes, and was still growing at the time of his death from an infected blister (which is sooooooooooo 1930's). Robert Wadlow was paraded around as a circus freak, but he seemed to have a pretty happy demeanor about it and never stuck his head up in the clouds like a broad.
I think it's because he had a 20" piece.
8'11"? Come on now. He probably went from town to town asking for the most experienced whore they had to offer and then just systematically went about destroying them internally. You had to sign a waiver and have some sort of vaginal insurance before Big Rob would even consider looking at you. For some reason, Ripley's left all of these facts out when they chronicled Wadlow's amazing height. Robert Wadlow used to use drive-thru windows as glory holes. The man once wore the Wrigley Field tarp as a condom. Robert Wadlow once impregnated an Amazon River Dolphin, and the thing had to have a C-Section birth. Unfortunately, these feats were not documented and over time have fallen into historical lore. No one really knows the true facts, but that doesn't stop scholars from trying to dig up anything and everything they can find, no matter how trivial it is. And for everyone's sake, I wish them luck.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
First in the series of GAY CHAMPIONS, in honor of the Beijing Olympic games and an ode to gay champions of our past, Greg Louganis...a man who could make you gay just by staring deeply into your eyes.
And let's face it, being notably gay in an event as gay as diving is in accomplishment in itself. That means that Louganis was even gayer than you originally would have thought, out there flipping and twisting and diving into pools of rainbow sherbet and into the hearts of millions. But not only was Louganis gay...he was also a champion.
Greg was originally favored to win two golds in the 1980 Moscow Olympics, however, as soviet Russia was locked in a painfully uneventful Cold War with the United States, we boycotted these Olympics and denied the then 20-year old Louganis a shot as his dreams. Or, at least, I'm assuming those were his dreams, since he was gay and...well, you know, all gays dream about winning Olympic gold in the springboard. A lesser gay would have resigned himself to giving handjobs in back alleys between tears, but not Louganis. Louganis came back stronger than ever in L.A. in 1984 and won two gold medals, setting records for both total points and margin of victory. Greg Louganis became a GAY CHAMPION.
In 1988 in Seoul, Louganis again came in poised to take the gold medals that were rightfully his. Unfortunately, he slipped and hit his head off of the diving board in the prelims, giving himself a concussion and getting his blood all over the diving board, which would later turn into gay controversy in itself. And Louganis, ever the gay competitor, did anything but quit. He came back strong, finished the prelims, made the finals, and repeated the SAME EXACT DIVE to take home the gold. Champion.
The controversy I speak of was the revelation by Louganis in 1994 that he was gay and had the HIV, and that everybody else on the board had to step on his AIDS-blood. He was then criticized by the director of the US Olympic Committee, Harevy Schiller, obviously an expert at the forefront of the HIV research movement. Louganis, unfortunately, couldn't hear Schiller due to all of the gold medals in his ears. Most of Louganis' corporate sponsors, not looking to sponsor AIDS, dropped his endorsements. Speedo, however, stood by his side...of course, if Speedo was worried about being associated with gayness, well, they lost that battle a looooooong time ago.
In spite of the obstacles he faced, and the fallout he endured when he spoke of his HIV-ness, Greg Louganis persevered through it all and became what most gays can only dream about becoming...a GAY CHAMPION.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
On the left...Yang Peiyi. On the right...Lin Miaoke. Two Chinese children. One common goal. Or something like that. And they were combined into one uberchinesechild.
See, while the child on the left was beaten savagely throughout her childhood, she still has the voice that dreams are made of. Her voice can be used as currency in several Pacific island nations, such as Malaysia and Nauru. And her version of "Ode to the Motherland" was positively stunning, even though I'm just going on hearsay here because I didn't see it, as I don't care about the Olympic ceremonies. They can blow me harder than my crackhead neighbor does.
Well, China wasn't having this little girl on the left sing. They wanted the little girl they had representing China to look good enough for John Mark Karr, and so they trotted little Lin Miaoke out there. However, her voice sounds like she was out drinking gin and tonics and smoking cigars all night, so they had her lip-synch to Yang's rendition of the song. And OMG, scandal!
And it has come to this, World. China wants their 9 year olds to be hot as fuck for your perverted sex offender eyes while you stare at them on TV. And, after a quick view of the local sex criminal list, I don't blame them. You sick motherfuckers have jacked it to Jon Benet one too many times and now China can't trot out their ugly children to sing their anthems anymore because you douchebags won't watch it. How do you even sleep at night?
Monday, August 11, 2008
Yeah, you, Frenchy. God, I sound like Sean Hannity. Regardless, the guy pictured above not only speaks French, he also floats in the pool like a broad.
You may have missed it, as I certainly did because I don't give the slightest of horsefucks about swimming, be it at the Olympics, at a local pool, or in the Caribbean between Cuba and Key West with the aid of an innertube. Swimming is like asserting your superiority over fish and manatees, and no one really needs to do anything to prove that we are better than those fat fucking seacows. Yeah, look manatees, we can come into your house and as a team of four swim faster than you between two distinct points. Go impale yourselves on some coral reefs.
Regardless, a US team that improbably included a black swimmer (OMG!) overcame both brash predictions by Bernard and their underdog status and swam faster than any group of four people had ever swam 400 meters in 100 meter increments. Not only did they break the record, but so did the French, and whoever finished third, and then fourth, and then fifth. The US team broke the record by 4 motherf-ing seconds, and I can't even think of an analogy that properly describes how ridiculous that is. Team France lost by a mere .08 seconds, which made this the second closest race in Olympic history and the closest since "Lumberjack" Larry Waller's .06 second victory over "Bottlecaps" Bill Yardsworth in 1848. Experts have accredited this to the fact that the water was shallower than usual and also to Speedo's new sweetass swimsuits that apparently allow you to swim 4 seconds faster than anyone in history by themselves alone and should probably be illegal. Athletes should have to swim in full Armani suits from now on. Nowhere in the article was it mentioned how gay it is to be an "expert" at swimming, although I'm guessing this was to be assumed. I personally think that the Chinese are still dumping chemicals into the pool water.
This begs the question...why was the pool different than every other pool in the history of poolswimming? Shouldn't all pools be the same? If this pool is that much faster than every other pool, then records aren't going to matter anymore and we probably shouldn't even waste the time to keep track of them. Take this as a call to arms...this time currently spent record-keeping could be spent much more efficiently in the art of manatee-spearing. Last I checked, there were still manatees in the water, and there is no way to reason with them other than a spear right between their fat seacow eyes. Fuck manatees.
Friday, August 8, 2008
South Florida is home to the undercover speeding cop. These douchebags drive like, Chrysler 300s, Dodge Magnums, Ford Five Hundreds, just a bunch of cars that aren't cop cars and therefore aren't on my radar when I'm pushing my whip to the limit. And that's not fair, and I hate it, and I want to put my balls deeply into their dreams so all they think about when they sleep at night is my balls, and they wake up thinking they have a mouth full of pubes, and then they go to get in their undercover Chevy Impalas trying desperately to shake the intense thoughts of pubes that they have dancing pubicly in their heads. But, enough about pubes, and more about...
...FUCKING UNDERCOVER COPS WITH RIMS. That. Is. Not. F Wording. Fair. I saw an undercover cop, black car, black window tints, and CHROME RIMS pulling a dude over yesterday. What the fuck is next? I don't care if they were only 16" rims...that's cheating, God damn it. This would be like a Chris Hansen actually dressing up like a 14 year old girl to lure dudes in on Dateline, or like Fred Phelps dressing up like a sailor before picketing funerals and calling the families fag-lovers. Probably Sailor Moon, because if there is anyone trying to ferociously repress their homosexuality, it's Freddy Phelps.
But this isn't about him. This is about policemans crossing the motherfucking line with their motherfucking rims on their motherfucking undercover ticketcars on I-95. I hate all of you. TAKE THE RIMS OFF. I'm not going to be able to tell if I'm being pursued by an officer of the law or DJ Khaled on his way to a video shoot, and this really does not make me happy.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Back when I was in college, it was a pretty relative consensus that I had one of the most happenin' AIM profiles around. In a school of 2,000, this wasn't necessarily a huge accomplishment, likely on par with being the best competitive eater in Harare, but I happily took it then, and I'd happily take it now.
Anyway, I was just moving some files around on my computer and deleting some old unnecessary ones when I came across a word file that took me right back in the day, just like a DeLorean. One day, I weirdly decided to eschew clever lines about breaking more hymens than gymnastics in favor of a random list of the 25 catchiest songs of all time, according to me at the time and pooling from the MP3 files that I had stolen off of the internet to date and currently had on my computer, next to the essay documents and horse-porn. Well, I might as well go into my mind and see exactly what I was thinking back in the day.
25. Blue - Eiffel 65
I'm blue, dabi di dabi di. Yeah, it might be gay, but this is a list of the catchiest songs of all-time, and if you didn't know the formula, you have to multiply by the square root of gay to get the final catchiness value. And hey, this fucking song is catchy. However, the fact that it would make you want to shoot yourself in the head for being subjected to it really hurts in the end and leads to it's ranking in the 25th spot. However, 5 years later, I'm ok with having it at the end of the list. If you want to comment on how ridiculous this is...well, save your breath, because you'll have so much more to add by the end that you'll forget about this one.
24. The Clash - Rock the Casbah
OMG, a decent song on the list! Shareeeeeeef Abdur-Rahim don't like it...how can anyone be against this one? You can't, unless you hate Arabs. Hopefully the people in Kansas are too busy laying on the cornfields like broads to have time to read this.
23. Jimmy Buffet - Piña Coladas
What the f was I thinking here? The song is fine, but Jimmy Buffet doesn't even sing this. It's Rupert Holmes, who I believe has come out as gay, meaning he was talking to a dude about getting fruity drinks, so I guess it makes sense. Guess they met at the Julius Bar for a Sip-In.
22. Cyndi Lauper - Time After Time
I think the fact that Cyndi Lauper sings this song like she is being forcefully penetrated by a confused deer is what really gives this song the extra "it" that pushes it onto the list. Hey, weird semi-pun! Anyway, you ask, what "is" "it"? Well, I'm sorry, but you are going to have to ask Bill Clinton's legal team for that one. All I know is that Cyndi Lauper was doing something unnatural when she recorded this song and I commend her for pushing the boundaries of conceivable human behavior, or something that. I really need to avoid using grown-up words, because I have no idea what I just said. Kind of Alberto Gonzales.
21. Billy Joel - Still Rock and Roll to Me
Ok, first "what the hell were you thinking, 19-year old Newman?" of the list, as this isn't even in Billy Joel's top 5 catchiest songs of all time, let alone the top-25 list of everyone else who ever recorded sound in history. I couldn't go with the heart attack-ak-ak-ak-ak song? Or even Zanzibar? I want to go back in time and give myself Rush Limbaugh's ear disease.
20. En Vogue - What's It Gonna Be
Eh. I don't think this one is particularly catchy today. I mean, it's not bad, but I don't think I'd put it on a top-25 list today. The main reason? BECAUSE I WOULDN'T WASTE THE DAMN TIME TO MAKE A STUPID LIST LIKE THIS NOWADAYS. Man, I long for the days when my only responsibility was to read 8 pages on electromagnetic fields and show up to the lab at 4:30.
19. Will Smith - Will2K
Kind of cheating, since it samples Rock the Casbah for the music. And by samples, I mean reuses almost completely identically. But it has Big Will! And K-Ci from K-Ci and JoJo! They did a song with Tupac! Then Tupac died! Who's the next gangsterest gangster? That's right. The Fresh Prince. The Willenium is here. And we gonna party like it's nineteen...hold up, it is!
18. Luscious Jackson - Naked Eye
Was I serious? I guess. Let me cue this up in WinAmp.
Hey, not bad! That's pretty catchy! Oh, wait, she started singing the verses. Sorry, Luscious, but you just kind of ruined it. I'm not really critiquing lyrical content here, as my first song pretty much revolves around everything being blue, but at least they weren't serious, I hope. These chicks probably were. With my naked eye, I saw all the falling rain...falling down on me. Uhhh....yeah, kind of monotonous and, well, I mean, most people can see and feel rain, and...I need to stop thinking too hard or I'm going to have an aneurysm. Unfortunately, this list was before Laura Branigan did the same, so she didn't make it.
17. Geggy Tah - Whoever You Are
You know, thank you for letting me switch lanes while I drove my Volkswagen in a commercial. I think the stupidity and annoyingness of this song makes it catchy, as it gets stuck deep in your head just like that bathroom scene from Scary Movie. Still, I don't think that it should count, so once I retire from my job as a lumberjack and have some extra time on my hands, this isn't going to make my futurelist.
16. Go-Go's - Our Lips Are Sealed
Eh. I mean, it's kind of catchy. But I think I was stretching for filler here. Hmmm. Awkward sentence. For some reason, though, I know this song was from the era in which my parents were pretty much my age now. And it's really the only song I associate with that fact. I'm a strange person.
15. Presidents of the USA - Peaches
No. GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY LIST. What was I thinking here? This song is just gay. Energetic gay. Like headbanging while trying not to spill your appletini all over your Crocs. The inclusion of this song leads me to believe that I took one too many team showers after football practice. Golden showers! LOL! Just getting that out of the way. Remember that when you see it as the final scene when they make a gay version of Eight Mile.
14. Nick Cannon - Gigolo
This one was a topical pick. It faded quicker than Ed O'Bannon, but at the time, it got caught in everyone's head. R. Kelly really did his thing here, right before his thing was urinating on 14-year old girls. It won't make my 2040 list.
13. Soft Cell - Tainted Love
Ok, there's a winner. No qualms with this one. I'm going to send an email to my old college address to let me know that I approve of this choice. But only after I fight my way out of this straitjacket.
12. R. Kelly - Ignition (Remix)
Another topical pick, another score for Kels. Fitting that he got numbers 12 and 14. Insert Bill Simmons blackjack joke! Insert LOL! Pull trigger, kill self! Whoops, forgot a suicide note. If I would have remembered to write one, I'd note that I wouldn't include this one on the list anymore.
11. Annie Lennox - Walking on Broken Glass
Do do do do do do....ohhhhh. Ohhhhh. My. Deity of your choice. This is another gay, gay choice, which is impressive with something that pretty much is soaking in conceptual gayness right from the start. No offense to Annie Lennox, but...I think she may have came to Melissa Etheridge's window. I'm guessing that's where all of the broken glass came from, but I hope that she was careful, because open wounds are the last thing you need while you have unprotected gay sex. Just bring Rock Hudson back to life and ask him.
10. Robert Palmer - Addicted to Love
I think this was right before Robert Palmer's tragic death, which may have made this the last accolade that he received, and really, the best way a musician can go. He was on the minds of tens of people. As to the song? I don't really think it's exceedingly catchy. So it would get scratched from my new list. RIP, you superstar, you. I hope they have obnoxious guitar riffs in pop-rock heaven.
9. Avant - Flickin'
Flickin' accompanied us on our 19-year old idiots trip to Canada in June of 2003, and I was immediately convinced of its superior catchiness as we had to play this damn song over and over again. And no one was complaining. However, about 6 months to a year later, the novelty began to wore off, and I'm sad to say that Avant would not get his catchy jam on my current list. Likely replacements include Nik Kershaw's "Wouldn't It Be Nice", Howard Jones' "Things Can Only Get Better", and stabbing myself in the face with Chyna's tampons.
8. Hall and Oates - Your Kiss is On My List
Apparently my list was...wow. I think leather assless chaps were on it. Are more gay jokes ok? I guess so, you know. If you make your bed, you have to sleep in it. Probably with another dude. HA! I know, the blind ghost of Helen Keller saw that one coming. I really don't care. There is no excuse for this song to be on this list, and I have since attached the Melissa virus to the email that I am going to send to my 2003 account.
7. Huey Lewis - If This Is It
If I had made this list four years earlier than I originally did, this may have been number one. This song used to be like crack to the retarded part of my brain that gets songs stuck in it, leading me to believe that Ronald Reagan financed Huey Lewis when he created it. Now? Eh. I've illegally downloaded catchier tunes, however, it may make my current list as the token Huey Lewis song. This hurts my fingers to continue typing. They feel like Rulon Gardner's toes.
6. Bill Medley, Jennifer Warnes - Time of My Life
Hmmm. Is it gay if you pretend it's a chick? Seriously. Anymore songs like this and I may need to know. And yet, anytime this song is played, I loudly sing along as much as I can. Of course, I don't think it has been played in 3 years. Guess that means it's due.
5. Toto - Africa
Hey! This song is awesome, and they even included Madagascar in the album art! Notably absent are Seychilles and the Cape Verde Islands, but I'll let it slide. The original advocates of making it rain, Toto! And in Zimbabwe today, anybody can make it rain. This is a song that I don't mind to get stuck in my head. Bless those rains, Toto. Climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Chase that woman in the song or whatever. And when you find her, impress the hell out of her with your standing on this list.
4. Grateful Dead - Touch of Grey
Well, if I am not mistaken, this was the only top something hit (looked it up...only Billboard Top 10 Song). So why the hell not? Well...because it's not that catchy, upon further review. I mean, the instrumental part is nice and all, but I don't think I can put it at number four in good faith. I still like the song, though. It might be in the top 25 or top 50. Did I just reason that out there? I swear I'm going to choke myself on these scissors.
3. George Michael - Father Figure
Let me make a confession...I'm a George Michael fan. I don't care if, in retrospect, he was talking to a man with small hands in this song. And you know what they say about dudes with small hands! They say that they love to touch George Michael. But whatever. If liking George Michael songs is gay, then Rebecca Lobo can personally deliver my WNBA season tickets for the New York Liberty. George Michael made some jams. And if you don't admit to that, then I won't take anything you say seriously unless you are talking about badass ways to repress your latent homosexuality.
2. Beach Boys - Kokomo
I mean, this song is catchy and all, but I think it's pretty easy to get out of your head and should not be anywhere near the top 10 or even possibly the top 20. I'm not sure why I gave it this high rating back in the day, other then the fact that Brian Wilson was my cocaine dealer. And now that I live down near these islands, I don't really see what the big deal is. It's hot as hell right now, and I don't really want to be sweating my hot-for-George-Michael balls off. Oh well. Let's see what I chose for number one...
1. Sting - Brand New Day
Sweet. How anti-climactic. At one point, this song got trapped deeply in a dark corner of my head for a lengthy period of time, almost like John McCain sang it. But then, it went away. And while I still kind of like the song and will admit that it has a catchy quality, I can't see it getting to number 1 or anywhere near it on the 2040 list. You really couldn't trust me in 2003, as I was thinking kind of weirdly at the time, and was probably under the influences of hallucinogens and recreational waterboarding. I bet I was making inexcusable decisions, like shopping at Winn-Dixie or paying for porn. I'll never get those years back.
And neither will you. I am sorry, but if you read through this, I am not able to give you that time back. For this I apologize and will say like, 8 Hail Mary's as my penance.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Am I asking for too much, here? I move down to the Ft. Lauderdale-Miami area in winter of 2007, you know, to get away from all of the English speaking people, and up to now, I can't get one God damn hurricane to strike the Florida coast. Just one! I would be happy with a Category 0.5 or something. I just want to see what these damn things are like, and yet, the tropical waves from the Cape Verde islands in Africa are laying all over the Atlantic Basin like broads.
You had like, 12 hurricanes strike Florida in 2005, Atlantic Basin! What the f is up with that? You think these people can withstand hurricane after major hurricane in one single season without dying or having their homes destroyed? No! Spread it out, man! None in 2006, none in 2007, no sign of anything to date in '08...I'm starting to think that Jerry Falwell might have indeed prayed away all of the storms before he died. That water might be over 90 degrees out there, but there just isn't enough sin left for the hurricanes to feed off of. Except, of course, in Mexico and Central America, an area that was hit with two Category 5 storms last year. However, they aren't Amurricans, and therefore God doesn't give a fuck about them. A little known fact...if Jesus were to come back, he'd likely live in Omaha, Nebraska. And he'd be voting for McCain.
And so, I fear another summer will go by without me getting to experience the rush of a whatever-the-hell hurricanes are like or getting to enjoy the resultant 4 days sitting in oppressive heat without electricity. This is not what I signed up for, Governor Crist, and if you need to go out there and suck some dick to make the hurricanes start...well, then you had better go and get your kneepads.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Holy breastmilking fuck, they mated! They finally mated! And they had TWO kids! However, these kids are likely not the only things related to Angelina Jolie to come out of her vagina recently, as this picture of her and her brother shows (yeah, yeah, I know it was a C-Section)...
Whatevs, man. So, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had some twins, which is fine...people are allowed to do that. But why does everyone care, to the point that some magazine deemed it worthwhile to purchase these pictures for $14 MILLION!!! Holy hell do you lay on the Earth like a broad, humanity. Why do you care? Yes, I'm talking to you. Why do you come up with stupid names like Branjolina, or make it such a big deal that they adopted some kid from Laos, and breathe the same air as the rest of us? WHY ARE YOU TAKING UP ALL OF OUR AIR??? Sometimes I wish that the Earth would just kill itself, even if only to give a boost to its record sales.
Some retard from some magazine that I don't care about asked a question that I didn't care about to Brad Pitt. His response?
Pitt adds: "When Ange and I were told we were having twins we burst into hysterics... We didn't see this one coming."
Hmm. I wouldn't have either. Do you know why? Because you are famous? No, douchebag! It's because only one in 32 births are to twins. That is a 3-ish % chance. You are telling me you'd bet against that happening? What logic! You, sir, are absolutely brilliant. Even Shawn Kemp hasn't had enough kids yet to make a pair of twins likely. You've got about the same chance of hitting a number on a Roulette wheel as you do in having twins, however, you don't usually need to wait 9 months in between plays. Unless of course you work in Haiti and need a full year to save up the $20 table minimum, in which case...play on, player.
And weirdly enough, in the end...they are apparently going to donate the picture fee to charity. This means that all of these people that I'd recommend Suppuku to are pretty much the reason that kids in Madagascar are going to be eating for the next year, while the only thing I have accomplished recently was giving a homeless guy in Key West a Busch Light two months ago. Oh well. I bet he had a good night.