Back to One Day At A Time

In Which I Am Still On The Plan But Not On The Scale

2006-08-14T05:58:00.000-07:00

Last week was a trying week for this fruit three days a week eating program and there may have been some slippage.

But this if fine. I am still with it. That was what we call in the eating program business flexibility.

Still with it.

Updates to follow.

Why no blogs from me?

I'm making videos and putting them up at youtube. Much better than blogging.

In Which You Better Watch A Fucking Movie

2006-08-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5946593973848835726

The last time I linked to this video -- the video was immediately disabled by them. Watch this as sson as you can.

In Which The Scale Moved To 219

2006-08-03T21:09:00.000-07:00

Still on the program... longest time I have stayed with something like this.

Also -- just archiving this thing below in case their is any righteous indignation left in humanity:

International

Thu 3 Aug 2006

An Iraqi opens the door of his house to US marines during a search after a suicide bombing. The forces' presence continues to spur activity by insurgents, with demonstrations yesterday calling for terrorism to be crushed. Picture: Jaime Razori/ Getty Images

Case builds against 'massacre' marines

ROBERT BURNS IN WASHINGTON AND VIJAY JOSHI IN BAGHDAD

Criminal investigators complete initial inquiries as naval prosecutors review findings and consider whether to recommend charges against officers over deaths

EVIDENCE collected on the deaths of 24 Iraqis in the western town of Haditha supports accusations that US marines killed civilians, including unarmed women and children, a US defence department official said yesterday.

Agents of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service have completed their initial work on the incident last November, but may be asked to probe further as marine and navy prosecutors review the evidence and determine whether to recommend criminal charges, according to two Pentagon officials who discussed the matter on condition of anonymity.

The decision on whether to press criminal charges ultimately will be made by the commander of the accused marines' parent unit, the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force.

The case, which has been characterised in political terms as being similar to the infamous My Lai massacre during the Vietnam War, is one of several involving alleged unjustified killings of Iraqi civilians that have emerged this year, damaging the American military's reputation for humane treatment of civilians and triggering calls by some Iraqi leaders to end the arrangement under which US troops are immune from prosecution by Iraqi authorities.

The marines, of Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, initially reported after the 19 November, 2005 killings at Haditha that 15 Iraqi civilians had been killed by a makeshift roadside bomb and in crossfire between marines and insurgent attackers. Based on accounts from survivors and human rights groups, Time magazine first reported in March that the killings were deliberate acts by the marines immediately following the death of one their comrades, Lance Corporal Miguel Terrazas, in a roadside bombing.

A criminal investigation was then ordered by the top marine commander in Iraq, Major General Richard Zilmer.

A parallel investigation is examining whether officers in the marines' chain of command tried to cover up the events.

The investigation, which has not been made public, faults some officers for failing to pursue obvious discrepancies in the initial reports about what happened in Haditha and for not launching an early investigation.

Public attention on the Haditha case grew after John Murtha, a senior Congressman and a former marine himself, asserted publicly on 17 May that he had learned from marine corps officials that innocent Iraqis had been killed "in cold blood".

Lawyers for Staff Sergeant Frank Wuterich, one of the marines under investigation, argue in a lawsuit filed yesterday in federal court that Mr Murtha has falsely accused Sgt Wuterich of murder and war crimes.

Meanwhile, in Iraq yesterday, the president, Jalal Talabani, said that local forces will take over the country's general security coalition troops by December.

"We are highly optimistic we will terminate terrorism in this year," Mr Talabani said. He dismissed the recent surge by extremists as "the last arrows in their pockets".

The US-led multinational forces - responsible for 17 of Iraq's 18 provinces - are playing "a supportive" role, Mr Talabani said.

"The Iraqi forces will take over security in all Iraqi provinces by the end of this year gradually, and with God's will, we will take the lead," he said.

Iraqi leaders have said previously that their goal is to be fully in control of the country's security by the end of this year , but Mr Talabani's statement is the most specific on the subject.

In slight contradiction to Mr Talabani, Sir Jock Stirrup, Britain's Chief of Defence Staff, speaking after the death Corporal Matthew Cornish in a mortar attack on the British army base in Basra on Tuesday, yesterday said UK forces were likely to hand over control of the southern Iraqi city of Basra to local security forces early next year.

"We are now on a good path to hand over provincial control of Basra some time in the first part of next year," he said. "But these are difficult issues we are grappling with and I can't forecast what will happen over the next several months."

Violence continued to convulse Iraq yesterday. In one incident, two hidden bombs exploded on a football field, killing nine youths, as two mortars landed while another football game was under way, killing three children, police said.

The young men killed by the home-made bombs in Amil district of western Baghdad were aged between 15 and 25, said Maitham Abdul Razzaq, a police lieutenant .

About an hour earlier, two mortar shells hit Abu Dshir residential area in Baghdad, one landing on a football pitch and killing three children aged under 15, said police captain Firas Queti. The other mortar landed on a house, injuring a couple and their child.

Thousands of Shiite civilians marched through Baghdad yesterday in a show of force to demand an end to the sectarian strife. Young men in uniforms and headbands, members of what are known as the popular committees, chanted as a speaker urged them to crush Saddam Hussein loyalists leading a Sunni insurgency against the Shiite-led government.

"Stamp on terrorism," he said.

The crowd included members of the Badr Organisation, one of the armed Shi'ite groups that Sunni Arabs accuse of running militia death squads, a charge they deny.

"We have to benefit from this wide popular base, and the state and Iraqi people should form these popular regional committees from the best of our young men to face terrorism," Abdul Aziz al-Hakim, one of Iraq's most powerful Shiite leaders, told the crowd. "They will defend people of districts; Sunnis, Shi'ites, Arabs, Kurds and Turkmen. They do not differentiate between anybody. They will provide support for the official security apparatus."

The prime minister, Nuri al-Maliki, whose reconciliation plan has failed to reduce sectarian bloodshed, has promised to disband the militias many fear will push the country into civil war.

"The first enemy is the Baathist Saddam loyalists and their henchmen, the Islamic extremists," said Mr Hakim.

Officially, the event was held to mark the third anniversary of the death of Mr Hakim's brother, Ayatollah Mohammed Baqer al-Hakim, in a bombing in the city of Najaf.

But the speeches also covered some of the most explosive issues in Iraq, such as federalism, which is opposed by Sunnis who fear it will leave them deprived of oil in resource-poor central Iraq.

"We believe that implementation of a federal system in Iraq will achieve justice and rebuild Iraq and guarantee the unity of the Iraqi people and land," said Mr Hakim.

In Which We Are Steady At 220

2006-07-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

I know I got so excited becasue the pointer on the scale was a little to the left of 220 at last report. This morning it was sirectly on it. Adn that's cool. It was a weekend full of food and then I went for the Monday fruit day but there was a "brunch." I thought I could get through it on fruit alone but my lovely wife made a tortilla espanola for our guests and I tumbled and fell. Tuesday became a fruit day. It was miserable. And 98 percent successful -- I had a couple carbos wen the vision started to go double.

This morning I haven't eaten because I am not yet hungry and am racing off to have a favorite food -- Betos -- rather than eat something I will only sort of appreciate. Rather enjoy my food completely at this point.

Anyway... still on it.

Feel like the 220 at this point is the end of a plateau and I will lose again by the end of this week probably -- but Saturday becomes a fruit day and then I will return to Monday Wednesday Friday next week.

Sorry I'm a pathetic blogger these days -- it has to be done though.

In Which I Am Still Following Through...

2006-07-18T04:54:00.000-07:00

It's all the obesity reports and longevity... aparently the fat people don't make it. Also in all this I had the revelation that I have been overweight for fifteen years. I mean, that's long enough.

So while it is have wrecked my blogging, I am still with the three day a week fruit plan. It's a Tuesday morning and I haven't eaten anything yet. Felt miserably muddied mentally last night and watched a very stupid DVD -- the 1965 That Darn Cat -- some genius will surely make a fucking oodle remaiking that dog. It is like a comedian past his prime dying on stage. Ten minutes in the drivein with the manager falling into popcorn ad ice cream.

And me starving.

Anyway I got on the scale this morning and the needle went just a milimeter to the left of 220, which most of you would call 22o but I call it progress. If you do the math, you'll see the curve of the weight loss has slowed dramatically. But that's okay. It does say one day at a time up there.

In Which It Is Still Monday of Week 3 and I am Very Hungry...

2006-07-03T17:51:00.000-07:00

So... beginning week three of this... I was feeling so spacy today that I wrote something on the board in front of the class... turned around to continue lecturing... talked for a while and then turned back to the board and saw some writing I didn't recognize and, "Oh, what's this?" And of course it was the words that I had written only moments before.

But I am still with the fruitostity. Hanging in if barely.

Tomorrow is an eating day.

Not an over-eating day.

In Which We Begin Week Three -- 225

2006-07-03T11:57:00.000-07:00

For those of you paying attention, yes... that means I lost five pounds. And actually I was down to 221 but the weekend of regular eating cost me dearly and today I weighed and am at 225.

And so I will feel good about this.

I am taking action.

Head feels foggy from this fruit day and it is hardly afternoon.

In Which We Begin Week Two -- 230

2006-06-26T05:11:00.000-07:00

I survived a very simple eating program last week that simply recommends that on Monday, Wednesday and Friday I eat nothing but fruit. After doing that last week, and eating regularly on Tuesday and Thursday, I had lost 5 pounds by Saturday morning.

I ate regularly over the weekend and today I begin a second set of Monday, Wednesday, Friday fruit eating.

Looking forward to it.

Will weigh again next Saturday.

In Which This Blog Becomes Worse Than A Mommy Blog

2006-06-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

There was a while at this blog when I cared that people read it and I wrote nothing but inflamatory or amusing shit just to keep people semi-interested. Of course, those kinds of posts will continue to appear from time to time but I realize that this blog can also be thought of as an archive, incomplete and completely inaccurate, of this period of my life. For me it will be kind of like looking through the old year books and chuckling. For my children, it will be an embarassing excusion into the fiction of this period.

I am of course calling most of what I have written here fiction to throw off the FBI profilers who may one day try to use this all against me.

[That is a line for the press, of course].

Anyway... onto the stupid mommy blog shit:

Last Monday I ate nothing but fruit.

Last Wednesday I ate nothing but fruit.

And yesterday, which was Friday, I ate nothing but fruit and by the evening I was really quite hungry.

On Tuesday and Thursday I ate normally.

Today is Saturday, a day on which I am eating normally again and I have lost 5 pounds.

Woo hoo.

That was a subdued if not sarcastic woo hoo.

I have lost weight before. I have gained it back. I realize now that unless I lose weight I will always be referred to by aquaintances as "big buy".

If you think you are my friend and you have ever referred to me as "big guy" you were immediately placed in the aquaintances collumn of my relations. Wondering why you haven't heard from me? It was the "big guy" comment, asshole. Do I call you ugly? No. It is a little thing I notice every time I see you but I have the tact not to mention it. You should have the tact to keep your fucking "big guy" comments to yourself.

Also -- just in case I get lucky enough for this fucking troll to cruise by: Easiest way to get put on my "Fuck This Asshole Up" list: Pat my wife on her ass and then tell me it's because you think of us all as such close buds.

Yeah, more mommy blog shit but this actually happened. I fucking called the dude out on the spot and, being the vagina that he is, he pussed out. If you make a pass at someone's wife, you should have the fucking dignity to take your ass whupping like like a man. But some people are little fucking cry baby pussies.

Umm... were you wondering how I felt about you after you patted my wife's ass? Were you wondering what I meant when I fucking yelled in your faggy, gay assed face and made you flinch, "If you ever touch my wife's ass again I will kick your mother fucking ass?" Wanna know what that means? It means I will kick your fag ass. But sadly I won't get that chance because you've been dismissed fucker. You have been written off. You have been cast aside.

What's funny: you don't even know it.

After my understandable outburst, and your totally bitch like recapitulation and teary eyed apologies, I pretended to forgive you. We finished out our little visit nicely and with no perceivable ill will. I thought that was very mature of me.

But you have been vanquished vagina boy.

I love blogging.

[I hope this fag comes by and leaves comments].

In Which We Do A Little Math

2006-06-17T08:36:00.000-07:00

Okay... so Sir Paul McCartney has been married four years to this little tramp and now he has to give her the boot. That's understandable. They've clearly had differences. Things aren't working out. You can't believe anything you read in the papers except if the following is true it is a real shame.

Apparently for the four year marriage, she stands to benifit more than 250 million dollars. Possibly getting as much at 300,000,000. I just spelled that out to get my mind around all those zeros. Shit.

Let's cut to the chase on this bad boy: Why do men get married? Pussy.

So let's see how much the pussy he has had over the last four years is going to cost him. Lets go with the lower estimate of $250 Million.

Over four years, how much pussy did he actually get? He is 64 years old after all. How much does a dude that old really want?

They were married for roughly 1460 days. Let's be kind to Sir Paul and say he got laid once every other day -- which I think is totally fucking respectable for a dude who is 64. That would be 730 pieces of ass. And remember -- this isn't even perfectly new ass after the you pass 200.

So how much will each of these fucks have cost him after he shells out to this bitch he is trying to divorce?

How much did he pay per fuck? (and you know this number is actually much higher -- you know I'm being extra kind to say he could perform once every two days. This chick probably wasn't even that willing. And what about the break week? I'm not even calculating that in there.) $342,456.75

He probably didn't even get laid 250 times in the four years. We could be talking a million bucks per fuck or more.

This is a serious travesty of justice.

You might say, ahhh, who cares. They'll both be fucking sublimely rich. Who cares?

Well, for me, it's the principle of the thing. Paul deserves it. She does not. Unless he cares to share what made it so good for him. But even then, are you really going to believe it?

In Which We Type In More URLs To See If They Exist

2006-06-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

totallyretartedfuck.com -- This url is surprisingly available, considering the number of totally retarded fuckers in this world.

Let's try another.

perfectshit.com -- Register this today!

myfriendtheasshole.com -- While this one is not about the so-called friend that I was thinking about, it does exist.

fuckingasshole.com -- Okay -- this one too is not about who I was thinking of but it could be.

selfcenteredignorantegotist.com -- I know someone that this url fits to a tee. Register it if you want to.

narcissist.com -- This site exists and the url again is exactly perfect for the person that I am thinking of.

bigsteamingturd.com -- Welp, this is perhaps the best way to describe the person I am thinking of and since it is available, I am off to register it and make my tribute to him.

In Which We Explore The Word Sheople.

2006-06-13T16:02:00.000-07:00

I'm guessing on the spelling there. Sheople. Sheep and people. Sheeple? No, Sheople is surely more appropriate and since it is a brand new fad word that will be gone in a few months I guess it does matter how it's spelled, does it?

Nothing matters, does it, sheople fucktard mother fucks.

Do you know what kind of punishment will befall Scooter Libby for violating his Top Secret clearence and leaking the identity of a CIA operative because he was asked to by the President and VP so they could have revenge on the operatives husband for writing something that displeased them?

NO PUNISHMENT sheople fucktards.

Nothing. want to know why? Because they know you don't care.

Your liberty is being stolen and you sit idly by and watch that fucking American Idle and give a shit about Brad And Angelina's african baby.

You graze off the swill they feed you and pay no attention as all you liberty is sucked away so that the overlords can rule in comfort while you feel happy punching your timeclocks and making payments on your cars and sofas. Doesn't matter that in ten years there will be no more free internet and you will have no freedom of speech of freedom to travel. You will be able to get to your job, refrigerator and sofa. You purpose in this life will be to create revenue that keeps the wealthy wealthy and you asleep.

Sleep sheep fucks.

Or start breaking shit! Now!

In Which This Blog Does Not Peter Out.

2006-06-11T05:43:00.000-07:00

Blog URLs I type in off the top of my head to see what happens. This blog was written in real time:

tired.blogspot.com -- this blog offers us one stupic post from march of 2001 -- excellent blog URL wasted.

iamtired.blogspot.com -- offers one rant from December 2003 about George W. Bush:

PLEASE REMEMBER: Just because Bush, his cronies and lemmings mindlessly repeat their falsehoods over and over again, it does not make them true! And ultra-right-wing radio and TV (Fox News, Limbaugh, etc) shills for these . . . let's face it, they really are . . . liars!

I would say the poor fuck had potential but no follow through.

poorfuck.blogspot.com -- this one is available. Some bastard oughta go and snap that one up.

snapitup.blogspot.com -- This blog contains four posts from January 2004 -- in her last post she solved the greatest question in the universe and then decided that she had nothing more to say:

Life : whats to say - I wonder why they cal it the life cycle. is it because we do similar things day to day or get stuck in a routine,like - work go home eat watch Tv sleep get up go to work again - maybe. But mostly I think its a amatter of choice life doesnt have to be a routine cycle it what you make of it and how you manage your time that determines what you will do next. Its my opinion that you have to take life a day a time and to take a step forward to new horizons every day.
God Bless you all.
snapitup.............while you can.

washmymind.blogspot.com -- available

stupidreligiousfucks.blogspot.com -- available

available.blogspot.com Esther Chang wrote: "what is this? sostupid =) like me!" That was all she wrote. She can look back on the whole blogging thing as a success.

success.blogspot.com -- ooh, that one appeared available but I quickly ran to snap it up and it wasnt. It's a place holder or something.

ice.blogspot.com -- again, a one poster -- but this young writer got directly to the heart of drama and suspense in his one and only blog post -- I actually recommend you read this one.

one.blogspot.com -- nothing.

nothing.blogtspot.com -- seriously.

In Which Bush Continues To Be A Moron

2006-03-03T07:12:00.000-08:00

I just heard Bush on NPR saying that India was founded on the exact same principles including that "all men are created equal."

India.

Am I the only one who remembers the cast system?

Could Bush be the dumbest assed fucker on the planet?

Could NPR be full of morons? Not one of them pointed out this obvious fucking error.

In Which I Can't Help Thinking Of Bush

2006-02-27T05:54:00.000-08:00

For the thousands of regular readers of this blog I have to apologize for my recent irregularity. Much of the best writing here has been inspired by anger. I'm less angry these days. I'm still completely dismayed but less angry about it.

I finally watched The Pianist and by minute 28 I thought, "I can't. I won't make it through." It's a great movie and I'm sure that most of you have already seen it but what I was entranced by was watching the history of the Warsaw Uprising as depicted in the movie.

So I wanted to learn more about the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and the Warsaw Uprising. I have not researched this but I wonder if the movie was not criticized as being a condemnation of Jewish collaborators who policed the Warsaw Ghetto. The movie makes it seem like the Nazis would not have been able to control the ghetto without the help of this Jewish police force. I think a character in the movie said that the ghetto housed a half million, Wikipedia says 380,000 -- I tend to think that even the smaller number would have been difficult to manage.

Anyway... I could not watch this movie without thinking that this bullshit red state vs blue state division that the fucking media ejaculates on us is nothing more than a way of dividing us into groups so that we are less strong. Divide Jew from non-Jew. Divide collaborator from Jew. And now we divide black and white, liberal and republican, ad infinitum.

The only way that we have a chance to respond to the totalitarianism that Bush is bringing our direction is to shine the light on it every day and stay united.

I'm with Republicans who oppose the UAE take-over of US ports. Good for them for breaking with the fuhrer and having the balls to see through to his ugly scheming.

In Which You Will Laugh At A Video

2006-01-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

CHEESEBALL!

This is the thought that I had when I looked at this video -- but I have to tell you -- when I was twelve I worshipped this song.

In Which There Is Some Good News

2005-12-31T07:59:00.000-08:00

Most of this blog is basically me getting fucking infuriated about shit over which I have no control. It's kind of a hobby and I hope it is not lost on my army of readers that I am aware there is nothing that any amount of anger on my part can do about such things. And who knows maybe I have changed, maybe I have matured, but I do not seem to be getting as angry about things that would normally send me into a full fledged coniption. Allow me to list for you a brief list of things that would normally piss me off but really haven't been:

1. Bush Domestic Spying.

Oh my god, big fucking surprise here.

2. Bush Opens Investigation To See Who Leaked The Domestic Spying Info

Now... that goddamn shameless mother fucker... no... I'm just saying that. Of course it's true but I don't say it with red eyed rageful wrath the way I normally would. I just point it out because if fuckers in this country do not see what this means then the U.S. is filled with morons.

3. The U.S. is filled with morons. Again: big surprise.

4. Trey Parker and Matt Stone sent up my cult in a recent Southpark episode. I never got too pissed off because I had observed everything that they observed once when I didn't know shit about shinola also. Those mother fuckers are gonna change their tune if they ever find themselves passed out behind a dumpster with a half a dozen feral cats licking the vomit from their mouths. That will be excellent. Sadly they will probably just end up impaled on their own steering columns.

5. Air bags. Yeah, these piss me off because they save smug retards the pleasure of finding out what its like to be impaled on their steering columns.

6. Blogger Spell Check. Why the fuck can Gmail, run by Google, have the greatest spell check on the planet, and Blogger, run by Google, have the shittiest?

Well, I think I've proven it. Contentment is pretty boring.

In Which I Get Some Air, Big Time

2005-12-06T20:05:00.000-08:00

You wanna know something funny? I complain a lot about the weather of the state I live in. Utah. It snows like a fucker where I live. And normally I complain a hell of a lot. But I had the most fucking excellent day today. My son and I suited up in our thick down snow attire and we cruised off high into some local mountains to "The Tubing Spot." If you're lucky some hick has parked his truck up at the top of this wonderful hill and other hicks have helped him arrange a pulley system off of a winch on his truck and today was just one of those days -- Ride after ride, sliding down the mountain again and again on huge tractor sized inner tubes. My boy rode with me in mine most of the day but I finally convinced him that he could hang onto a tube on his own. He's a trooper and had a great time!

All I can say is that Utah doesn't suck miserably ALL the time.

PS -- I just got back from teaching that ESL class and I swear, Maganita shows me a piece of paper which in spanish reads: "I need to make an apointment with the doctor." It was sad. I felt bad about making fun of her.

In Which I Post About Something I Saw That Was So Gross That I Can't Stop Thinking About It

2005-12-04T07:33:00.000-08:00

I warn you... if you are feeling queesy... you don't want to read this.

But I can't bear the weight of it alone any longer.

I teach ESL to immigrants from Mexico. I'm guessing they've never seen a set of fucking playing cards. I gave them these cards for an ESL game I came up with and they people were so excited they were like bending the cards and stroking their faces with the cards. I remember this stroking faces thing with cards. I think little kids do it. Maybe I did when I was a little kid but I don't remember. And while such behavior will fuck up a deck of cards it is not the gross thing.

The gross thing is Maria Maganita. Herpes travel around her lips like it is a race track and every week the horses are in a new postion. Some weeks she has enormous puss filled sores that glisten and ooze herpes. And to me, a person who has never had a cold sore and who is lucky enough to be married with another person who has likewise been spared, well, Maria's face by itself is a source of terror and revulsion. I'm not saying she might not be a sweet person -- I've seen her backhand her annoying thirteen year old daughter. I thought that was sweet.

Anyway... we're all playing with the cards and I notice that Maria Maganita is digging the corner of her cards into one of the open puss filled sores and mucus is pooling on the end of the fucking playing card. A fucking playing card that someone else might shortly have to handle, this being the nature of fucking playing cards.

If that's not making you wretch, please picture yourself next to senora herpes herself and imagining that you will have to touch that card with her millions of herpes on on it.

In Which I Am A Disgusting Packrat and I Name Yet Another Of The Best 50 Songs Of All Time

2005-11-25T14:28:00.000-08:00

I bought the album Aladdin Sane in 1979 when I was about thirteen years old. I was already listening to rock and roll and punk and I heard somewhere that Bowie was cool and so I thought I'd plop down my $2.99 -- which was the going rate for all good quality used LPs -- on the first Bowie album I happened to flip to in the used stacks. I was already quite the rock critic and when I played the first song on the album: Watch That Man, I thought, "This shit sounds too much like the fucking Rolling Stones." Don't get me wrong. I have come to appreciate the Stones. But when I was thirteen the world was still divided into Beatles fans and Stones fans and I was the former. So Aladdin Sane had one strike against it just seconds into the first groove. Then the song Alladin Sane played. I thought: "what in the fuck is this shit? What's with the freaky piano? Fuck this scary shit."

And that was it. The album got removed from my cheap shit turn table and shoved in my little stack of albums and I probably played a Buzzcocks album or XTC or Random Hold or some such other thing but I did not play that Bowie album again for at least a year. I benched that fucking album for twelve months. Then came a Saturday -- which was my day for buying records-- but I had no money. So I flipped through my stack of albums and found the never fully listened to Alladin Sane.

Maybe I had grown up in that year. But I played both sides of that album and fell in love. I literally have the very same album sitting in front of me as I type this. I've lugged most of my albums around with me since I bought them. I guess this makes me a packrat. But there must be a reason and perhaps that reason was that I never wanted to be terribly far from Aladdin Sane.

I do not believe that Aladdin Sane was included on any of Bowie's greatest hits albums. I've never heard anyone wax romantic over it. I read the lyrics just now and they make no fucking sense. So what is so fucking great about this song?

If you have already clicked the link to the song click pause. Don't let it play. Hold off. I need to ask you to notice the way the lead guitar, base and the piano together pursue a higher purpose. This song was written in 1973 just before the world was about to be dragged into a cesspool of Disco and while most other bands were turning up their amps to play louder and louder arena rock to hypnotize the masses. Nothing against arena rock. I love it. But I'm trying to say that for as soft and lovely as this song is, it is a bold choice. Soft, dischordant piano being urged along by gentle base and guitar. It's a smooth river running write into Bowie's words:

Watching him dash away, stringing an old bouquet -- dead roses
Sake and strange divine...

Listen, I've just reread these lyrics and you know I love lyrics... but I don't think we need even spend much time on them. There aren't too many of them and they seem to be referring to Saki and sunrise... ie... land of the Rising Sun... so maybe they have something to do with Japan and the dead roses are a reference to Hiroshima and Nagasaki... but then the song mentions "Paris or maybe hell" and I recall a biography I read of John Lennon in which he confessed that he knew Dylan frequently included nonsense in songs and he himself did it and I would not put it past Bowie and what's more... it doesn't matter.

We can not exactly nail down the melody of this song... I am talking about the piano lead toward the end... and we can not nail down the meaning of the lyrics. I'll bet Bowie has blogged about this or been interviewed about these lyrics and sometime maybe I will care enough to go and search for it but for now...

I offer you Aladdin Sane.

In Which I Have A Pulpectomy And Delroy Says Something Really Cute

2005-11-13T10:37:00.000-08:00

Serious dental work wreaks havoc with the fucking blogging. Life does.

Delroy is in the car with me the other day and there's this little bag of home made butter mints that they sell in these parts. If you've never had a homemade butter mint, fucking look up a recipe and make them. The shit buttermints you've been eating your whole life are nothing like the way god intended those little bastards to taste. Soft ambrosia and they melt in your fucking mouth.

We've finished most of the butter mints in this small bag and Delroy points to it and says, "Look Daddy."

I look. The last two or three of the butter mints have been crushed into butter mints crumbs, which will still taste delicious but will deny the eater the pleasure of sinking his teeth into these bad boys.

I say, "Oh. They've turned into crumbs."

Delroy says, "Doesn't that look like something a naughty little boy would have done?"

I say, "I suppose it does. Did you do it?"

He says, "Yes, but I was just pretending to be a naughty little boy."

In Which I Confess That While I Have Done Many Dreadful Things, I Have Never Had My Dick Glued To My Stomach

2005-11-03T16:38:00.000-08:00

Man sues ex-girlfriend over glue attack

November 3, 2005

GREENSBURG, Pa. --A man claims his ex-girlfriend owes him more than $30,000 for gluing his genitals to his abdomen five years ago. "This was not just some petty domestic squabble," attorney Grey Pratt told a Westmoreland County jury Wednesday.

His client, Kenneth Slaby of Pittsburgh, is suing Gail O'Toole of Murrysville. His lawsuit claims the two broke up in 1999 after dating for 10 months and Slaby began dating someone else.

Slaby contends that O'Toole invited him over to her home on May 7, 2000, where he fell asleep. He woke up to find that O'Toole had used Super Glue to stick his genitals to his abdomen, glued his buttocks together and spelled out a profanity on his back in nail polish.

Slaby said O'Toole told him it was payback for their breakup, and he had to walk a mile to a gas station to call for help. He pressed charges and O'Toole pleaded guilty to misdemeanor assault and served six months' probation.

O'Toole's attorney, Chuck Evans, said it was a consensual act and Slaby wasn't permanently damaged.

"This is a case that should have been left in the bedroom," he said.

In Which I KNOW Rizzo WILL see broad syndication

2005-11-02T06:23:00.000-08:00

To keep Rizzo viable and to collect nickles, Sean and I create "local issues" Rizzo strips. I spent my entire summer calling literally hundreds and hundreds of editors and about have published us and a few stalwarts publish a local issue Rizzo weekly.

Two weeks ago I was pleased Editor Bill from Sonoma CA sent us an editorial where he was FINALLY pissed with some people over something. Thank fucking goodness. This guy literally could not choose sides in an exploited workers editorial he sent me and forced me to pen the single dumbest joke (besides the Cotton Festival joke) that I ever wrote. Ah, but two weeks ago he was pissed and I decided to give him a vent for his fucking anger -- because he doesn't really understand anger like I do... so I wrote a strip featuring a severed head in a bag... he loved it and I was able to write a followup strip that was so masterfully penned by my partner I was in fucking awe. I actually thought my script might have been weak. No. In the hands of Sean, genius. Here are some Rizzo Local Issue cartoons:Sean and I are creating an online group that we will be part of launching our WEB COMIC -- JOIN -- participate in the genius... or just be fucking encouraging... worshipful would be nice... you will be on the front lines of sreaping Rizzo Good News...

Click to join rizzoworld

Click that group or search for rizzoworld -- yeah... sounds grandiose but we've got to start somewhere.

In Which I Remember What Worked The First Time

2005-11-01T09:59:00.000-08:00

It was toward the end of 2000 and my wife and I had been together for well over a decade when she smiled at me in a way I had never seen before. A warm glint in her eye that reminded me of both Christmas and the Fourth Of July at the same time. I knew immediately that she was telling me that she was pregnant. Yes, we always used birth control but more because it was a habit and we never really wanted to sit down and think out "having a baby" through. So one day, suddenly and quite by surprise, we were having a baby. And that was very cool and yet ponderous at the same time.

Love came pouring in from all of our friends. And gifts. One of the gifts was The Baby Book by William and Martha Sears. All I can say is thank goodness someone was thoughtful enough to give this book to us long enough before our due date that we could get used to the wonderful baby raising model that it describes.

The single most important idea that the Sears discuss in The Baby Book is this idea called "Attachment Parenting." I know that there remain some very young parents, in their twenties who still use phrases that have been passed down through the ages like: "Children are to be seen and not heard." And we all know that anyone who falls into the "Children are to be seen and not heard" school of parenting also believe that smacking little kids is cool discipline. When I found out that my twenty-five-year old neighbor, and father of a two-year-old frequently smacked his two-year-old I said, "We've never smacked our boy" who was also two. My neighbor asked me, "How do you keep him from climbing on the table?" I replied, "We ask him not to climb on the table."

And this is true: We have actually witnessed the miracles promised in the Sears book by putting the principles they discuss into practice. When the Sears folks told us to breastfeed, we did it. Well, my wife is the one with the breasts, so she really did it but I tried to be as supportive of her as I could. She even joined La Leche League, which is mentioned in the book, and now she is ready to become a La Leche League Leader.

When the Sears folks mentioned this concept called "The Family Bed" we followed it. Our boy slept with us until he started asking for his own bed at about two and a half years old.

These two things, breastfeeding and co-sleeping, seem to be at the heart of this "attachment parenting" thing. If I don't sound like an expert on attachment parenting, that's because I am not. But all I can say is that we followed this method and our boy simply talks with us. We've never had discipline problems. He turned four recently and has listened to me read every word of the original Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, in rapt attention.

My wife and I would like to believe it is our excellent genes that make him so happy, talented, intelligent and well adjusted. Our genes may have something to do with it but I believe the methods described in The Baby Book also have a great deal to do with it.

Also, The Baby Book is not just a "how to" on the attachment method. It is a catalog of answers on everything from teething to gas. Oh man... one night our little guy was about seven weeks old and he was screaming disconsolately. I read a section on relieving gas pains in the book and was given a technique that involved a couple gentle strokes on the baby's belly. I followed the instructions perfectly and, oh a symphony of farting ensued that was truly delightsome to our ears and ended our baby boy's howling.

This book has been so incredibly useful to us in answering so many questions that we believe it is the ONLY shower gift for expecting mothers. Try to give this book to mom and dad long enough before their due date that they have time to read and prepare for the adventure that this book can guide them through.

In Which I Finally Read A Book I Bought Ages Ago

2005-10-31T23:39:00.000-08:00

I was at a bookstore in San Francisco in 1998 and had way too much money burning a hole in my pocket, so I picked up a bunch of books by Charles Bukowski and one small volume about Charles Bukowski called: The BUK Book. Extraordinarily eager to soak up Bukowski's prose and poetry, I let the small biographical volume that promised to be Musings On Charles Bukowski sink to the bottom of the stack. After several years I finally opened it up and saw that it was little more than a set of dirty pictures of Bukowski with a brunette tramp.

It is telling that many of these pornographic photographs have been ripped up and painstakingly taped back together for publication. Someone had sense enough to toss these photos in the garbage where they belong. And hey folks, I'm a Bukowski fan, I'm no religious prude. Claude Powell, the photographer, would protest, he might say, "You're not being fair, there are a number of non-pornographic shots of Bukowski, too. Besides, it's only that little tramp that's naked. Not Bukowski." Please don't bicker with me that Claude wouldn't use the word "tramp." He'd use worse. He is an inhumane sexist. To shoot photographs of Charles Bukowski using the fingers of his right hand to spread the labia majora of this anonymous woman shows clearly that Claude Powell is a pornographer at best, and a bottom feeding scum at worst. Forgive me if I have climbed up upon a soap box as I give you my honest impressions of this piece of filth, but it is a book that lays shame to everything noble about humanity. Bukowski, drunk and leering like an adolescent boy into the vagina of a drunken woman, well... to each his own, but that is an image I could have done without. I wish I had have opened the book up before slapping down the moolah for it.

But the photos are only part of this book. Remember, it is supposed to be Musings On Charles Bukowski. It turns out it is actually hardly more than summaries of other Bukowski biographies, with the story of Claude Powell and the pornographic photos thrown into the middle for good measure. I mean, it would appear that the writer, who manages to drop the name of every locale he has ever visited, even though they have nothing to do with Bukowski, has never met Bukowski. The text is a simple, sad joke. A typical "musing" from Jim Christy about Charles Bukowski usually turns into an opportunity for Jim Christy to say something wonderful about himself: "Someday I expect to be walking along the beach near Papeete and meet someone with a sheaf of Buk missives." Ahh... isn't that sweet, Jim Christy is a world traveler and he wrote a crummy essay about Charles Bukowski so he could let the world know that Jim Christy is a world traveler. Hey, Jim, here's a homepage URL for you: www.jimchristyisanarcissist.com.

Let me get back to the story of the night of the photographs. I hardly believe it. I have read two other Bukowski biographies and neither of them mentioned anything like the fiction that Jim Christy calls "musings." Supposedly, on the night the photos were taken, Linda King, Buk's true love, kicked him out and he showed up over at Claude Powells. Claude had a girl over who decided to get naked and have photos taken of her getting finger banged by Bukowski. You know, to cheer up Bukowski because he was so depressed at being kicked out of his house. Yeah... that makes a lot of sense. Anyway, supposedly the photos were ripped up by Linda King the next day. Right. I think it is more likely that Bukowski sobered up and realized that he had made a huge mistake and attempted to destroy them himself. But then, I wasn't there. Oh, wait, neither was Jim Christy.

So what other gems can you expect to find in this book beside Jim Christy talking about himself? Not much. He has the temerity to call two EXCELLENT pieces of bukowski writing "gauche and sophomoric." Gauche? Jim Christy is the most pretentious fraud that has ever published a book. He also writes about a party during which Bukowski is supposed to have dropped his trowsers and underwear, leaned forward and looked between his legs so that he could beckon a dog behind him, in the hopes that it would come and lick his balls: "the dog's nose stuck up the crack of his asz." This is a line in Jim Christy's book called The Buk Book. Let's read it again so that we can get a real sense of what a loser this book really is: "the dog's nose stuck up the crack of his asz." Is anyone else naucious? Do you think it really happened? Well, we'll never know, because once again, Jim Christy was not there.

So, if this book is so horrible, why did anyone publish it? It has a picture of Bukowski finger banging a lady in it, silly. Bukowski fans love that kind of stuff. Bukowski fans would buy pictures of Bukowski spew splatter. They'd pay big bucks for that. So, I'm sure that many Bukowski fans loved the naked lady pictures. I found them loathsome and degrading.

In short: I believe this book is full of tall tales. Unverifiable fabrications that the author published only after Bukowski was dead because he knew they were not accurate. Check other biographies. The stories are not repeated by the reliable sources on Bukowski's life. And the photos are gross. There, I've said it.

In Which Spidey Fights Whitey

2005-10-31T11:49:00.000-08:00

All of my Marvel comics are in storage. Delroy is Spiderman for Halloween never having really seen a piece of media of any kind about Spiderman. Not a comic, not a cartoon, not a movie. It's just that every little kid runs around screaming about Spiderman and Delroy decided to be Spidey too. Spidey is cool, after all.

While we were playing the other day he asks me, "What does spiderman do?" I don't like the fucking phrase "bad guys" -- so I said, "He catches thieves, just like flies."

Delroy was delighted. "What does he do with them?"

I wanted to say he eats them but I'm not a complete asshole. "He takes them to the police."

So we were playing and I was acting like a supervillian and Delroy was Spidey and he said, "What's the name of your character, daddy?"

I thought a moment: "Whitey! The Super Sneak Thief" (Sneak thief is a phrase used in the book Flat Stanley that Delroy knows well.)

"I'm gonna catch Whitey and take him to the police!"

And I said, "I hope so."

And we were off!

In Which I Link To A Good Song That Is Not In The Top Fifty

2005-10-30T06:14:00.000-08:00

Why do I care so much that they're poor lives have been hijacked and they have been forced to believe lies in a structure that is so tight there is almost no hope that they will ever claim the distance necessary to see that they are living a lie? It's that I hate tyranny and injustice. And I want to see the uptight local overlords take a boot in the ribs. Not the kids but the fucking adults, who have shovelled shit over these kids their whole lives to the point that they all have thick blinders on and plugs in their ears.

I sit around thinking of things that might open up the window of their minds.

I'm about to link to a song from one of the top ten movies of all time. The song is if you wanna sing out and the movie is Harold and Maude. Go rent it.

In Which I Respond To An Ignorant Turd Who Appears To Have Better Things To Do Than Read Ham On Rye

2005-10-29T22:03:00.000-07:00

I will not say it is to my eternal shame that I have, thus far, been unable to finish reading all of Catcher In The Rye. The fact is I may actually finish it one day. I think I'm more than two thirds in. Holden has had the awkward moment with the prostitute and pimp. I fully intend to finish it. I seem to enjoy it while I'm actually reading it, but the moment I set it down, it loses all hold on me and I promptly forget all about it.

Ham On Rye, on the other hand, has owned my devotion from the moment I picked it up more than two decades ago. Phrases from this book are constantly rambling through my head. I've read it several times. Bought many copies to give to to friends. [Now we don't even have to do that.] And even after having thought about it often for many years, tonight is the first time I realized that the title is an incredibly obvious and very self-conscious reference to the king of all coming of age novels: Catcher In They Rye.

Do not worry. The similarities between the two books end at the title. Yes, they are both coming of age novels but Ham On Rye is riveting, heart pounding, soulful, delicious and completely unforgettable until the very end.

Fans of Catcher In The Rye will want to know: but does Ham On Rye offer the kind of urbane observations that Holden gives us? To this I answer: Yes. And what's more they are truthful, relevant and stingingly vivid. Bukowski is determined in this book to leave nothing of childhood out. He opens Ham On Rye when our hero, Henry, is just a few years old and follows him into his confusing young adulthood. Henry's parents are brutal and his fears are real. There is very little sentimentality in this writing. There is screaming and fighting on almost every page in the earliest parts of this book and when Henry discovers that he has a way with words in the fourth grade, a silver lining appears in the dark clouds of all this depression-era dysfunction. Henry's class has been assigned the task of attending a speech by President Hoover and writing a review of what they have seen. Henry can't make it (he has to stay home and take his regular beating with the razor strop) so he fabricates a lengthy and fabulously detailed review, replete with the banners flowing in the breeze, nervous secret service agents, and the cheering throng. In a sudden reversal of fortune for the alienated Henry, his teacher reads his essay to the class:

The class was terribly silent. I was the most unpopular member of the class by far. It was like a knife slicing through all their hearts.
"This is very creative," said Mrs. Fretag, and she began to read my essay. The words sounded good to me. Everybody was listening. My words filled the room, from blackboard to blackboard, they hit the ceiling and bounced off, they covered Mrs. Fretag's shoes and piled up on the floor. Some of the prettiest girls in the class began to sneak glances at me. All the tough guys were pissed. Their essays hadn't been worth shit. I drank in my words like a thirsty man. I even began to believe them.

We have seen Henry suffer so much in the book up to this point that we cheer with him at even this small victory. But for those of you who are not impressed by the words covering Mrs. Fretag's shoes and piling on the floor, and are still waiting for his stinging observations, there is more:

I sat in my chair and Mrs. Fretag stood there looking at me. Then she said, "Henry, were you there?"
I sat there trying to think of an answer. I couldn't. I said, "No, I wasn't there."
She smiled. "That makes it all the more remarkable."
"Yes, ma'am . . ."
"You can leave, Henry."
I got up and walked out. I began my walk home. So, that's what they wanted: lies. Beautiful lies. That's what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me.

After this Henry discovers sex, booze, and corruption. His parents have been cruel and unkind to Henry and we understand it that he is, in his childhood, also cruel and unkind to a few others.

I think this is what makes this book so much better than Catcher for me. It is that we can understand Henry. When Holden starts off with his whining on page one, he just seems like a mouthy kid to me. Henry starts off as a very small thing in an enormous, mysterious and genuinely unkind world and we not only relate to him, we understand him very deeply because we have seen his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and all the pettiness and violence that he has been forced to endure. He remains the outsider but we know why. Nothing about Holden makes any sense to me. Why doesn't he do anything with the prostitute, was it to protect the delicate sensibilities of readers? It sure does not ring with the kind of realism that Ham On Rye is full of.

I read a review that mentioned that there is a tonal difference between the first part of this novel and the second part. He didn't call it a tonal difference. He simply dismissed the second part of this book by saying that it sucked. He never said why. I will agree with him that there is a tonal shift in this book but I will explain to that earlier reviewer that this book is infinitely deeper and more complex than he is allowing. The difference that he noticed is the difference between the happy innocence of childhood and the deepening complexities of adolescence and young adulthood. It is almost as though the very tone of this book deepens as the voice of our hero must have deepened when he turned thirteen or fourteen. Henry's confusion about the cruelty of his own family shifts to confusion about feelings of lust and desire that hit him. He no longer plays ball with the neighborhood kids but finds himself peeking through the neighbors windows, trying to get a glimpse of "milky white thighs."

So, I acknowledge that this book has a second act, most books do and if the second part was exactly the same as the first part, it would be a less textured experience than the one that Bukowski offers us.

I have a feeling that people might recoil a bit by how graphic the later part of this book can be. There is a scene in which Henry's father attempts to force Henry to lick up vomit. Henry finally clocks the old man. It is the moment we have been waiting for and we are more than a little shocked when it is destroyed by Henry's mom, a frequent victim of her husband, who comes to his aide and tears at Henry's face with her fingernails.

So, I concede that there are some difficult moments in the novel but it is overall a five star effort. It is a book of deep feeling and maturity, even if it doesn't offer us any comforting answers about our lives. Many readers have no doubt finished this novel thinking, "oh, I am not alone."

In Which I Am Almost Arrested Coming Out Of My Class This Morning

2005-10-28T14:38:00.000-07:00

I don't know why two officers of the law were standing outside my class this morning when the period ended but I was certain they were there to arrest me. I have no idea what I had done but I was certain I had been caught. Happily they were waiting for someone else. I love fascism.

In Which I Begin The Definitive List Of The Top Fifty Songs Of All Time

2005-10-26T22:24:00.000-07:00

Tim Hogue came screeching up to me on the playground one day, boasting that he had just seen this new movie called Tommy. I asked him, "Is it in the top 200 movies ever made?" He replied, "It's the top number one movie of all time."

I remember thinking how dangerous a thing that was to say. Surely, there might have been a better movie made that he had not seen in all his eleven years of life, and perhaps an even better movie might appear in the future.

I much preferred to rank things in a large set that could give me a lot of wiggle room. Like the best 500 movies or 200 movies. But nothing smaller than that, so in contemplating a list of the best 50 songs of all time, I'm taking a risk. There's not a lot of wiggle room here. There are tens of thousands of great songs, picking the fifty best is no easy task.

And I am aware that this is my list... you go ahead and make your list... I will probably enjoy much in it.

Please bear in mind as I am creating the nominations for this list, I'm going to be adding them as they occur to me, not from the 50th to the 1st but simply as I remember them.

Little known fact about Riz: First Arena Rock Concert: BLONDIE. 1979. San Diego California. I paid for my own damn tickets and that wasn't easy when you're a little kid. I went with Doug Harrison, the model for Chad in Dog's Days. I don't know if one of Blondie's songs is going to make this list but I do know that it's going to open with a song from the band that opened for Blondie that night a million years ago: Nick Lowe.

The only album of his I ever owned is the one that has the song on it I am about to share with you. I do not remember any other song off that album. Only this one.

Ladies and Gentleman, a song I am certain is one of the Top 50 Songs Of All Time:

Cruel To Be Kind by Nick Lowe.

Yes... it's a pop song. That's why we remember this song. But this is no ordinary pop song. It turns out to be another song that points out a universal truth about women. Ladies, no offence is intended here, but... well, you can be a bit cruel to the men. That's all I'm saying. I'm not trotting out the B word and howling on fire that you should all go to hell. Nothing of the kind. But, when a song like Cruel To Be Kind sums up my first four or five emotional encounters with women, I guess I tend to relate a little bit.

And the thing is, I'm not even pretending to understand these deceptively simplistic lyrics.

I just lifted these off some lyrics site that attributed them to some fucking new band I've never heard of. Damn, I'm a crotchety turd. But, the fact that this song has only recently been covered does add to my contention that, it is in fact one of the best songs ever.

It goes:

Oh, I can't take another heartache
Though you say you're my friend
I'm at my wits end

See, guys... how many chicks did this murderous fucking lying "friend" business on you... naahh, Nick Lowe had this thing hands down.

You say your love is bonafide
But that don't coincide
With the things that you're do
And When I ask you to be nice
You say you gotta be
Cruel to be kind, in the right measure
Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign
Cruel to be kind, means that I love you
Baby, you gotta be cruel to be kind

And all the above is the heart of the mystery... I am glad I don't have to deal with that shit anymore, but I can tell you I remember it all with stinging clarity.

Well, I do my best to understand dear
But you still mystify, and I wanna know why
I pick myself up off the ground
And have you knock me back down
Again and again
And when I ask you to explain
You say you gotta be
Cruel to be kind, in the right measure
Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign
Cruel to be kind, means that I love you
Baby, you gotta be cruel to be kind
Well, I do my best to understand dear
But you still mystify, and I wanna know why
I pick myself up off the ground
And have you knock me back down
Again and again
And when I ask you to explain
You say you gotta be
Cruel to be kind, in the right measure
Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign
Cruel to be kind, means that I love you
Baby, you gotta be cruel to be kind

When you click the link, listen to the little drum thing that starts this song, and following this tricky drumming throughout. I'm no musicologist. But I know quiky and interesting drumming that separates this song from the crap pop that was being pumped out by the barrelfull at the same time this song was released.

No... all those other songs are history... but this one... simply still rocks.

In Which I Am An Idiot And I Feel Like I've Been Raped

2005-10-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

Why did I click the Google News Headline: Britney's sex life goes for a six! ? Am I insane? What in the hell did I care? I imagine I thought it was news of the release of a new sex tape from Britney. Wanna know something funny: not my kind of gal, anyway. I mean I am really so fucking who cares about that chick that I cannot believe I clicked that link and then the article turned out to be nothing more than speculation and conjecture but I finished reading every word before I thought: WHAT IN THE FUCK DID YOU READ THAT FOR?

In Which We Discuss Some Blog Titles That Should Be In Use Everyday

2005-10-21T23:44:00.000-07:00

georgewbushisamotherfucker.blogspot.com

republicanliarsburninhell.blogspot.com

trackinglyingfuckers.blogspot.com

fuckliars.blogspot.com

iloveyahtzee.blogspot.com

kissmybush.blogspot.com

imtootiredtofinishthisonemorelater.blogspot.com

In Which I Discuss My Gay Lover

2005-10-19T15:44:00.000-07:00

Those of you who read my blog closely already know about my gay lover. He leaves comments like this:

"If Riz gives a favorable review to the new Amityville film, I will never be able to return to this blog."

You may ask, why did your gay lover leave you that comment?

To which I answer, I included this line from one of our non-gay emails in a recent message to him:

"Amytiville did not suck -- I will review... I was surprised at its unsucking ness...."

So my gay lover reads that replies:

"You almost had your cred back.

BATMAN BEGINS was top-notch.

Amityville, however, played by every rule in the book of shit. There is nothing to recommend about this film, other than it updated the sucky 1979 original by sucking on a grand, millennial scale."

He is referring to the fact that I went to mat for Batman Begins against many of the critics opinions and against D.J. Shovelpants who was particularly vitrolic in his condemnation of the picture.

So my question dear readers, in the hope that you will solve a dispute between two gays, how does "Amityvill did not suck" translate into some notion that I was going to review it favorably?

I was initially going to give the movie two and a half out of five stars. A dead center review that stands behind my feeling that it did not suck.

But because I hate tyranny in all forms I am leaning now toward 2.75 or maybe 2.80.

Look, lets fucking face it: The Amityville Horror is a movie for pussies. Anyone who turns to this story for a real fucking scare is in for some disapointment. First off: Only a moron does not already know the story. If you don't know the story, here's the reason why the movie can never contain to much tension: The hero/crazy-fucker of the movie wrote the book. Hint: he obviously doesn't die or murder his whole fucking family. Ass lick family murderers don't sell books in the 70's... in the 70's, if you murdered your family, we had enough fucking taste class and style as a society to put you away and let you fucking rot. If you did many things... like were found in embarrassing white collar crimes... you were fucking FORGOTTEN... we turned our fucking BACK on you... and you deserved it -- we did this for a fucking president and he had to sit in the goddamn penalty box for fifteen fucking years! But do you want to know what the fuck I saw in Walmart today?? The smiling face of The Criminal Martha Stewart -- god damn you mother fuckers... damn you to hell...

We now return you to your movie review: Yes... so that the senior fucking gay genius knows this, any Amityville movie is necessarily constrained to atleast some vague adherence to the events that lead up to the creation of the book. A dog may be killed but you cannot rip the head off of the little girl.

I need to quote from my gay lover's email before I continue:
Amityville, however, played by every rule in the book of shit.

Rule Number 1 in the Horror Film Book Of Shit: Many people die for no reason.

We need read no further in the Book Of Shit to realize that certain gay geniuses need to pull certain heads out of certain stretched out orifices.

But which rules in the Book Of Shit does the movie play by? Several -- and this is a crime that IMMEDIATELY cost the movie two and a half stars:

Our heroine, thoroughly believable throughout the entire movie (which again does not play by rule 35 of the Book Of Shit), is turning away from the station wagon that the terrified priest is driving off in when... here comes rule 7 in the book of shit, she turns and we are SHOCKED by the appearence of a non-threat right behind her. That is bullshit and I quite nearly turn off most movies that pull this shit unless I know they are already pieces of shit. When this non-threat is a fucking cat, a hammer goes through the fucking movie screen and you hope it hits the director of the scene who thinks this is cute.

So I understand why some people want to recoil in disgust from a couple things in this movie. Hey... how do you like the seven year old balancing on the peek of the high beam at the top of the roof? Hand me the cheeseball and I throw it at the screen. Yes, there were a couple deadly stupid distractions here.

But there was a lot that was really fun, excellent genre horror. The baby sitter who asks the fat kid if he frenches, she was hot. I think they could have gone further with that and added much to the movie. When the little girl ghost inserts baby sitter finger into the bullet wound... sweet. I had been thinking of fingerbanging ever since that chick hit the screen. Anyone who did not get the finger banging reference (remember the twelve year old boy) is a cretin.

This movie redeems itself in a number of subtle ways. The most notable is that the "evil presence" is really just that. It is very realistic in this sense. I do not know the limitations that "evil presences" have placed upon them by metaphysical law but they must be sizable. Aparently you can manipulate things but not simply kill people (a rule that a pile of crap called White Noise followed for 99 percent of a movie and then broke because it was convenient for the ending). The evil presence in this movie moans through the ventilation grates (yes, following rule 129 in the book of shit) and summons bees or flies to attack a priest (rule 17) but other than that, it keeps quiet, choosing to rely on its ability to drive a dude out of his fucking mind and make HIM kill his family.

And no matter what certain geniuses may think, the acting in this movie was more that okay... these were all people. Our ripped fucking hero guy actually managed to play sane/insane in a way that kept me wondering.

Nope... I'm standing by this: this movie had a surprising lack of suckiness in it considering it's title. If people need to be reminded of what a shit fuck piece of crap movie is, watch the fucking update of House Of Wax... there's an inveterate pile of shit. Ooh... or rerent White Noise.

In Which I Am Reading The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz With My Four Year Old And We Get To The Dismemberment and Decapitation

2005-10-16T09:03:00.000-07:00

Flank L. Baum's The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz is not for four year old's. I can not pretend to be suprised. It's in the first chapter when a house flattens a lady. I should have quit reading right then. But Delroy is fascinated by the wild munchkins and verdant Oz in its stark contrast to Kansas and so we drive forth into the book a little bit more enrapt than I would have guessed. Delroy notices things first. "Why is Toto angry?" The book is nicely illustrated and he can tell by the facial expression of the little dog that I hadn't even seen. Later on down the page I learn that Toto is suspicious of the Scarecrow.
Well, of course we get into the woods and Dorothy is chasing Toto or something to get into the woods and then we meet the Tin Woodman -- and there is oiling and everyone is happy. And then the Tin Woodman launches in to this ghastly fucking tale. Enjoy:

So, while they were walking through the forest, the Tin Woodman told the following story:

"I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the forest and sold the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became a woodchopper, and after my father died I took care of my old mother as long as she lived. Then I made up my mind that instead of living alone I would marry, so that I might not become lonely.

"There was one of the Munchkin girls who was so beautiful that I soon grew to love her with all my heart. She, on her part, promised to marry me as soon as I could earn enough money to build a better house for her; so I set to work harder than ever. But the girl lived with an old woman who did not want her to marry anyone, for she was so lazy she wished the girl to remain with her and do the cooking and the housework. So the old woman went to the Wicked Witch of the East, and promised her two sheep and a cow if she would prevent the marriage. Thereupon the Wicked Witch enchanted my axe, and when I was chopping away at my best one day, for I was anxious to get the new house and my wife as soon as possible, the axe slipped all at once and cut off my left leg.

"This at first seemed a great misfortune, for I knew a one-legged man could not do very well as a wood-chopper. So I went to a tinsmith and had him make me a new leg out of tin. The leg worked very well, once I was used to it. But my action angered the Wicked Witch of the East, for she had promised the old woman I should not marry the pretty Munchkin girl. When I began chopping again, my axe slipped and cut off my right leg. Again I went to the tinsmith, and again he made me a leg out of tin. After this the enchanted axe cut off my arms, one after the other; but, nothing daunted, I had them replaced with tin ones. The Wicked Witch then made the axe slip and cut off my head, and at first I thought that was the end of me. But the tinsmith happened to come along, and he made me a new head out of tin.

"I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked harder than ever; but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be. She thought of a new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden, and made my axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me into two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to my help and made me a body of tin, fastening my tin arms and legs and head to it, by means of joints, so that I could move around as well as ever. But, alas! I had now no heart, so that I lost all my love for the Munchkin girl, and did not care whether I married her or not. I suppose she is still living with the old woman, waiting for me to come after her.

"My body shone so brightly in the sun that I felt very proud of it and it did not matter now if my axe slipped, for it could not cut me. There was only one danger--that my joints would rust; but I kept an oil-can in my cottage and took care to oil myself whenever I needed it. However, there came a day when I forgot to do this, and, being caught in a rainstorm, before I thought of the danger my joints had rusted, and I was left to stand in the woods until you came to help me. It was a terrible thing to undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart. While I was in love I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can love who has not a heart, and so I am resolved to ask Oz to give me one. If he does, I will go back to the Munchkin maiden and marry her."

In Which We Are All As Fragile As Candle Flames

2005-10-14T05:21:00.000-07:00

Seven and a Half years ago God saved my life at the nadir of my existence. I found myself in a screwed condition and prayed loudly for help and bingo, things turned around and started going okay. Just like that. In the first days of my new life, lived on new terms, with an incredible awareness that each day was literally a gift but still in enormous pain, a great hawk swooped down over the hood of the car I was driving and literally hovered, matching my speed, right in the center of the hood for a moment before flying off. At that moment I was entering a small, picturesque valley in northern California, lined on all sides by redwoods. Kind of a glenn, you might call this gap in a this forest. Medieval almost, with a cabin and green fields, not even as big as a football field, spreading out to the edges of forest all around. And here is this black crown victoria with a huge hawk for a hood ornament driving down the lane.

I was filled with the feeling that I was not alone. That the bird was a sign that even though I was going through the most difficult time of my life, I was not alone and things would get better.

No wonderful birds of prey have swooped my car since and flown with me down any lane.

The moment cemented a faith in God that was growing in me each and every day during that hideous time. It was grace and a blessing.

And I still love God (irreverent though I may be in my blog).

But since the hawk moment I have never feared God. The God that saved me was obviously cool and even tempered and an all around nice fellow who sends hawks to people suffering from pain they themselves spent years creating. Cool, God, thanks.

Then:
Tsunami takes out 150,000 people just like that.
Hurricane doesn't take out as many but the suffering in the superdome and the convention center seem biblical.
Then this earthquake in India and Pakistan. They're calling it 30,000 now but it's gonna go into the low sixes, this death toll, when you count all the people that simply have not died yet.

Now I'm feeling a bit scared.

Why did I get a prayer? Why did I not just die pitifully?

Why do assholes inhabit the halls of power while innocent children are crushed by rubble?

I'm almost forty. I should know these things. I should have a simple aphorism I can trot out to make myself feel better. But I don't. All I have is this feeling that I am waiting for another shoe to drop.

In Which I Recover Really Fast From H5N1

2005-10-13T20:15:00.000-07:00

Headache all day today, culminating in uncontrollable vomitting. I wake up from a nap that does not relieve the head ache and I have to pick up Roberta and I'm strapping Delroy into his seat, leaning over, focussing on the buckles, when the vomit urge takes me most foul...

Oh, no one wants to grow up with the memory of their father vomitting all over them... and Delroy won't have to... but it was close... ever too close.

And here's the weird and unexpected happy ending... pick up Roberta, am writhing in pain... face clammy... pale... sick... still throwing up but not on people... get home... tumble into bed... play NPR low for a few minutes... they talk about Herald Pinter and his kick ass Nobel and suddenly I'm fucking cured. Blogging. Reading. Up.

Weird.

[Note: vomiting art used without permission. I mean, it's not that great anyway, right?]

In Which I Am Old And Will Most Undoubtedly Be Embarrassing Myself But Will Do So Unabashedly If It Will Save A Single Soul

2005-10-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Yeah, this is embarrasing. The blog is often a humiliating trainwreck. I've recently thought seriously about just quitting but then I think about all those pussies with no follw through who DO quit and then I think, ahh, fuck it, it's kind of fun. Except for a post like this. A post that I know will make me look little more than uncool. But I have to do it because I try to be as honest in this blog about some things as I possibly can be. And music is one of those things.

Today I found out in a class of twenty-five 18 to 25 year olds there were two that could recognize the following:

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Okay... I know, no big whoop... but remember... this is the embarassing blog post where I humiliate myself. I could very easily just yawn and say... oh so what... Kansas sucks balls etcetera ad infinitum...

And you know what... Kansas does suck balls. I sold my last Kansas album when I fourteen so that I could by a kick as new album by the Talking Heads and I never regretted that move nor missed the shit Kansas album for two fucking seconds.

But Kansas must always be revered in the Pantheon Of Rock and Roll Gods for two songs:

Carry On My Wayward Son

and

Dust In The Wind

Ooohh... I told you it would be embarrassing.

Piffle, you recoil. Tripe. Next you will be telling us all about how Emerson Lake and Palmer are Rock Gods.

No I won't.

Next I will be telling you that when only two kids out of twenty five recognize Carry On My Wayward Son that there is something seriously fucked up in this world.

Maybe everyone who does not understand what the fuck is the big deal about Alisha Keys Up My Booty and Usher and fucking Eminem feels this way.

I remember being ten years old and lying in bed and listening to a portable radio and Carry On My Wayward Son would come on and I would not understand a fucking piece of it but I knew that there was something more out there... and I can not explain why.

I stood in front of that classroom today and I could not speak.

I was shocked.

At first I thought they were joking.

They were not.

And I don't know what to say.

In a world where at the typing of a keyboard I could have played them that song in a heart beat, I chose not to do that. We had internet in that room. I could have played that song for them right then and there.

And I thought, Oh my God... I'm the old guy trying to tell them how great Frank Sinatra is. It is a bad analogy because it turns out that there was a great deal of greatness to Frank but when I was nineteen Frank could suck balls.

And all of Kansas can suck balls but those two songs will forever Rock.

And the thing is: I can not explain why just now.

Oh... trust me. I played the song and in the first minute I found thirty things they would hate about it.

Do you guys remember that most weak dick, stupid songs start out with the hook, with the refrain? Carry On My Wayward Son does this. And it's all this nasty gay harmonizing right at the beginning. And then there is about a solid minute of Progressive Rock Piffle, a not so shredding lead being pushed along by about six guitars hammering out your standard mix of 70s powerchords.

No... there is no fucking way that I am going to be able to explain why in spite of all that shit, the song still kicks ass and deserves life eternal.

One of the kids who had heard it in kind of a bored way, "They play that song every other day on ninety-seven five. It sucks."

Think spear at the end of Omega Man piercing Charlton Heston as he his handing over the only vial of syrum that will save humanity.

And the stakes here are no less serious.

Oh dear folks... this was a thinking blog. This was a blog that I must end because Delroy needs "focus" and I will provide it... but, oh yes, friends, we will be back to Kansas and Waward son. Do they need it? Do the kids need it. Can they ever love it? I loved the Hurdy Gurdy Man and yet I was a punk in the early 80's.

There's more to this song than Progressive Rock Piffle (but that's in there too) LISTEN.

In Which I Demand To Know If You Went And Bought The Comic Book Referenced In The Preceding Post.

2005-10-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

Well, did ya? Punk!

In Which I Offer Specific INTRUCTIONS:

2005-10-11T13:06:00.000-07:00

GO AND BUY THIS FUCKING COMIC BOOK:

VIEW MORE!AND CLICK HERE AND BUY THE FUCKING BOOK

In Which We Learn Why Staying Together, Not Wrecking Your Marriage and Reading To Your Son Everyday Kicks Ass

2005-10-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

Delroy: Do you want to know what the best food in the whole vast world is?

Me: What?

Delroy: Peach cobbler.

In Which We Explore A List Of The Grossest Things I've Ever Heard First Hand

2005-10-08T18:52:00.000-07:00

Well... sadly, none of the grossest things I've heard first hand tops the time I was with my highschool girlfriend and giving her a nice two finger joy probing when I pulled out literally a cup of what looked like cottage cheese from up there. I went and took a sniff: jerk-recoil from a place I had so tenderly mouth-loved many times. It was the sharp stink of death. Yes... something had died up there.

She rushed to the vag doc who used some kind of tool to extract the forgotten tampon that had been pushed back when a new tampon was inserted without first removing the old one.

Damn!

My blog gets better and better.

Fuck the bullshit first hand shit I've heard.

Live through that.

In Which I Am Easily Amused

2005-10-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

So I'm talking to Roberta and we are talking about our nifty new wine barrel fountain when I decide to trot out a little interesting tid bit I learned about wine barrels while living in Sonoma County.

"Guess what they call the plug that goes into the side of a wine barrel?"

"Umm, a plug?"

"No."

She makes a few wild guesses and from the expression on my face she can anticipate that I am up to something and she throws the word "penis" in there and we both chuckle and then she says, "Seriously, what do they call it?"

And I say, "A bung. Guess what they call the hole it goes into?"

"A bung hole." She's laughing. "You are so full of shit."

"True story."

"You are lying."

"Not."

"Prove it."

In Which We Learn Why Being A Dad Kicks Ass

2005-10-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

"Daddy, when I'm a daddy, I'll still be Delroy but you can call me Rizzo."

In Which It Ceases To Be All Fun And Games

2005-10-03T22:25:00.000-07:00

This is what happens now if you have the temerity to call someone George Bush.

In Which I Was Accused Of Having Recovered From A Depression I am Desparate to Defend

2005-10-01T19:11:00.000-07:00

Here's a cheery thought. I just read these guys' twenty-five questions we have to ask about the flooding of New Orleans and I thought, what the fuck difference does it make?

Rotten turds run the universe.

Nothing changes.

Horses shits win frequently.

Fuck it.

In Which We Enjoy A Cup Of Coffee

2005-09-26T06:31:00.000-07:00

Face it: Advertising is all around us.

Chapter 4 in the Aims Of Argument gives us some excellent strategies for analyzing visual arguments.

Your formal blogging assignment for Friday is a group assignment. Get with your blogging circle to discuss some of the advertisements on this webpage:

http://www.ltcconline.net/lukas/gender/pages/roles.htm

Ask yourselves about the truthfulness of the assumptions these ads make. Are these ads degrading to women? Do they seek to cement women in certain domestic roles or to encourage them to participate intelligently in the democracy? Please do take the age of the ad into question as you discuss it; has anything changed? Should anything be changed? What other questions can you think of as you examine the ads on this webpage?

Individually you will each choose the ad that leaps out to you the most to complete the WRITING ASSIGNMENT #1 on Page 87 titled:

Analyzing An Advertisement or Editorial Cartoon

Yes, I realize that you will have to talk in front of a computer monitor... try the writing lab instead of the library... it seems a little more casual in there... but please whisper and be respectful of the people working near you. A better idea is to use one of your own systems and invite your blogging circle over.

Please use the ADD A PICTURE link to include the ad your are adding -- simply use the URL to link to the graphic -- blogger will do the rest.

ONE DAY ONLY -- Visual Arguments EXTRA CREDIT...

Since you're having so much fun hanging with the blogging circle... try this extra credit assignment... all three of you can work on it together... and you can all get credit if you simply turn in to me the following.

Examine the visual argument on this webpage:

http://adbusters.org/spoofads/food/products/

Discuss each claim that it is making. Use your researching resourcefulness to explore the (hint) twenty sub claims that this page is making. Find out if the information this ad has offered us is truthful.

Put all three of your names on a sheet and bring in citations that verify or disprove the twenty sub claims. Hint: Does Phillip Morris really own each of those brands? Find out and use CITATION to show me exactly where I could go and verify these claims myself. First try using the library databases. The you can carefully explore the web. If all else fails, ask a librarian for assistance.

Due this Friday.

In Which We Learn What Else Is Rambling Through My Mind

2005-09-24T19:45:00.000-07:00

THIS

In Which I Wake Up With A Sentence Rambling Through My Head

2005-09-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

Here is the sentence:

I WILL PROTECT THIS LIE NO LONGER.

Surrounded as I am by lying, hypocritical cult members, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I frequently feel frustrated by the things we do not talk about:

1. If Joseph Smith found golden plates, isn't it convenient that angels took them back to heaven so that only a few of his closest friends could look at them?

2. Why did over fifty percent of those same closest friends later confess to having lied about having seen said golden plates.

3. Joseph said he carried the golden plates that he supposedly dug up to his house; how did he carry them? Considering the length of the manuscript that he supposedly translated from them, they would have weighed several hundred pounds.

4. The story in the book of mormon describes a culture with advanced metalurgy and a population of millions of people populating the America up until 400 AD. How is it possible that mainstream archeologists have not been able to atribute a single artififact to the so called Nephites and Lamanites?

5. These millions of people are supposed to have all originated from a band of people from Isreal, and then become the Native Americans we know today, and yet geneticists can not find a single trace of Hebrew DNA in any Native Americans. How is that possible if they originated from this band of Hebrews?

6. The Book Of Mormon describes enormous battles with swords and sheilds, leaving millions of people dead and yet not a single sword or sheild has been discovered. How is this possible?

Anyway... there's just some of the questions I can never talk about at school. Ain't that cool? It's a college.

In Which Phase Two Begins

2005-09-20T08:33:00.000-07:00

I have invited several really good writers to participate in freebookreports.blogspot.com. Dare I say that it is awesome that a few of them have accepted the invitations. Please all notice that, to perfect the hoax, I have removed all chances that the general reader has of figuring out who we are. And we are in fact anonymous to each other. I think this will be somewhat liberating. Our reports will lead to mystery.

So, there are three reports up there now and I anticipate that this number will grow slowly, but who cares because I have removed the dates. This project is timeless. Maybe kids won't be pilfering our work this semester, but semesters down the road, as search engines grab our keywords, well, the hoax takes fruition and the shit hits the fan. I will probably try to add a report once every two or three weeks. We should take our time with this. My first one could be better.

Why do I find the idea of that so amusing?

No fucking idea.

I no longer believe that therapy of any kind works, but if it did, I would say I was in need of it.

And if I'm going to be a little introspective here, well, freebookreports.blogspot.com is an excellent distraction from the terrifying circumstances that I face until the 30th of this month.

So, what is phase two? All participants in this project become full admins. You each have the ability to invite other trustworthy bloggers to the project. Phase two is inviting other good writers who are trustworthy.

Phase three... leaving breadcrumbs for idiots back to the site... some people might call is spamming... well... it's in the service of a good cause.

In Which I Taunt Any And All Idiots Who Voted For This Guy... yes, even just once...

2005-09-18T21:41:00.000-07:00

May I Use The Potty, Says Prez

In Which I Hear That George Bush Is Drinking Again

2005-09-17T00:04:00.000-07:00

http://www.2dplay.com/gwb/george-wants-beer-play.htm

In Which We Learn That The English Continue To Hate The French

2005-09-16T22:14:00.000-07:00

I'm a Capricorn on the astrology wheel and a six on the eneagram and I think a Cock or a Snake on the Chinese whateveritis and I believe that every time they end up describing me they call me: intensely loyal.

Oddly, it's true.

I swear I still hold out for another great Pete Townshend album. I believe. I have faith. I am loyal.

The same goes with Terry Gilliam. I remember walking out of the theater in 1985 having just seen Brazil and I felt as if I was carrying my head under my arm. I remember passing the people standing in line waiting to see the next showing of Brazil and thinking, "These poor fuckers are all about to have their minds blown." I could have turned around and walked right back in. I probably ended up seeing that movie three times, twenty years ago. Every crease in it seemed to expose another facet of the greedy rotten corrupt bastards that I saw around me every day and while it used "fantasy" as a language, that movie spoke the fucking truth: the world is fucked, don't trust anyone, watch your ass, it would be great if super hot chicks could fly.

I have waited for Terry Gilliam to create another work that made me feel like my head had popped off.

Having seen the Brother's Grimm I guess that maybe a fellow is lucky if he is able to create such a work of art just once. I know, people love Twelve Monkeys and The Fisher King. Fine movies but they are no Brazil.

There are moments when the Brithers Grimm reached toward that greatness but it didn't have the message. What the hell is the message? I don't know. But visually it was fantastic. It shocked the shit out of me several times and made me laugh several times and just filled me with the joy of the absurd several times. A child pulls a crow out of a well and it shakes mud all over her and that causes her eyes to fall out onto the muddy ground and suddenly she has no face and she is aware of it and somewhat panicked by it as I think we all would be. Then a great glob of clay or mud climbs out of the same well and finds the eye balls and uses them in a head it just now manufactured. Aaaahhhh. That was fucking awesome!

Suddenly this movie reaches toward the granduer of Monty Python And The Holy Grail when said mud creature consumes this little girl and our two clown characters banter:

Clown 1: I... I do believe I've spoiled myself.
Clown 2: Oh, good... I thought it was me.

Fucking straight out of Monty Python and The Holy Grail and it was great.

Is it as good as Brazil? No. But what movie is? And frankly I saw Brazil again last year and had a completely revised impression of it.

So, I did not leave the theater after The Brother's Grimm walking on a layer of stardust. It was all right. I could say more but I don't want to spoil the narrative for any of you that want to go see it. And you know, that may be the trouble with the movie, it really sticks close to the narrative. But lots of characters experience full transformations. One character even experiences redemption.

I should be raving about this movie for all that happened. And yet I'm not. And I hold that fucker Matt Damon responsible. I do not believe there is not a movie that Matt Damon can not make worse.

Listen... I'm not saying the movie tanked. It was good. It's just that the litte fucker Matt Damon was in it and kind of fucked it up a bit. I can't say how he does it, either. It might be the way he breathes. He really just pisses me off. I liked the heavy in this flick lots more than I liked the star.

Plusses: full of creepy crawlies and shocking moments.
Minuses: Matt Damon talks.

In Which Bill Gives Me An Excellent Idea And I Invite Smart People From All Over To Play Along

2005-09-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Damn I hate how stinking clever this damn Bill is but I am frequently inspired by his ideas and I cannot ignore this particular piece of inspiration. Commenting in Roberta's blog, Bill wrote:

3. I bullshitted 80% of the book reports I wrote through high school, making up titles and story lines and then reporting on them. "The teachers are probably not paying attention anyway. Besides that, they're stupid." Grades: usually aroung A-. (Hint: Louis L'amourr novels are EASY to invent.)

It immediately hit me that our small community of interesting bloggers (Roberta, HB, SP3RTS, Cest, Bill, myself and a few other bloggers who will volunteer later) could create an EXCELLENT blog called:

freebookreports.blogspot.com

Now, obviously our unstated goal will be to amuse one another... and frankly, I know that the "Book Reports" we will create will be hysterical.

But our stated goal, just among ourselves, will be to create book reports so convincing that high school students will steal them and stupid high school teachers will hand out A's for them.

So, our rules:

1. High school students must be able to turn these in to their teachers.
2. Teachers must believe them.

That's it.

I will put a hit counter on this site and we will watch it grow as I scoot around and drum up a readership of desperate high school students looking for book reports to steal.

So this is an invitation to join perhaps one of the greatest internet hoaxes ever conceived (except for the wikipedia article that includes the official story if 9/11).

Here are a couple other rules:

Each of the participants will have the highest level editing clearance for this blog. We will be allowed and perhaps even encouraged to edit each other's work to make these book reports as convincing as possible. We would of course also have the ability to delete each other's posts but I think we should avoid using the delete function without first having left a comment in the writer's blog or sending them an email or something.

I will be emailing an invitation to be an admin of this blog to Roberta, Bill, Cest, Sp3rt, and any other cool bloggers whose email I happen to already have... if I do not have your email please leave it in the form: firstpart _at_ lastpart _dot_ com or whatever it is... after you get your invitation, come back to this post and then delete the email addy. I trust all of the people who check out my blog once every couple of weeks to invite their favorite, trustworthy bloggers to join this project also. The fact is that it won't be a hoax for long if people tell -- and I will necessarily have to delete this post in a few weeks, too, so... share this idea with the people you KNOW will "get this" -- and I'm assuming, if you've been able to stomach my posts, that you are already of an ilk that will "get this".

I hope the rest of you find this kind of hoax interesting and inspiring. I know I do.

In Which I Believe In Intelligent Design

2005-09-15T14:36:00.000-07:00

Yeah... it's true. Nope... nothing I can do to prove it... perhaps my thinker is completely corrupted which is why I think it somewhat suspicious that three buildings fell from two planes and not one of the buildings fell in a disorderly way.

Hmm... must be that believing in God has softened the old grey matter up here.

Clearly the tone of this most recent comment that I am replying to necesitates for us the need to explore the lunatic fringe and delve into who believes what about this.

I never said I knew exactly what happened. All I'm saying is that what we've been told about 9/11 is a bunch of steaming shit for sheep and cowards.

Ooh... dems is fightin' words... and for a reason... if I am going to dedicate two weeks of postings in which I absolutely have to respond to the fringe yatterings of www.whatreallyhappened.com and www.911truth.org I definitely don't want to be doing it alone.

Well, I'm committed.

Come heck or highwater... let us examine. Let us pick at one question at a time and leave the science fiction at the door. Which means that we can not speculate as to how many people had to know what. Two people is all that is would have taken: The Al Quada paid operative and Dickshine The Chene... that's literally all it would have taken to start the machine. And the fact is, I don't give a shit about HOW the machine got started... anyone reasonable person knows that it got started at this point... what I do want to know is what really happened.

In Which I CONFESS that I don't have to know what kind of fish I am smelling to know that something smells Fishy.

2005-09-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

Somebody just got around to checking out my post about WTC7. Someone who simply wants to cling tenaciously to the "Official Story." My post simply asks people to check this World Trade Center Building # 7 video and ask themselves if something doesn't seem fishy. The excellent fellow who comments, writes:

What the conspiracy nuts can never explain is how so many people could be involved in this conspiracy without any leaks or anyone breaking ranks. Check each part of the conspiracy and consider how many people would need to be involved and how many would need to be in the know for a long time in planning and execution and after the fact to pull it off. Had to set explosives in at least three buildings (with no one talking before or after), get three or four planes flown into them (with no one talking...how did they manage this one? fake suicide hijackers?). Get Osama to take credit? Was he on the take? There is no way (NO FUCKING WAY!) that a group this large could be contemplated for a heist of this lethality. If the perps are as callous and evil as claimed, there is no way for sufficient trust (no honor among thieves) to manage such a large program. And why? The richest, most powerful families on earth need these headaches? When they supposedly get billions from the Saudis anyway? Complete insanity!

Instead of focusing on what is in front of our eyes, this writer chooses to dive in to questions that I can't fucking answer like: How can this secret be kept?

This is the link to the Official Story that my commenter wants us to believe for fear of the truth:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collapse_of_the_World_Trade_Center

Here is a link to Morgan Reynolds, Ph.D.'s discussion of the topic -- before you start reading his essay, here are some qualifications that may help you know he's not a nut: "professor emeritus at Texas A&M University and former director of the Criminal Justice Center at the National Center for Policy Analysis headquartered in Dallas, TX. He served as chief economist for the US Department of Labor during 2001Â2, George W. Bush's first term." His the link to his essay:

http://www.lewrockwell.com/reynolds/reynolds12.html

The people in charge believe that you can show people something that is obviously the controlled demolition of three buildings but if you repeat over and over that they fell because of hot metal that the people will believe it. And they do.

Go and look at my commentor's official story link. There is a great diagram of how big the planes look in relationship to the awesome huge buildings. And do an experiement for yourselves if you think jet fuel had the time to melt those super hardened metal building pilings. Take a gallon of gas out to the side walk or the middle of the street, away from dry brush and the like, and drop a fucking match in it. Now, should you not be engulfed in a fire ball, ask yourself after about ten seconds: HOW MUCH FUEL IS LEFT?

Guess what people: not a fucking hell of a lot will be left.

It will all go up in about ten seconds. BOOM!

Well... there were tons of fuel on those airplanes and all that fucking fuel exploded and was gone in about ten seconds.

The fires we see in the videos of the buildings before the detonator button was Bushed, oops, I mean pushed, in some secret room somewhere are fueled by flammable shit in the building and on the planes, seats cloth people etc...

There is nowhere near a sustained 6000 degrees.

So to the doubters: why don't you ask questions about what the magician is doing on the stage in front of you before you ask about all the ingenius shit going on behind the stage? What we have before our eyes in awesome. And a fraud.

Again: wake up.

In Which I Run Across A Couple Fuckers Having Even A Crappier Day Than Mine

2005-09-14T22:19:00.000-07:00

Enjoy.

In Which I Kill Bill

2005-09-13T06:19:00.000-07:00

Many of my thousands of readers know about the Rizzo comic strip and that we also create local-issues strips for a dozen newspapers but what you probably do not know is that twice a year I wrestle in Mexico under the stage name El Gordo -- click to enlarge... if you look closely you will see the likenesses of a San Diego city councilman, and a librarian from Vernal, UT:

In Which I Try To Give A Shit That This Is The Fourth Anniversary Of 9-11

2005-09-11T06:24:00.000-07:00

Well folks, the joy and wonder and fabulousness of 9-11 has all been sucked out of me. What, you ask, what was joyful and wonderful and fabulous about 9-11? Oh don't be a mother fucking moron. Of course there were things that were great about it: for a brief but shining moment people on the streets of New York City treated one another with decency. If you've never been to New York City, you do not know what an accomplishment it was, but let me tell you, being a fucker in that city is genetic. These people invented the words riot and mayhem. That they behaved themselves was a surprise. That they reached out and helped one another was a miracle.

So there was the good thing. We had an opportunity to show what kind of a kick ass species we can be.

But then the stink started to pour off the whole deal.

I remember looking at the way those buildings fell and thinking, "Something's not quite right."

I know every mal content psycho on the planet believes that the "Official Story" of 9-11 is bullshit. I hate to swallow their crap. [But I am not immune to it... I checked the Vegas News on the last day of Prophet Yahweh's great summoning event so that I could see the enormous mother ship hovering over the city -- even though I have forfeited all my credibility here, please bear with me -- it wasn't that I believed PY, it's that I wanted it to be true.] I mean seriously, I hate to swallow the inane yatterings of malcontents. Most of these fuckers are simply the people who never fit in and now wear that as some great badge of courage and uniqueness. Well, folks, I've met plenty of assholes who don't fit in and there's nothing unique about it.

But perhaps there is something worse than listening to what the wackos are yattering on about, and that is being a simple minded official story swallowing sheep dick.

And I was one, once. Baaahhaaaa.

I had some asshole malcontent yatttering on at me. Sending me links to psychos. Fuck he must have been slipping me nonsense for a year. And I would look at it and I would think... nope... that's not the puzzle piece. Nope... that doesn't cut it.

Sometimes, just to prove to myself that I was open minded I would go wading through the shit piles of 9-11 Truth Movement sites looking for anything that made even the slightest amount of sense. Most of what they were talking about had to do with links between people and conjecture. What I needed was so cold hard physics.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the cold hard physics have been sitting before out eyes this whole time.

Go back to the day of the event and tell me: weren't you surprised that the buildings fell in perfect little piles just like a controlled demolition? Of course you were!

It was too scary to embrace what we knew on that day. Planes were sticking out of the buildings. It was too scary to think of all the people jumping and the evaporated flesh and broken everything and so when they told us this nonsense about "melting metal" we grabbed on to it because it helped ease the pain. We were, all of us, HYPNOTIZED.

WAKE UP.

The pain's over. Let's look at this thing.

I remained hypnotized until I was reminded about World Trade Center Building Number 7. It was not the closest building to the two that fell and yet it went raining down flat even and smooth: FOR NO FUCKING REASON AT ALL.

It did not get hit!

It fell.

Wake up.

Other buildings were close.

What the video of how it fell.

I was near Northridge for the Northridge earth quake. I have felt the earth fucking shift its ass in its seat at the movie theater.

I was miles away from the actual "event" point of that earthquake and it shook the fuck out of me.

We lost two rickety old fucking apartment buildings that were almost directly over the center of the earthquake.

Not a single skyscraper fell.

The turbulence of those falling towers hardly registered on a Richter scale.

What I'm saying is that they couldn't have caused WTC 7 to fall. They were a gust of wind to a building like that and yet it fell EVENLY and PERFECTLY and SUDDENLY just as if there had been a controlled demolition.

Please watch the video and tell me I'm a yattering lunatic. I think your hypnotism is wearing off.

In Which I Have Been Caught Embellishing And In Which We Welcome Jimmy

2005-09-10T06:58:00.000-07:00

What a delight it was see a new comment from Jimmy... the very Jimmy who happened to visit on the day of the Demolition Derby. And how kind he was not to bust me publically for the embellishments I lent to the conversation he had with the toothless dude. You see, savvy readers would have figured this out: it was a demolition derby, unless you were shouting into your neighbors ear, you couldn't really hear shit. So, I confess it, I made up the shit about hemmies and shit that he was supposedly talking about. Jimmy set us straight about that conversation in his own blog and also showed that he GETS the spirit of the blogging circle: to taunt, ridicule and amuse.

Jimmy is a really interesting cat. I've known him for a little bit over seven years. We've shared a number of conversations and while I don't know much about him, I do know this: Jimmy has no fucking patience for THE MAN. Jimmy is ready for the fucking blocks of our oil powered economy to come tumbling down and he's ready for the scramble of the survival of the fittest. Last time we visited, he talked to me about "populations in closed systems" and "bell curves" -- I probably changed the topic because to be honest this whole "coming slow crisis" thing freaks me out. I finally feel like I'm getting a handle on how I can MAKE IT in this system -- the one we have where electricity and internet rock the house and now I'm faced with these predictions that I should have interned with a carpenter or stone mason or something... it fucking figures.

Anyway, I hope Jimmy dives in to the whole blogging thing and shares some of his wild thinking with the rest of us.

In Which A Movie Starts Off Heroically And Then Begins Nosing Around the Shit Piles, Sniffing, Sniff... Sniff

2005-09-07T15:53:00.000-07:00

All 7365 members of the Rizzo fan club who read this blog regularly and can't wait for my next installment, know that I would much rather love to love a movie than to have it suck ass. I would rather shower a flick with praise than recoil from it in utter horror and astonishment.

And this is the truth: if I think a movie is going to suck ass I will avoid it. I am not unique in this. No one likes to sit through a piece of shit.

So no matter how much I liked those two movies by Guy Ritchie, Snatch and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and no matter what a pleasure it was to watch Jason Statham in those movies, I did not step up to watch the transformation of Jason Stathom from quirky character actor into big fucking impervious action hero even if he was being directed by Luc Besson.

I saw through that piece of shit from the first commercial. It should have gone like this:

Hello, my name is Luc Besson and I am an intelligent French director who knows that you fat stupid americans can make me rich if I make a movie with lots of explosions and gun play. You americans, how I laugh at you. Watch me make this movie and it will suck but you will flock to it in the millions because you are stupid and you love fire.

So, I stayed home lighting matches and watching them burn down to my fingers.

I never had any intention of seeing the fucking Transporter until Transporter 2 appeared and I very stupidly thought: "Oh, Transporter must have been okay."

Doh.

Well... I rented Transporter...

I was delighted with the opening. I liked the concept. Anal retentive bad ass moves packages no questions asked. That kicks ass.

And it especially kicked as when fucking asslick bad guy tried to blow up our amoral hero.

Then it super dooper kicked ass when Jason Stathom kicks in the door to wreak havoc and revenge on his would-be murder.

And from there on out the movie turned into a crying piece of shit. What a sad fucking piece of crap time waste been there done that seen it all before piece of maggoty carcass crap poo.

Open letter to Luc Besson: Just because your stupid fucking action hero kisses a dude underwater does not make your shit piece of crap movie any good. -- Yours, Chris

So... in the end... it was Rambo and it had nothing to do with Transporter anything. It should have been called: Get The Chinamen Out Of The Truck.

You'd go to that, wouldn't you?

In Which We Are Reminded That We Can Never Believe A Fucking Photograph Anymore

2005-09-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

Follow the instructions. I'm too disgusted to even rant:

http://glennferon.com.nyud.net:8090/portfolio1/index.html

In Which Thirty Thousand Black People Suffer For A Week At The Louisiana Superdome Because Fuck Black People

2005-09-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

I guess the rest of you fuckers have T.V. You must be fucking numbed. You must be eating Hagendaaz or fucking hitting Whiskey from the fucking bottle. Oh my god. I just now saw the pictures of what that fucking flooded New Orleans looks like. I mean... I had heard something was going but fucking shit.

One thing that leaps out to me, as a non-medicated, non-t.v. watching, non-participant in this fucking thing is that it looks like white dudes with guns are riding above lots of black people who were either too poor or dumb to get the fuck out of Dodge when the gittin' was good and the powers that be are just leaving the stupid fuckers to get thirsty and hungry in the hot New Orleans afternoon. Yup... we sure can move a half million troops to secure oil fields on the other side of the world but some how FEMA director Michael Brown "just learned about the situation at the convention center Thursday"! I'm sick to death of this term: WTF -- it's a net short hand for What The Fuck -- but seriously Michael Brown: WHAT THE FUCK??

You wanna know why Michael Brown won't be so much as called into his boss's office on Monday morning? Because his boss is simply thinking: fuck black people. That's why. His Boss is George I Hate Those Fucking Niggers Bush -- let them fucking sit there.

"But George, there are a few good whiteys in there with them?"

"I gotta fucking play some golf. Fuck those whiteys. Any whiteys dumb enough to be caught in a hurricane with all those darkies deserves to be left to starve and suffer with the nigras."

"George, don'tchya think the people are gonna notice how callous are?"

"The dumbshits laughed at over ten seasons of the fucking Friends. We're gonna start grinding them up for mulch. They won't even notice when we start doing that."

But on a serious note:

Watch how our military intervention in New Orleans is going to pave the way for a more military presence on the streets of all the cities of this nation as the great cabal that seeks only its preservation with wratched up their control over our puny lives.

Watch how no one will fucking do anything...

until the lights go out and all hell breaks loose...

New Orleans is the preview folks.

Lock and load.

In Which We Continue To Type In Blog Names To See If They Exists

2005-09-01T07:35:00.000-07:00

peppermintpatty.blogspot.com

I knew that was going to be stupid! How did I know? I don't know but I did.

ilikepeanuts.blogspot.com

That one is still available. I had a winter knit cap that said that when I was a kid.

We're bound to run across a few that don't exist as we play this game. I'll hit some single word ones.

superman.blogspot.com - - What a total fucking nerd:

OKay i went to a CRAZY party last night. I think i can sum it up in statistics because no way i can tell all, but youll get the jist this way.
6-number of people that puked
8 couples- the number of couples that went in the back room for a couple of minutes
50- the number of people there
15-bottles left at her house
100-cigarette butts in the ashtrays
1-THE NUMBER OF HATS THAT GOT THROWN UP ON!!!! (MINE, but i wasnt wearing it at the time...ill tell this story on another blog)
6-The number of girls crying for stupid reasons
5- the number of blunts/spliffs blazing outside
1,000,000-the number of bras and girls we saw grinding with each other LOL LOL
1- the time the party ended at
$10- what the taxi home cost
$2- what the litre of chocolate milk cost at the store on my way home
PRICELESS- what i would pay to it all again next weekend
*this are pretty accurate but still rough estimates

Again... a complete waste of a good blogger url.

Hmmm... how about...

sharks.blogspot.com

Well, it's active. Something about sports? Way too macho for me.

Here's one that's really about sharks: swimatyourownrisk.blogspot.com/

kissing.blogspot.com

Oh the big fucking ideas we have but cannot possibly follow through.

christ.blogspot.com

Even before that one petered out in 2002, it made no sense.

ilovechrist.blogspot.com

I love going to church more than anything in the world. I will be a Jr. in High School and I show pigs for FFA. I live on 8 acres and I have 3 goats, 1 donkey, 3 dogs, 4 cats, and a few fish. We are supose to get a horse. Does that mean I live on a farm?? Well thats all for now!

Isn't that sweet?

sweet.blogspot.com

WTF??

Well, I'm done with this for a while. It's simply too depressing.

Not as depressing as thousands of bodies floating through the streets of New Orleans... but it's pretty bad.

In Which We Type In Blog Names To See If They Exist

2005-08-29T20:48:00.000-07:00

I stumbled on to Hey Fuckers by accident. I thought, what a great fucking URL for a blog and totally wasted:

http://heyfuckers.blogspot.com/

That of course led me to

http://fuckyou.blogspot.com/

which was not bad.

From there I went to

http://mypussyhurts.blogspot.com/

Which was started in 2003 and then promptly abandoned because that person's pussy did not hurt enough. And I became a little obsessed with the whole pussy thing. I usually am. I thought, what if some girl really needed that blog url?

http://mypussyaches.blogspot.com/

That one is still available.

From there I went to

http://fucker.blogspot.com/

And once again some mother fucker had grabbed a really good blogger url and completely ignored it.

I was surprised that iwanttofuck and iwanttofuckdeadpeople were both still available while ieatassfoam was taken up by pictures of people sucking creamy foam out of enormous and huge anusses. Beware: brown stains all over.

Just kidding. ieatassfoam is still available if you need it. It has been years since I've eaten any ass foam and so I don't really feel like pursuing it as a theme for a blog. But you're welcome to it.

http://stunning.blogspot.com/

was anything but.

http://lovely.blogspot.com/ was worse than abandoned.

http://manhater.blogspot.com/

petered out pretty quick.

http://eatbeef.blogspot.com/

was wasted by a vegetarian.

ieatbeef is available to some fucking beefeater.

http://porn.blogspot.com/

is not what you hope it is.

http://poop.blogspot.com/

pooped out pretty fast.

http://cat.blogspot.com/

did not have nine lives.

http://jackass.blogspot.com/

was written by one.

http://kingtut.blogspot.com/

makes me believe that there was a conspiracy to waste all the interesting blog urls.

http://racerx.blogspot.com/

confirms my hypothesis!

http://thebeatles.blogspot.com/

this is becoming a fucking morgue -- yet another great blog url wasted!!

http://diarrhea.blogspot.com/

not really worth a shit.

I don't know... I suppose I could continue... but I leave that up to you. Most of the interesting blog urls have been given to idiots and quitters.

Fuckingblogosphere. -- ooh, I'm gonna go register that and abandon it.

In Which I Watch A Dude Engulfed In Flames

2005-08-29T20:21:00.000-07:00

I doubt anyone decides to go to the Demolition Derby so that they will see a dude carted off on a stretcher and another dude completely engulfed in flames, scrambling over his fucking hood, through the hole where the windshield used to be. I certainly didn't. When the announcer yelled, "Whoah... shut it down! We've got an injury!" I thought, "What? That never happens." I know, I sound like an old Demolition Derby goin' nut but I'm not. I just happeend to have attended a few since I was exhiled to this particular Siberia. When the Demolition Derby comes to town nothing can fucking top it.

So it was a strange coincedence that my friend Jimmy should call me up and say, "Hey. I'm in St. George dropping off that rotten Johnny. I thought I'd cruise up for a visit." The first thing outa my mouth was, "Perfect fucking timing. We can go to the Demoliton Derby."

Fucking jaw dropping to an outsider is the derby. The painted teens. The crashing. The fires. Jimmy turns to me and says, "Check out that chick." Yeah, farmy, big shouldered hot and I say to Jimmy in Spanish, because I know he speaks it and none of the hicks around us will and I say, "Y la cabeza que da ella!" Which I thought he would clevery decode as meaning: And what fantastic head she gives!

Because it is a hobby in these parts. They are completely repressed in this area about sex -- except that giving head is not sex and so they participate in said behavior with utter abandon. It gives the women a glint in their eyes. I have nearly been persuaded that it was not sex. This was the only thing they all agreed with old Bill Clinton about and they still do.

There was a nasty toothless meth freak dude in front of us. He kept turning around and talking to Jimmy about hemmies and suspension and such crap as Jimmy understood. Dude turned around to see an amazing roll over. I say to Jimmy, pointing out the obvious, "El no tiene dientes." And Jimmy replies, without missing a beat, "Y la cabaza qua da el."

So then there was this enormous POP at the far end of the arena and dude is scrambling out of his fucking car, over the hood, engulfed in flames and I'm thinking, "How in the fuck could I bring Delroy to this fucking mess." Fire dudes race in from the four corners and put the fucker out and he is standing there, smoking, I mean smoke pouring off of his now nicely dowsed body, his ass literally and back literally black from flames... and laughing! These fuckers are tough and insane.

I've been driving a 1987 black Ford Crown Victoria forever. Today I paid the insurance on the shit Subaru. I did not pay the insurance on the Crown Vic. I'm putting together a team. If I'm still in this fucking wasteland next summer, the Crown Vic is gonna rip it up out there.

In Which We Indulge In A Dignified pastime.

2005-08-23T12:36:00.000-07:00

I think I know more avid writers than avid readers. That makes perfect sense. I'm more interested in writing than I am in reading. If my time is going to go somewhere, it's going to be directed more towards the new age, progressive slogan "creating meaning" than "consuming content." Who wants to be a disgusting content consumer? Ech.

And yet we all do it. We watch films and the boob tube. Then we praise or criticize what we have seen and because what we watch is often on T.V. we dish out a lot more criticism than praise. I wonder if we will grant that if we are watching crap T.V. that we are also wasting our time?

Some of us read blogs. I read a few. Mostly because there is something in the blogger that interests me more than the writing I am reading. Some spark of familiarity. At some point I have read this person's blog and thought, "This person is like me in some way." Or "I am like this person." However the equation goes, it is a self-centered one and I will venture that other bloggers who read blogs are also engaging in some small act of ego, even when they are reading and commenting on other people's blogs.

My point is that reading blogs is different than simply reading for pleasure. We can comment. Become part of the dialogue. We are not passive content consumers. We are content creators even when we read the blogs of others because we could usually, if we wanted to, chime in. Perhaps that is often what motivates us. What clever comment will strike me and I will feel the pleasure of clicking send upon.?

So who is really reading?

Just for reading?

And why is it a good thing to do?

Should I mow the lawn or read?

Will I see the world in some new way? Be moved?

Let us hope. Those are always my hopes when I begin a novel or a short story.

I am apprehensive upon approaching every short story I begin: How will the words in this story surprise me, shock me, or change me?

That is why I read stories: for the thrill of it! Enjoy.

In Which I Am nauseated By A Sugary Dessert and Hollywood

2005-08-21T19:33:00.000-07:00

We just got back from dinner over at some friends' home. She's a seamstress and he does house appraisal and "just as a sideline" they are making "Snow Creams" for carnivals and large events around Utah. Oh my God I am flying right now off of a "Snow Cream." It's basically shaved ice with some sinister magical addictive can't stop eating me flavor syrup that they cooked up and its fucking delicious. I feel like my head is going to explode. Fucking sugar.

I only mention that in case I sound a little bit on edge because what I'm about to say is going to be completely out of character for me:

COCKSUCKER MOTHERFUCK HOLLYWOOD FUCKERS ARE READING YOUR BLOGS AND STEALING EVERY FUCKING GOOD IDEA AND THEN MAKING MONEY AND LOUNGING ON BEACHES IN THE RIVIERA WHILE YOU TOIL IN WHATEVER FUCKED UP DEPRESSING JOB YOU HAVE THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO BLOG.

And yes, I can prove it. I heard an interview with the writer of

The 40 Year-Old Virgin

Judd Apatow

And he was asked by the NPR interviewer whose name escapes me right now because of a sugar high that feels like I injected coke into my dick, "So, tell me, what was the original pitch to executives?"

And Apagina answers, "Steve Carrel is a 40 year old virgin." Then Apagina says something like: That's basically all we had but when the studios gave us the go we just started searching through the blogs of people who had held off on having sex and found out that they were pretty real people and found a lot of situations in these blogs that were really useful to us in writing the movie. If you do not believe this, please click HERE and then click LISTEN.

Dear Fucked Up World:

PLAGIARISM USED TO BE A BAD THING. Now it's not. Judd Apatow the vagina (not that vaginas are bad, I personally love them but I'm hoping that it will make Apatow really angry with me and have him try to kick my ass if he ever sees this) -- anyway... Judd Apatow the vagina fucking admitted to scouring the blogosphere like it was the supermarked of ideas and he could just pick and choose and take whatever good shit he wants and leave the rest a make a fucking oodle wad. Fuck you, Judd.

Here's a movie idea for you, should you ever decide to come shopping for free ideas in my blog: Sugar crazed fat mother fucker kills Judd Apatow for stealing ideas out of the blogosphere and not offering credit nor compensation. I never watched the terrorism head chopping videos but I think half the movie will be a comedy with the sugar crazed guy trying to get close enough to Judd to kill him. Then we'll have like a quarter of the movie be a suspenseful chase movie and then the other quarter of the movie will be a sadistic torture fest a la: "It puts the lotion on its skin and puts it in the basket agin." The torture will climax in an apology from Judd, all teary and broken with bits missing, and then the last two words from Sugar Crazed dude will be, "Too late." And then we have the head chopping.

This is gonna kick fucking ass. I'm gonna get Steve Carrel to bulk up and play the fat sugar crazed dude.

In Which We Look At A Map

2005-08-19T10:23:00.000-07:00

I realize that with a population pushing 300 million, that the odds of anyone I know contracting West Nile Virus are still profoundly minimal but if you click here I think even the most conservative readers will see that the media sure is playing a game of pick and choose when it comes to reporting.

I mean, would there be an enormous panic if everyone saw this? I doubt it but I think that the powers that be are erring on the side of caution in not really promoting this.

My California readers might want to take this slightly more seriously than my Utah readers: Cases in California = 136, Cases in Utah = 0.

The bookstore manager at the college I teach at believes this is because Utahns are good tithe payers and deserve to be spared while all Californians are sinners who deserve to die.

In Which Monday Is...

2005-08-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

There can be no doubt of this: Monday is fucked.

Since June, scrambling at the income basement bottom because of three classes closed due to low enrollment, I have toiled in my skivies and no shirt, three days beard, scratching balls, but making phone calls and pulled off the magic of putting Rizzo into a dozen papers.

And now I have to go and be Mr. Rize on Monday. Shaved. Button down shirt. Tie. Slacks (from Sears, not Banana Republic).

This summer I saw very few people. Only spoke to one at a time on the phone.

Monday I will go stand in front of three classes full of twenty five a piece and talk to them, guide them, teach them, hopefully open up their minds in a slow and kind and gentle way.

I can hardly believe it. From isolation I will be dropped into a bustle. I can not say hustle and bustle because of course it is still a rural school and while there are three thousand people, well, there's no hustle. It's smaller than the high school I graduated from. I'm a city dude.

It's just that it will be so an enormous change. I will have to wake up early, not simply because it is a pattern but because my first class starts at 8:30 am.

Then it will be winter and there will be ice and snow on the roads at 8:30.

Uh oh. I'm "getting into story." It interferes with my "possibility."

Well, I have news for Landmark: It is no story that winter is cold in this Siberia... it is a statment of fact.

But I suppose dreading that winter is cold in August could be considered "story."

I need to go finish my syllabus.

Fuck

In Which I Am A Mutant

2005-08-18T06:38:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read a blog that contains such a nugget of honesty that you cringed for the poor sucker sharing such a thing in public? The way we felt for Quayle when his mispelled potatos. They're sharing something with you so personal that you know they wouldn't even do it with a close friend and yet there it is and there is no denying you have seen it. There are blogs like these. I can't read them very often because they are, for me, emotionally exhausting. They are like emotional porn. And yet they are worse. They are worse than that clip I saw the other day of a seventeen year old girl exposing her breasts to a webcam, and then at frame left we see her father come in and walk toward her and we see her notice him and lower her shirt down. What we did not get to see was the look of dismay cross his face when he must have realized what she was doing. So a real piece of embarassing honesty is even worse than that, because that girl was asking for that to happen. She was using the computer in the den, with the door open. That piece of video is actually funny. She gets this look upon her face, as sick as a caged rat. And we have no sympathy for her.

I was not asking for what happened to me to happen. It just did. I hardly know how. Mr. Waterman, my tenth grade Biology teacher warned us all: "your metabolisms will slow down and if you don't change your habits, you will put on a couple pounds a year and you won't notice for ten years and by then your habits will be so ingrained, your body so used to doing what little you've been doing that you will have a dickens of a time losing the extra twenty pounds." Sadly my extra twenty have turned to forty. I have three hearniated disks. I hear cracking and creaking when I stretch and as soon as my right elbow stops aching, my left one starts. Then there is this fucking jack-in-the-box called hypothyroidism. Aparently it has been behind my weight gain for years. Get this: an ailment that reduces your metabolism, making you NOT feel like being active pretty much ever, while at the same time, INCREASING your appetite for crap foods.

Yeah, hypothyroidism is a fucking winner.

So there I am in the Banana Republic, looking at a stunning pair of $138 slacks that I think would look really good on me when I notice that their sizes don't go up to my wopping 40 inch waistline.

The petit sales girl walks over, she could fall into a straw, "Oh, we carry that style in your size... online."

Oh my god.

I was in a store yesterday that hopes the fatties will stay the fuck out the door. But worse: I am the size of fatty that people don't want poluting their view.

You know, it's mostly stupid people that are fat in the United States. Dumbshits that eat crap. Poor stupid fuckers. Hi mother fuck world: I am not a dumbshit. I have not had a hamburger in over twenty fucking years. I quit eating them in my teens. My wife has been forcing me to eat cardboard everything for two years now. Everything whole wheat. Whole wheat this and whole wheat that from bread slices to waffles. I actually chambered a round and held my gun to my head and asked: Can I handle another whole wheat pancake or should I just blow my fucking brains out now? Roberta will be sharing all about the brilliant firetruck cake she made the other day. It was made with ALL PURPOSE FLOUR -- white flour. Oh shit I hadn't seen that stuff in two years. The first thing I did was make Delroy some pancakes with that flour and he slammed the back end of his fork into the table to emphasize this point: "Daddy, these are the best pancakes ever ever ever in the whole wide world!" Of course that's what he felt. He had never had pancakes made with white flour. It's like I live in Hippy Concentration Camp Roughage.

And to top this: I started taking the pills they give you for hypothyroidism about a year ago. I thought they would help me magically lose weight. Because that's what it feels like it will take for me: MAGIC. Fuck I have tried. But the magicfuckingpills of whitey have not done that. The only difference they made in my life was that before I started taking them, there was ALWAYS one day a week during which I would sleep for over twelve hours. I would do a normal six to eight hours every day, and then one day, I would toddle off to bed with a book at around 7:00 pm, truly thinking that I intended to read until my usual bedtime but I would fall asleep and not wake up for twelve hours or more. So the pills gave me four more useful hours a week. And I no longer cross dress. It was starting to lose it's appeal anyway, because I couldn't fit into the sexy slinky shit I really wanted to anyway anymore. And the shoes hurt like a bitch. Another story.

So there I am in the Banana Republic and having THE MOST EMBARASSING MOMENT OF MY LIFE. And perfectly conscious of it. "Dear Chris' brain," my brain said to itself, "you are now in the middle of the single most embarassing moment of Chris' life. Please make a note of this."

Truly: this was worse then when my mom caught me yanking wiener in the bathroom when I was ten. What the fuck? I was in the bathroom and it was my wiener: "Get the fuck out of here."

But this, let me translate the conversation for you:

Sales twat: You are a mutant.

My brain: If you hurt her in any way, it will set a bad example for Delroy and then you may go to jail for a very long time.

I move to kill her.

My brain: Seriously, popping her head off her twig neck will not change the fact that to her you really are a mutant. She is paid to keep people like you out of this store because it hurts sales. Normal people with money to spend in Banana Republic will be afraid of you and they will walk to the next store. It's not her fault. Do not kill her.

There was something totally screwed up about my moral reasoning but she survived the incedent and so did I.

My cult member friend Rob would tell me that "I am in story" and that I need to "get into possibility" of not being a mutant. Have you ever noticed how cult members always have to talk with slogans?

Anyway, good lord, I'm too fat to shop in expensive stores, frequented by thin people with lots of money. They had fat people clothes at Sears and I bought them in the Caballero section. I kid you not.

In Which I Explore Some Deeper Questions

2005-08-17T06:24:00.000-07:00

So many dead people. I've shipped off so many to the great beyond that it feels different now. I remember how I just wanted to die when my sister died. I mean literally. I drove the the Grand Canyon and I climbed out beyond the railing and then down onto a ledge below the lookout point, and from there I could leap into the ether and be freed completely from that humongous hole her passing had left in my heart. It was well before dawn and I thought I should at least see the sun rise once more. I waited there on the ledge, tucked back against the high wall of the Grand Canyon. Almost as soon as the orange rays leapt over the horizon, German tourists came to the lip of the observation point and began shoving one another playfully and saying, "Don't fall." I decided not to jump and climbed out of there.

Then my mom died and I was so conflicted about it I hardly had any emotions at all. And my dad followed her. Another sister. Then a very close buddy from high school. He had two kids and a wife and a house and what looked to me like a real life. He was a hard worker and I admired him. And he was here one moment and dead the next and his mom was crying as she embraced me, she sobbed, "I saw him. After the accident. His neck. He looked like a football player. It had all been shoved up into his neck."

There's an image I can't get rid off. Thanks Andy's mom.

She had lost Andy's brother before I met Andy. Andy was her second and last child. Both parents. Really old. And they both outlived their two children. And such hard workers.

It's funny that I keep thinking about work but I don't think you can peek at death with two eyes open without thinking about work. I mean, why are we here? Are we here to love? To play? To work?

I have always been suspicious of work. I gravitated to the writing of Charles Bukowski because I saw in him someone else who thought work was highly overrated. And yet what does he end up writing about? Work. Jobs. Factotum. Factory Jobs. Post Office. More work. Yeah, he writes about sex and booze but the work is always there.

And where was Andy driving to on that slick highway when his car swung out and he slammed into a tree? Work.

Yeah, to love and play and work. And we spend far too much time doing that latter and far too little time doing the former.

My so-called summer break ends Friday. Can you tell?

Anyway... all these thoughts seemed to have been generated by the website: http://www.squareamerica.com/ -- maybe it will affect you differently but it made me smile in a sad way. The pretty girl on the right in the top snapshot. So full of life there. Potential. And now?

Like so much else.

Summer is fucking over.

In Which King Creators United Are Almost Famous

2005-08-16T04:59:00.000-07:00

The above image is a photograph of the front page of the Sunday Logan Herald Journal which is now running a special Utah-humor, color, single panel Rizzo. Not to worry, we play nicey nice every time. Click on image to enlarge.

In Which Things Are Lightened Up

2005-08-10T00:25:00.000-07:00

Enjoy.

In Which Gutless Wonders Awaken

2005-08-08T16:08:00.000-07:00

When the first presidential theft occurred in 2000 and that Gutless Gore took it up the hiney when the bought and paid for Supreme Court ruled in favor of Bush on there being no more Florida recounts, I almost admired that ours was a democracy that was so stable that people were not out marching in the streets with torches and rocks.

But then the theft happen again in 2004 and the sleeping masses simply grabbed for their remotes and changed the channel and ordered more McDonalds to help them sleep even more deeply.

But now the sting of watching our young G.I.s coming home in bodybags is awakening some people up to go and sit under the sweltering Texas sun to ask the doofus in chief one simple question: What is so god damn noble about this fucking war?

I suppose the fine members of Gold Star Families for Peace will use more delicate language than I choose but all I can say is I am behind them. I will write them and ask if I can join.

My wish for Gold Star Families for Peace is that this is just the first of many organizations of people who are fed up with the lies. People who are ready to cough in a hail of tear gas and be billyclubbed in the face by the Pug Fascist Fuckers who have stolen our democracy. If we start fighting back now we won't need another was memorial to host over 50,000 names. If we move quickly we may only have to host 5000.

In Which I Share A Special Video With My Friends

2005-08-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

You know who you are.

click here.

In Which I Leave To Go Camping With My Family

2005-08-06T07:19:00.000-07:00

Be back Monday for more fun and healthy communication.

In Which I'm Very Very Sorry...

2005-08-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

[click to enlarge]

In my late teens and early twenties I remember being completely incapable of sitting through suspense movies. There was a movie made years ago about a couple on a yacht and a psycho comes and gets them: never saw it. There are lots of suspense movies like this that I will not go and see. I can not stomach the ambiguity. And even this fucking movie where the two people float around on the surface of the ocean waiting to be eaten by sharks: will not see it. There's no ambiguity. The suspense lies in when and how they will be eaten.

I don't like that.

Now I will watch all manner of bubble-gum horror. I just sat delighted through Bride Of Chucky. And I did a weekend marathon of all the Zombie Movies I could download... I mean rent, of course.

But I never realized that my inability to sit through suspenseful movies also transferred into my real life: I can not tolerate suspenseful situations.

I was recently presented with a suspenseful situation and I completely overreacted. I behaved arrogantly and insanely. It seemed to me a building I most dearly loved was leaning over, about to fall and I began pushing madly to straighten it. As if I ever could.

I never could.

I was wrong.

In Which The Clueless May Catch A Clue

2005-08-05T18:07:00.000-07:00

Much of this blog post is not written by me. It is in fact written by a fellow blogger who abused me most hideously in the pages of his very own blog.

He called my wife a bitch: "When she's not being a bitch..."

Then he put foul words into my wife's mouth about me:

"I don't even know where he gets them," Roberta says. "There's no red light district in Tromso. We don't even have a Dairy Queen."

Nonetheless, Riz has gone through 16 hookers in the past 11 days. Tall girls, short girls, redheads, even a couple transvestites (one of whom was a dwarf.)

"He doesn't just fuck them... he does everything. They sleep with us, on his side of the bed. They come to the breakfast table. They accompany him to his meetings. And I know for a fact that two comicstrips were actually scripted by a whore named Pam. She used to be a technical writer for the 3M company."

Riz is on the defensive. "Pam is an old high school friend," he says, stifling a chuckle. "And I met the dwarf at AA. I'm thinking of sponsoring him. The rest of them are just miscellaneous acquaintances. Some are figments of Roberta's imagination."

"More than anything," Roberta tells me, "I just wish he'd stop killing them and dressing up in their skin. He's making a terrible mess. Blood is one thing, but have you ever tried to wash pancreatic and spleen juices out of linen? It's a bitch."

This ruffian called me a user of prostitutes, murderer, freak and cannibal. Oh dear me. I should be outraged. It should be the end of our friendship.

But it's not.

Wanna know why?

Because my name is not really Rizzo and Roberta is not really my wife's name and shit that people write in blogs is hardly what anyone would call "true."

You see... I have no motivation to make a big deal out of what Bill (not his real name) has written about me. But let's imagine that I had engaged in some internet nastiness. I might feel compelled to make a big deal out of what Bill has written about me so that I could distract attention away from my own actions. Yup. I just might have that motivation.

Now, I promised that the clueless may catch a clue and I will deliver the clue: The Blogosphere Is Bullshit. We're all lying. My second favorite person in the blogosphere is Hazel B. but that, dear blog readers, is not her real name. Chances are very good I will never learn her real name. Nor will I learn a name of anyone in her life, because even though she writes in great and humorous detail about the people she knows and hangs with, she makes up names. For all I know, truly, it is all bullshit. She might be in a mental institution hammering out these posts with her one good toe. What the fuck do I know?

So... my point here in all of this... is that there is never any reason to get bent out of shape about anything that anyone says in a blog... especially if they have the courtesy to use all kinds of unreal names.

Now, onto the topic of unreal names... I used a name in a blog this morning: Vagina Boy. I felt certain that NO ONE would read that blog post and believe that I was referring to him or her. Can you imagine even for a second thinking: Oh, I'm Vagina Boy! What sort of sad and pathetic little man would EVER believe that they had been referred to as Vagina Boy?

I don't care if you wrote: That Vagina Boy teaches writing and writes a comic about his life in Utah.

I STILL would believe that the writer of such a line MUST be referring to someone else. Some other teacher cartoony fellow. Not me. I'm not Vagina Boy. You can call me Vagina Boy Or Whore Or Staline Or Fucker Or Asshole Or Anything You Fucking Want and it won't change the fact that I am not what you say I am. Sticks and stones... all that... so, in short: I am not Vagina Boy.

And here's the CLUE for the Clueless: NEITHER ARE YOU. There is no Vagina Boy. There's no nothing!

This is all insane shtick that I write for me alone to amuse myself and practice typing.

All any blogger is doing is practicing typing because any blogger with sense, except for Fatty, knows that no one gives two shits about what anyone says. We're all way too self centered. You know its the fucking truth. Admit it.

So I am pleading here... for forgiveness... on my knees. In print before your eyes: My Blog Is A Fucking Joke. It is a free account that I use to amuse myself. I'm a horribly selfish person who likes to chuckle alone as I type out lies. I'm chuckling now.

I read chuckle and I chuckled even more and more... fuck... this is fun.

In Which We Learn To Cry

2005-08-05T06:57:00.000-07:00

I thank God I'm not in therapy anymore. What a fucking waste. Maybe I got some things out of it. I can't say. I hardly ever knew what the fuck was going on. This woman would hypnotize me. It was hypnotherapy. Each fucking week. Frankly I just wish she had have given my those subliminal suggestions like, "You do not have to eat the WHOLE fucking burrito." But I don't know what the fuck she was doing. Her theory was something like our whole person gets fragmented and there are the "parts" and you have to find them and "reintegrate" them.

So my therapy was an hour a week of me trying to be Sybil.

A few times the hypnotism went weird. True story, stay with me:

Jane, therapist: Where are you now?

Me: I don't know. I've never seen this place. It's like a stone cottage. There's a thick oak door. A hearth with a pot, a cauldron. People are outside.

Jane: Can you look at them? Is there a window?

Me: I'm too scared. They want to kill me. I miss Renault.

Jane: Who's Renault?

And so here I just scream, tears leaping from my eyes "Renault!!!!" Oh my God the love and the longing. I thought that I would die for this fucking Renault. I'm heave sobbing. Oh my God. Am I Renault? Is Renault my husband, wife, me, who? But I am sobbing, gut cracking heaves of fuck cry.

The place was actually real though. The memory. Real fucking primitive. I'm guessing France because of the Renault. But I don't know. Maybe France in the stone cabin era. I could draw a picture of what that fucking place looked like inside though. And that door was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. Solid fucking door.

Sometimes I forget about those cries. I never had normal cries in therapy. It was always weird assed hypnotherapy cries where you're crying the tears of another person.

But I have had my own little cries. I've cried to Owner Of A Lonely Heart by YES but that's too damn personal to talk about.

And I remember two times, listening to radio, that a song came on the radio while I was driving and I cried and had to race out and buy the fucking song just to see if it would happen again. This was before theInternet when you had buy CDs (I'm a pig.) Anyway, I'm going to link to a couple songs at the end of this blog that made me cry. Now the first one can still make me cry. and it's weird, because I play it for my English classes... because it talks about how fucked up gender roles are and I want these kids to hear another perspective... and yet each fucking time I play it, I end up having to casually stroll to the back of the class to dab a couple tears. It's very strange.

And the second song I'm linking to, I just listened now, and I'm actually feeling about a stage seven pissed off about five things and one line in the song trigger more my pissed off feelings this morning than any good old cry feeling but I will link to it anyway because I remember the song washing over me the first time and making me weep like a little girl.

Sexism rocks. Especially if you're a dude talking about what a big crybaby you are.

Anyway, this post is dedicated to a friend that I was talking to who said, "I try to cry, but I just can't. I'm incapable of the act."

If you just listen to these two songs, friend, your little ice cold heart should melt. But you have to make some effort to relate. We can only cry over shit like this if we "relate." So, just try to relate.

Crying Song #1.

Crying Song #2.

Break out the tissues...

In Which Vagina Boy Uses Me To Make Himself Look Good In The Eyes Of A Whore

2005-08-04T23:56:00.000-07:00

Huh?

In Which We Talk About Moral Relativism and Shamelessness...

2005-08-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

Thank you lord for the 20th Century which taught all of us that we need never feel responsible for our actions and that if someone disagrees with us that THEY ARE THE ASSHOLE and we can treat them rudely because WE ARE FUCKING PERFECT.

It never ceases to amaze me what shits and assholes fill up this world. Or at least this state.

Mmmmm... Stalin... I love that ball sucking... keep doing it.... mmmmmm...

You know what... I almost deleted that... and then I thought... FUCK THAT... if that bitch is going to treat me with such absolutely disrespect and snottiness then why in the fuck should I even worry that she is still reading my blog... and if she is still reading my blog than she is doing it because she needs to read that she can suck my balls if she wants to treat me rudely...

Mmmmm... Stalin... I love that ball sucking... keep doing it.... mmmmmm...

Hey Stalin... if you don't like my blog... start your own and you can write about me... because I'm so fucking powerful... you can blame all your problems on me... I turned your life to shit, didn't I... oh wait... no... that was you... wasn't it?

Roberta... do not get after me about this except that it is is shitty blog post... that bitch has no business reading this blog is she's going to be a snot to me.

She never had any business reading my blog if she could not handle that I disagree with her hyperdramatic selfishness, self centeredness, egomania and egocentricity and the pain she caused my friend Craig.

You know... I read one nice person's blog because I aspire to be a nicer.

I know I need to be nicer... because today suffering this one bitch's smugness, I'm just sitting here picturing my balls in her mouth.

She has shitty technique but that butt plug up her ass with Bush's face on it makes me smile.

Yes, I'm a pig.

Fuck off.

In Which We Learn From Socrates, Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson

2005-07-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

I believe it was Socrates who said "There is nothing new under the sun," while he himself was developing a method of intellectual inquiry that literally shaped much of Western Civilization. See, while he was right about there being nothing new under the sun he was so terribly wrong and I can now prove it: The Island.

After having seen The Island I am a changed man. I long to be a better person. This was... oh dare I say it in writing... yeah... I'm high on it right now... I'll say it -- The Greatest Movie Ever Made! I'm chuckling as I type that because that might not hold up if we examine the criteria for greatest movies but I can assure you that The Island made me feel as if it was in fact the greatest movie ever made as I was walking out of the theatre.

I do not heap praise on movies lightly but I cannot stop doing it for The Island. I did start this rant off with that quote by Socrates for a reason. The Island will remind you of a dozen other films but this is in no way a defect because, as my lovely Roberta pointed out to me, The Island is standing on all of their shoulders and seeing further than any of them ever could. If I say the movie begins with an enclosed society of hyper conforming people all dressed in white you can not help but think of THX1138. And then when you see super charismatic Ewan McGregor begin to question his environment you can not help but remember The Norming of Jack 243 or Logan's Run. No, this movie doesn't just stand on their shoulders, it is the sun and they are mere specks in blackness.

This movie also achieves a genre crossing trifecta, it starts off sci-fi, shifts to action adventure and ends as a liberation master piece with a head nod to Schindlers List. And you'll smell Minority Report a little in this movie but all I can say is that it is so much better than all the sci fi and action flicks it is reminiscent of that one need never watch them again. I could sit through The Island four more times and still enjoy it. By the forth watching I'm sure I'd be ignoring just about everything but Scarlett Johansson's lips. I could just watch and watch them.

And special treats... one for Star Trek Voyager fans: remember Nelix? You will hardly recognize him without his make up and ladle but his voice is so distinctive you can't help but place him. And he's great. Such a small role but it adds such depth and humanity.

I'm walking around any spoilers here... so if this feels a bit vague... thank me. I hate fuckers that write: spoiler below and then wreck the fucking denouement.

And for the cry babies and whiners: yeah... for 2019 the technology is pretty fucking optimistic. Shut the fuck up and enjoy a breath taking movie and don't worry about there being no "jet bike" prototypes today. Just take a deep breath and go: cool, a jet bike.

Out of Four Stars: **** -- those are in fact stars and there are FOUR -- and I will fight anyone who cares to differ because I am an asshole and you would be wrong.

In Which I Do Not Fall Into A Pattern Of Vengeful Sniping That Can't Lead To Happy Goodness

2005-07-28T07:36:00.000-07:00

And speaking of happy goodness, I actually clicked on one of those links that appear when you log into to your blogger dashboard. I think the list is called "Recently Updated Blogs." This is the moment when each of us becomes an identifiable froth bubble at the top of the rolling seas.

The title of the link that interested me was this:

How I am becoming an Astronaut

It is so damned optimistic and yet so freaking far fetched. Just from odds alone you would have a better chance of getting struck by lightening or becoming a pro athlete or killing an anaconda with your bare hands. I made that one up but I'll bet you there are hundreds of people who have done that while, world wide, there are still probably less than 100 people who have flown in space. I should know that detail but until someone pays me for blogging I'm not wasting my time doing research to support my claims.

Anyway, I thought the blog would be written by a fourteen year old boy. Turns out that it is written by a 24 year old woman. Please change the odds that I mentioned earlier to, like, on the order of, say, to those of anything that comes out of a Mormon missionary's mouth being true.

Pitiful grammar but you get the point.

And yet: I admire her! She seems knowledgeable and determined. Good luck, I say. Stick it to the man.

In Which It Turns Out That The Second Greatest Cocksucker In The World Lied To Me

2005-07-27T15:10:00.000-07:00

Well... because he wanted to make his lie more convincing, he had his fifteen year old daughter call me up and lie to me. Isn't that special?

In Which Sean Goes To Jail

2005-07-26T13:13:00.000-07:00

So those of you following both my ramblings and Sean's ramblings will remember that he was jailed several weeks ago for being drunk and disorderly. Really he was stupid and psychotic. He made a promise to the officers putting him in a cell that he would destroy the cell should he be placed in one. Please do not encourage him in this but he really feels like he was "fighting the man" in doing this shit. My personal opinion was that he was just be drunk and stupid. When he found that he was in his cell he saw a metal cage covering a smoke detector in the ceiling and proceeded to batter it with his right hand. The hand that draws Rizzo. Go figure.

Well... he managed to break through to the smoke detector and pull the wires out of the wall and he stood there threatening to electrocute himself, or hang himself. His jailers laughed and laughed. Then he started to fool with the wires and his jailers said, "Sit down Sean or we will tazer you." Sean is aware that many drunk old dudes actually die when they get tazed and he sat down, pulling up his t-shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes.

Anyway, the short end of it is that he injured his hand, got gangrene, needed anti-biotics and to be stitched up and was arrested. Not for drunk and disorderly. But for vandalism INSIDE the police station.

Oh how he revels in this.

So... he had a court date. His crime is punishable with jail time.

He and I currently make about $100 per week from Rizzo if all goes well. That's supplying just a few newspapers with strips. Splitting $100 per week is peanuts now... but we will soon be in ten times as many papers and then we're talking the escape route out of Utah for me and so I am damn committed selling editors on Rizzo. I get us work and write the strips and Sean draws the best comics the world has ever seen. I will give him that. He is not the working man's hero but he is a kick ass artist and so that makes him my hero. And my family's hero because Rizzo could lead us back to civilization and away from these fucking psychotics we are surrounded by.

So as his court date approaches he assures me he will be polite in front of the judge. But I know what a damn lunatic he is. He told me that he was going to bring a King James Bible and just start reading out of it out loud for hours. Like anyone would listen. Anyway, I would not put it past him to do something like this. Or tell them that they are "crazy" or whatever. Nothing would surprise me. He's on a real fucking fear and loathing kick and he could go to jail.

If he goes to jail the Rizzo train stops. And if the Rizzo train stops, the freedom train stops. Fuck.

Today was his court date.

Sometime around noon I get a call from his daughter. As soon as I hear her voice I am crestfallen. I don't even need to ask but I do, "What happened?"

"He got sentenced."

"How long?" I am about to burst into tears. I have worked on promoting Rizzo for sixty hours a week for the last 80 days. All my work is now down the tubes. I'm hoping he will only be locked up for 72 hours, which is what they do with undesirables in my country frequently.

"Six months."

Stunning.

In Which We Examine Side Stepping Oval Office Slime

2005-07-25T22:21:00.000-07:00

Here is a piece of a transcript from a White House Press briefing regarding the leaked information that Valerie Plame was an agent for the C.I.A. Of course you all know that it was Karl Rove who released this information in retaliation against her husband because he wrote an essay refuting the administrations claims that Saddam was trying to procur uranium.

The Q stands for the intrepid reporter who is not behaving as spinelessly as usual and Mr. McCLellan is the magician-stooge the Bush administration puts up in front of them to play a little game called disapearing question:

Q Do Karl Rove and Scooter Libby still have top secret clearance here,
access to classified documents?

MR. McCLELLAN: You asked this question last week, and --

Q I did. And I'm asking again. [Note: this is the moment in which the reporter is not as spineless as usual.]

MR. McCLELLAN: -- the President has said what our answer is to these
questions. We'll be glad to talk about all these issues once the
investigation is complete. [What this means is... oh... everyone will forget this... go back to sleep... you're having a nightmare...]

Q Do they have a clearance?

MR. McCLELLAN: We'll be glad to talk about all the issues relating to
the investigation once it's complete.

Q Why can't you talk about it now? [Yes! And I think he should have just begun shouting at this point!]

MR. McCLELLAN: Well, that question I addressed a couple weeks ago.

Go ahead. Go ahead, Jessica.

And here nods off toward Jessica who has been paid to ask nice and easy question like what does the poopyfoot have on his i-pod.

Do you all remember when what the fucking poopyfoot had on his ipod became "news." Well animals fucking in the streets! Who gave a shit? And yet there it was. The fucking Knack was on his ipod and everyone thought that was news. Great fuck, no wonder they have been able to steal two consecutive elections... it's because all you fuckers are sleeping.

Anyway... three cheers to the reporter who had the courage to stick with slimeball the magician stooge and ask the same question three times and then followup with a big fat why not!

Yeah... so poof... the question went away... but I think it will be back.

In Which I Confess To Being Disappointed That A Great Big UFO Did Not Sit Over Vegas For A Couple Days

2005-07-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

Most of you had no idea that we were on a count down to the mother of all close encounters over the last two months. The Prohet Yahweh had prophesied that an enormous space ship would hover over Las Vegas sometime before July 15th. Well, as you know, it never happened. A batalion of UFO's did hover over Mexico City and Guadalajara. Check out the video at www.rense.com. But sadly they ignored Vegas.

But The Prophet Yahweh is still summoning UFO's and you can see compelling video clips of his fine work here: http://www.bloginservice.com/video_audio/prophet_yahweh2.htm

In Which I Tell Mother Fucking Stalin To Suck My Balls

2005-07-24T19:54:00.000-07:00

Okay... that's done.

Yeah... let's talk about Stalin. He was a vicious dictator who punished people for having opinions that differed from his own. Well, not everyone in our environment is a WEAK KNEED PUSSY. Some people can fucking smell shit when it is being dished out, Stalin.

Oh fuck... why should I hide behind these pseudonyms anyway, Ben. Ralph. Seymone.

I love the name Seymone. Is that the way you spell it?

In Which Karl Rove is Booted Out Of The Administration

2005-07-24T11:35:00.000-07:00

And I wake up to find that I was dreaming.

In Which A Small Boy Asks "Where is my mommy?"

2005-07-24T10:46:00.000-07:00

Roberta and I just spent the most incredible weekend with two out of three of our best friends in this whole god-forsaken state. Timmy is just four and plays beautifully with our Delroy, who turns four next month. There was not a single spat or a single "mine" or anything negative. They shared and ran and played and jumped and laughed. We visited the parade and they just smiled and laughed the whole time (save for two small falling incidents that were quickly overcome). They played quietly upstairs for a long time. Pirates. Trains. Jumpin' Monkeys. We went to the lake and all five of us had such a great time. I can't say just how wonderful it is when two couples meet and have children that are the exact same age because that leaves the parents to sit and visit down in the living room while the kids enjoy one another upstairs. It is a total win-win.

And seeing Craig was great. We hadn't visited and shared our off-color banter for months. It was great fun.

But a dark cloud of selfishness and egomania hung over the entire visit.

I wasn't really aware of it until Timmy fell and seeking comfort in the arms of his mother said, "Where is my mommy?"

Where indeed, little Timmy?

How much more enjoyable this weekend would have been if Craig's wife had been with us. Discontent with her marriage seems to have struck her with the rapacity of the tse-tse fly. To us it seemed as if one moment all was well and we were all of us laughing and joking and hanging out. And the next moment everything has been thrown into question. Now she does not show up to the same kinds of family events that we all would have been at not long ago. She will tell us the she has "other commitments" now. And all I can answer, little Timmy, when you ask, where is your mommy, is that she is tending to things vastly more important than are you.

Craig, hang in there. Many victims of malaria recover.

In Which I Stumble On To One Of The Greatest Sites On The Web

2005-07-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

This is not a links blog. But you pussies were all too lame to jump onto my tvbgone.com bandwagon so now I don't know what the fuck it is. It not as deep as Roberta Rants nor as pithy as A Bex and a Good Lie Down nor as sexual as Nymphomania or Narcolepsy nor as annoying as Czolgosz Unplugged! So... what the fuck? I've actually got a killer long story to tell about the full moon, sex on a hammock and a fog of mosquitoe poison wafting toward us but that's gonna have to wait for when I have more time.

Until then I have a nomination for one of the top 100 greatest websites in the world:

http://snltranscripts.jt.org/

Last semester we hosted the Shakespeare club... this coming semester is bound to have a few more laughs...

In Which We Learn All About Sean

2005-07-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

So, I was reading Sean's blog today and he confessed to narcisistically obsessing on Google returns of his name. Fair enough. I do it too sometimes. Not his name. Mine. And most of my ex-girlfriend's but please don't tell my wife. But seeing Sean succumbing to his narcissism reminded me of one of the greatest tools on the Internet: www.googlism.com -- type in any name and you have yourself an insta-poem about whomever you choose. I typed in Sean and the following is what came back. Most of it is true of my friend Sean. Especially the part about halfway down that reads: "Sean is gay." Enjoy:

sean is a tourist
sean is back
sean is wonderful
sean is a total wanker
sean is mine
sean is using his british
sean is teaching class tonight?
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is?
sean is the coolest
sean is right
sean is stone
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is there
sean is ummm
sean is showing
sean is mint
sean is using his british sean is using his british accent
sean is gay
sean is not able to personally respond to all your e
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is growing more every day
sean is a very bright young man
sean is currently a post
sean is connected to the following things
sean is connected to because
sean is 18
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is stoned
sean is nice 2
sean is def
sean is ceo of social change online
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is also the current national over 30 champion
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is getting married
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is definitely not gay and is currently single
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is a very active ambassador for afdr
sean is happily married to sculptor pam adams
sean is currently in new zealand filming the three lord of the rings movies back to back
sean is an amazing musician
sean is an outrageous young man with great strategies for life
sean is a three
sean is next
sean is 17
sean is also involved with the spinal cord society's efforts
sean is officially the most annoying
sean is well on his way to a full
sean is great
sean is going to basic training in oklahoma
sean is
sean is the co
sean is co
sean is originally from taiwan and has been in the usa since he was three years old
sean is an ardent newry fan and wrote some of last season's match reports
sean is given six games to save job tuesday 27 august 2002
sean is not an out of the closet person
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is a character that preaches from the gospel of st
sean is in the midst of an on
sean is doing his part
sean is responsible for coordinating parking services for 4
sean is gone
sean is an initiated tibetan monk
sean is one who is a 'jack of all trades' because he can do so many different things
sean is outgoing
sean is desperate for work
sean is a quadriplegic due to arthritis with complications and has been for many years
sean is the other half of me; in over a decade of being friends it's become difficult to contemplate the other not being there for some reason
sean is starting his 4th year at rockhurst
sean is instantly rejuvenated
sean is back and treats her boyfriend and you to 9 golden shower scenes with great camera angles
sean is always at work
sean is a wonder
sean is widely recognised by the industry
sean is a very active and rambunctious teen
sean is out working hard for your support
sean is hospitalized after breaking three ribs and bruising his heart in a full contact karate tournement
sean is on special
sean is an inspiration kiara blake
sean is trying to find at least one more interested student to take along with him to the meeting
sean is now leading the development effort for the sequel to one of lucasarts' most beloved original adventures full throttle�
sean is incredibly cute
sean is a marine biologist for james cook university on the tropical coast of northern australia
sean is a circuit rider and the webmaster at the w
sean is a mystery
sean is known for his limitless enthusiasm
sean is dead' rumour
sean is one
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is/is not
sean is a tourist
sean is back
sean is ssooooo hottttt
sean is mine
sean is standing over my
sean is showing
sean is off
sean is wonderful
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is gone
sean is a bboy scout
sean is funny on june 14th
sean is sick
sean is getting married
sean is the coolest
sean is a smash hit twice on same day
sean is stone
sean is yorkshire man of
sean is destroying the boards
sean is gay
sean is referring to
sean is film?s premier attraction
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is mint
sean is your *sib*???
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is there
sean is not able to personally respond to all your e
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is a very bright young man
sean is growing more every day
sean is officially the most annoying
sean is currently a post
sean is funny on june 14th it's summer
sean is connected to because
sean is a builder for a large
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is a very
sean is an amazing musician
sean is a 2 x us olympian and 5 x national champion in singles
sean is great
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is now appearing in the west end as macbeth
sean is able to back up these claims as he is the 1998
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is a victim of editing
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is nice 2
sean is total eye
sean is the first and only australian charity that specifically supports the cycling community
sean is
sean is a very active ambassador for afdr
sean is definitely not gay and was last reported as single
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is happily married to sculptor pam adams
sean is still healthy
sean is currently in new zealand filming the three lord of the rings movies back to back
sean is sarah's 14 year
sean is a three
sean is a teacher
sean is ceo of social change online
sean is well on his way to a full
sean is not like that
sean is married to longtime libertarian pam adams
sean is co
sean is also involved with the spinal cord society's efforts
sean is on special
sean is next
sean is presumed slain in retribution because an arm bearing his jewelry was found in the east river
sean is going to basic training in oklahoma
sean is an ardent newry fan and wrote some of last season's match reports
sean is the star of "save the last dance"
sean is nervous about attending high school in the fall
sean is back with 21 more scenes in jorana 2
sean is back and treats her boyfriend and you to 9 golden shower scenes with great camera angles
sean is the co
sean is funny
sean is a character that preaches from the gospel of st
sean is the leader
sean is originally from taiwan and has been in the usa since he was three years old
sean is desperate for work
sean is in the midst of an on
sean is getting a computer next week
sean is a world famous actor
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is an initiated tibetan monk
sean is a quadriplegic due to arthritis with complications and has been for many years
sean is taking over
sean is here
sean is/is not
sean is slightly famouser
sean is gay
sean is dead' rumour
sean is a communications consultant
sean is correct
sean is destroying the boards
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is film�s premier attraction
sean is one
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is finally gone
sean is weg
sean is a tourist
sean is showing
sean is missing
sean is off
sean is saying
sean is standing over my
sean is transvestite nipple picture
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog
sean is a smash hit twice on same day
sean is right on target
sean is wonderful
sean is thailand celebrity pornography
sean is wijven internet directory
sean is rosco
sean is a little pissed because no one wants
sean is funny on june 14th
sean is getting married
sean is pornlist house wife breasts
sean is h�hepunkt sex sluts
sean is
sean is not a planning tool
sean is not gay
sean is stone
sean is a very bright young man
sean is growing more every day
sean is dead' rumour sean is gay sean is silenced sean is/is not sean is penelope keith's son sean is a tourist sean is wonderful sean is showing sean is mine
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is also well know for other international roles
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog again
sean is currently a post
sean is a mammal
sean is pushing negative 7 gs
sean is there
sean is total eye
sean is nice 2
sean is diabetic
sean is excited to play for a coach with such a tradition of success and developing players at both the college and professional levels
sean is a very
sean is an amazing musician
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is a 2 x us olympian and 5 x national champion in singles
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is the only mountaineer in history to reach the summits of three different glaciers with 14 first ascents
sean is a happy smiling boy
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is internationally recognized for his work with service
sean is a powerful speaker and
sean is a house painter
sean is still healthy
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is sarah's 14 year
sean is the only son of a third generation american merchant
sean is well on his way to a full
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is not able to personally respond to all your e
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is funny on june 14th it's summer
sean is with you
sean is different
sean is the whole package
sean is successful partly because of his uncanny ability to understand the buying motivations and brand affiliation drivers among a target market segment
sean is a four
sean is happily married to sculptor pam adams
sean is currently stationed in aftghanistan
sean is in an intensive
sean is not a "bad boy" in any sense
sean is excited to be a miami resident
sean is alive and
sean is pictured here in 2003 with the lovely linda
sean is the sole proprietor of caillouette design and has been for the past 5 years
sean is known for his limitless enthusiasm
sean is nervous about attending high school in the fall
sean is chattering a lot these days
sean is some loser guy
sean is leaving
sean is gorgeous
sean is a quadriplegic due to arthritis with complications and has been for many years
sean is the first and only australian charity that specifically supports the cycling community
sean is the co
sean is taking over
sean is here
sean is/is not
sean is slightly famouser
sean is gay
sean is dead' rumour
sean is a communications consultant
sean is correct
sean is destroying the boards
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is film�s premier attraction
sean is one
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is finally gone
sean is weg
sean is a tourist
sean is showing
sean is missing
sean is off
sean is saying
sean is standing over my
sean is transvestite nipple picture
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog
sean is a smash hit twice on same day
sean is right on target
sean is wonderful
sean is thailand celebrity pornography
sean is wijven internet directory
sean is rosco
sean is a little pissed because no one wants
sean is funny on june 14th
sean is getting married
sean is pornlist house wife breasts
sean is h�hepunkt sex sluts
sean is
sean is not a planning tool
sean is not gay
sean is stone
sean is a very bright young man
sean is growing more every day
sean is dead' rumour sean is gay sean is silenced sean is/is not sean is penelope keith's son sean is a tourist sean is wonderful sean is showing sean is mine
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is also well know for other international roles
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog again
sean is currently a post
sean is a mammal
sean is pushing negative 7 gs
sean is there
sean is total eye
sean is nice 2
sean is diabetic
sean is excited to play for a coach with such a tradition of success and developing players at both the college and professional levels
sean is a very
sean is an amazing musician
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is a 2 x us olympian and 5 x national champion in singles
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is the only mountaineer in history to reach the summits of three different glaciers with 14 first ascents
sean is a happy smiling boy
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is internationally recognized for his work with service
sean is a powerful speaker and
sean is a house painter
sean is still healthy
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is sarah's 14 year
sean is the only son of a third generation american merchant
sean is well on his way to a full
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is not able to personally respond to all your e
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is funny on june 14th it's summer
sean is with you
sean is different
sean is the whole package
sean is successful partly because of his uncanny ability to understand the buying motivations and brand affiliation drivers among a target market segment
sean is a four
sean is happily married to sculptor pam adams
sean is currently stationed in aftghanistan
sean is in an intensive
sean is not a "bad boy" in any sense
sean is excited to be a miami resident
sean is alive and
sean is pictured here in 2003 with the lovely linda
sean is the sole proprietor of caillouette design and has been for the past 5 years
sean is known for his limitless enthusiasm
sean is nervous about attending high school in the fall
sean is chattering a lot these days
sean is some loser guy
sean is leaving
sean is gorgeous
sean is a quadriplegic due to arthritis with complications and has been for many years
sean is the first and only australian charity that specifically supports the cycling community
sean is the co
sean is taking over
sean is here
sean is/is not
sean is slightly famouser
sean is gay
sean is dead' rumour
sean is a communications consultant
sean is correct
sean is destroying the boards
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is film�s premier attraction
sean is one
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is finally gone
sean is weg
sean is a tourist
sean is showing
sean is missing
sean is off
sean is saying
sean is standing over my
sean is transvestite nipple picture
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog
sean is a smash hit twice on same day
sean is right on target
sean is wonderful
sean is thailand celebrity pornography
sean is wijven internet directory
sean is rosco
sean is a little pissed because no one wants
sean is funny on june 14th
sean is getting married
sean is pornlist house wife breasts
sean is h�hepunkt sex sluts
sean is
sean is not a planning tool
sean is not gay
sean is stone
sean is a very bright young man
sean is growing more every day
sean is dead' rumour sean is gay sean is silenced sean is/is not sean is penelope keith's son sean is a tourist sean is wonderful sean is showing sean is mine
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is also well know for other international roles
sean is thinking about getting a 3rd dog again
sean is currently a post
sean is a mammal
sean is pushing negative 7 gs
sean is there
sean is total eye
sean is nice 2
sean is diabetic
sean is excited to play for a coach with such a tradition of success and developing players at both the college and professional levels
sean is a very
sean is an amazing musician
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is a 2 x us olympian and 5 x national champion in singles
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is the only mountaineer in history to reach the summits of three different glaciers with 14 first ascents
sean is a happy smiling boy
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is internationally recognized for his work with service
sean is a powerful speaker and
sean is a house painter
sean is still healthy
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is sarah's 14 year
sean is the only son of a third generation american merchant
sean is well on his way to a full
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is not able to personally respond to all your e
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is funny on june 14th it's summer
sean is with you
sean is different
sean is the whole package
sean is successful partly because of his uncanny ability to understand the buying motivations and brand affiliation drivers among a target market segment
sean is a four
sean is happily married to sculptor pam adams
sean is currently stationed in aftghanistan
sean is in an intensive
sean is not a "bad boy" in any sense
sean is excited to be a miami resident
sean is alive and
sean is pictured here in 2003 with the lovely linda
sean is the sole proprietor of caillouette design and has been for the past 5 years
sean is known for his limitless enthusiasm
sean is nervous about attending high school in the fall
sean is chattering a lot these days
sean is some loser guy
sean is leaving
sean is gorgeous
sean is a quadriplegic due to arthritis with complications and has been for many years
sean is the first and only australian charity that specifically supports the cycling community
sean is the co
sean is/is not
sean is top notch
sean is 2 nice
sean is getting married
sean is new chairman of fih athletes panel
sean is right on target
sean is dead' rumour
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is film�s premier attraction
sean is one
sean is destroying the boards
sean is here in bangkok thailand
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is right on
sean is taking over
sean is showing
sean is slightly famouser
sean is off
sean is a communications consultant
sean is bored when
sean is 1337
sean is standing over my
sean is missing
sean is loose
sean is rosco
sean is wonderful
sean is proud that holly opened her eyes
sean is a tourist
sean is connecticut boys girl
sean is really sick
sean is using his british
sean is?
sean is a dork
sean is not a mailbox
sean is right
sean is gettin busy with it
sean is my father
sean is ugly as heck
sean is chulo nude actor
sean is a weirdo
sean is boots ebony man
sean is biggie
sean is the star
sean is
sean is not a planning tool
sean is back
sean is dead' rumour sean is gay sean is silenced sean is/is not sean is penelope keith's son sean is a tourist sean is wonderful sean is showing sean is mine
sean is stone
sean is currently filming troy in mexico
sean is my only friend
sean is growing more every day
sean is a very bright young man
sean is slightly famouser even though monica hooked the whole thing up
sean is caring
sean is commenting on the state of the media
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is a mammal
sean is there
sean is proud that holly opened her eyes first
sean is able to back up these claims as he is the 1998
sean is using his british sean is using his british accent
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is an initiated tibetan monk
sean is evaporated herbal tea without the herbs
sean is not a mailbox?
sean is currently a post
sean is the only mountaineer in history to reach the summits of three different glaciers with 14 first ascents
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is a house painter
sean is diabetic
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is a happy smiling boy
sean is a 2 x us olympian and 5 x national champion in singles & doubles and 6 x mixed doubles champion
sean is excited to play for a coach with such a tradition of success and developing players at both the college and professional levels
sean is ceo of social change online
sean is internationally recognized for his work with service
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is really looking forward to the worlds as it looks likely that professional irish rider mark scanlon will be riding the professional race
sean is a four
sean is taken to the operating room
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is a web
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is supportive of our financial plans and recognises the importance of regular donations over one
sean is a general partner specializing in helping to build communications and information technology companies
sean is a die
sean is an alien hunter
sean is still healthy
sean is a hardworking young man
sean is a recent graduate of delta high school
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is running
sean is here in bangkok thailand
sean is 2 nice
sean is/is not
sean is getting married
sean is dead' rumour
sean is rosco
sean is right on
sean is overall winner at 2002
sean is one
sean is showing
sean is penelope keith's son
sean is film�s premier attraction
sean is right on target
sean is destroying the boards
sean is new chairman of fih athletes panel
sean is slightly famouser
sean is really sick
sean is using his british
sean is top notch
sean is a fat head
sean is pet
sean is a communications consultant
sean is ready for his boys first time
sean is a wonderful little boy
sean is wonderful
sean is in sweden
sean is bored when
sean is off
sean is missing
sean is taking over
sean is standing over my
sean is standing
sean is here
sean is loose
sean is 1337
sean is a tourist
sean is back
sean is history; the
sean is awesome
sean is gettin busy with it
sean is not a mailbox?
sean is not a mailbox
sean is?
sean is at it again
sean is right
sean is proud that holly opened her eyes
sean is
sean is stone
sean is overall winner at 2002 credit union poster event
sean is dead' rumour sean is gay sean is silenced sean is/is not sean is penelope keith's son sean is a tourist sean is wonderful sean is showing sean is mine
sean is slightly famouser even though monica hooked the whole thing up
sean is using his british sean is using his british accent
sean is growing more every day
sean is a very bright young man
sean is there
sean is standing over my shoulder as we laugh our asses off at some funny
sean is a mammal
sean is currently filming troy in mexico
sean is history; the original alliance survives to the end
sean is a much more disciplined actor than i was at his age
sean is well known for creating support for his on
sean is gay
sean is my hero
sean is evaporated herbal tea without the herbs
sean is able to back up these claims as he is the 1998
sean is just spewing propaganda; no thought has ever come out of his head during your show
sean is diabetic
sean is a very good kid who i know from chicago julian and i wish him nothing but success
sean is dead' rumour sean is/is not sean is a tourist sean is back sean is wonderful sean is a total wanker sean is mine sean is using his
sean is to bring rocky to school to show everyone down the road
sean is currently a post
sean is the only mountaineer in history to reach the summits of three different glaciers with 14 first ascents
sean is the future
sean is an alien hunter
sean is a happy smiling boy
sean is not in mood to be interviewed again this day
sean is an amazing musician
sean is a terrific actor i first noticed
sean is a better boyfriend than my real boyfriend
sean is sworn to secrecy about these scenes and how they were done
sean is a house painter
sean is excited to play for a coach with such a tradition of success and developing players at both the college and professional levels
sean is gorgeous
sean is a graduate of clarke college in dubuque
sean is taken to the operating room
sean is getting better
sean is such a hottie
sean is a respected arts broadcaster
sean is proud that holly opened her eyes first
sean is pictured here in 2003 with the lovely linda
sean is 2 nice

In Which I Share A Piece Of Video Even More Frightening Than Jeepers Creepers 2

2005-07-18T23:31:00.000-07:00

When you begin to watch this, just sit back and remember: This is real. Galen is real. His mom is more so. Welcome to my adolescence.

http://www.fazed.org/video/view/?id=34

Stay with this... it pays off.

In Which Rizzo Meets The Creeper... and lives to tell the tale

2005-07-16T23:23:00.000-07:00

So this was an extraordinary coincidence... on day three of the comic con I happen to walk by a booth with a handsome actor looking dude standing in front of a wall covered in Jeepers Creepers 2 posters... well, those thousands of you who read this blog regularly will remember it was not too long ago that I happened to watch Jeepers Creepers 2 to remove the bad taste of The Fantastic 4 from my mouth. So I wander up to the booth just out of curiosity and I say to the actor dude, "What was your role in the movie?" And he says he was the star. Well... this brings up something interesting about that movie... it doesn't really have a star. I mean, perhaps you could consider the star of the movie the farmer dude but he isn't even in it that much... and then maybe the coach but he becomes crow food way too early for that... and all your nominations will go like this... nahh... not him... he died... not her... dead... so who is the star? Well, if you ask actor Jonathan Breck, he will say that he is the star. He plays the crow demon dude that people seem to call The Creeper. The interesting truth here is that he really is the star but to my recollection, which might be poor, he doesn't have a line. And yet he's a discriminating monster who chooses only a few victims out of large crowds based on their scent. Or he will kill you if he thinks you might interfere with his plans. So he is quite sentient although he doesn't talk... which makes sense because who in the fuck would he talk to?

So a further coincidence was that Jonathan hated Fantastic 4 as much as I did. He actually walked out on it... but that could have been because he had been up for the role of The Thing and watching that damn overacting Michael Chiklis fuck everything up was just too painful.

So more contacts made on days 2 & 3 and pics of Rizzo at the comicon coming shortly.

I Which Rizzo Rocks The International Comic Convention -- Report On Day 1

2005-07-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

As I left for the Comic-com on day one, my incredibly supportive and very encouraging best buddy Rob quipped hopefully, "Give it three days and Rizzo will be the buzz of the convention." With these words ringing in my ears I braved the crowds of freaks topping a hundred thousand and went to make a name for Sean and myself.

There first event for me was a seminar on copyright, considering that John from the Splayed Corn newspaper had just sent me an agreement including the line "The Splayed Corn will retain copyright for all work it commissions from you." That was a line I deleted and initialed before popping it in the mail and getting on a plane to San Diego. I figured I should learn more about this copyright crap and so there I was with Mr. Entertainment Attorney who spent two hours talking about himself and very little time talking about the distinction between copyright and permission -- see, we hold copyright but we grant permission to run Rizzo. Sean and I are sort of like Kings that way.

The next seminar was in the very same room and was on NETWORKING... so I stayed in the room and some artist named Peaboy... I think that's really his name... makes you wonder what happened in the Medieval village with one of his ancestors, doesn't it? So he was a friendly and determined geek and had worked hard to live at the very edge of the comics world, still scrambling for gigs like a fireant loosing footing on a steep mound of gravel with all the other fucking fireants. It sounded like miserable life but he basically said this about networking, Be Brave, Be Polite -- two hours and that's what it boiled down to. And he also mentioned that 99% percent of this convention was geared directly to comics like the very famous EZTA OF URANUS and 1% geared toward comics anything like Rizzo. I heard this and thought once again that Sean was a dolt for not coming but I got over that and after having my personal audience with Mr. Peaboy I set off to find the National Cartoonist Society booth in the ocean of freakish blood spattered booths and like I do when I play any kind of quest game, I was repeating National Cartoonist Society in my head so that I would not be distracted by the nearly nude models behind every corner. And freaks dressed as Darth Vader. I wanted to see two darth vaders fucking kicking each other asses. I actually walked up to one and said, "Hey, Darth, that Darth over there said you like like a fucking retard." I got outa that area just as security was arriving. No blows had been thrown and I saw both Darths take off their helmets and start looking around for the fat bald asshole who started the fracas.

So then I had a KILLER conversation with two executives from Nova Zone entertainment. They started cracking the fuck up at the $8 dollar bound Rizzo packet I handed them. I have 39 left. FUCK. Anyway. "Oh, shit, this Rizzo explains six panel deal is fucking sweet. Could you write these into eleven minute scripts for Cartoon Networks Adult Swim?" Fuck yes. So they explain to me that I need to attend the Adult Swim pitch panel -- which I did and Sean and I will be making that pitch after I get home because I got the fucking inside skinny and I'm not blabbing it here for you but we'll see ya on the small screen baby... anyway... excellent chat with Nova Zone execs and I was off to find the Cartoonists Society of America.

The famous cartoonist who writes Maryann was standing there. I told him how much I enjoy Maryann and guided the conversation around in such a way that he was holding the Rizzo book. "This is in five papers?" He said this as though it were something on the bottom of ones shoe at a dog park. I'm thinking: Be Brave, Be POLITE -- thank you mr peeman... then this fucking jerk loser says, "Have you tried the syndicates" I reply "A few" this mother fucker says, "Oh, if one didn't pick it up there must be something wrong with it. Sorry for the bad news." BE POLITE... Be polite...

I nod... take the book back... and really, the rest of the day kind of sucked until I found the rattle snake eggs and then saw some strippers...

I talked to a number of people who told me "You gotta go web comics with this, it's great." FUCK WEB COMICS and the FIUCKERS WHO CREATE THEM! I met you fucking smiling dolts yesterday and you all suck ass.

My life is now dedicated to kicking Maryann's ass out of the dailies and Sean and I will fucking do it with crisp clean mother fucking DAILIES that are written for newspapers and lead to CHECKS being mailed to us. Fucking loser web comic mother fucks.

BE POLITE

Today is MAJOR PUBLISHERS day... I scoped them all out yesterday. I will also be talking to Kim from Animation Money Bucks... mousy smart looking woman who looks like she's hiding a body part that could snap a man's back in two.

So, I have recovered from Maryaannn fucker... today is a new day and I am off to the races.

In Which I Write The Next Fantastic Four Movie

2005-07-10T23:06:00.000-07:00

DESPACIO! It means slow in Spanish. Fuck, I could write it in fifty different languages as a warning to anyone who is planning on going to that fucking train wreck called Fantastic 4.

Seriously folks, a movie made by retards for retards only.

And I WANTED it to be good. I make no secret that I was a maladjusted child. So at the age of eight all I had was Marvel Comics. And the Fantastic 4 stack was huge. I read their origins, their battles, the cross blendings, the whole thing. I wanted this fucking movie to be good.

And the only thing I could think of while I was watching this movie was: When will this movie BEGIN?

It literally never began. Reed and Sue arguing for fifty hours about who wrecked their relationship. The Thing crying into his booze. It was sad and slow. It was SUPPOSED to be block buster action movie. I could have slept.

To get the bad taste of that movie out of my mouth I rented and watched the heart pounding Jeepers Creepers 2. Shit, what a movie. I know this sounds strange... but for what the movie is and is trying to do... it's great. It set out to shock, frighten and surprise -- and it did it in a way that made it almost believable, save that the farmer at the beginning whose kid gets spirited away by an enormous crow doesn't think of calling any authorities but instead sets to building a harpoon gun because that's the first thing that came to his mind. I mean, like you're ever really ever going to see the fucking crow that stole your kid again anyway. But that aside... oh yeah, and for the fact that they don't take the demon pod at the end of the movie and smelt it into a block of titanium... and then put it in a nuclear reactor. But I won't have any spoilers here. It's pretty good even though they leave it wide open for Jeepers Creepers 3... and you see... I HAVE Jeepers Creepers 3 right here:

Jeepers Creepers Crow Kills and Eats All Four Members Of The Fantastic Four: Hot Invisible Girl Last

Okay, I haven't worked on the title much but this would be a fucking great movie. I hated everyone of the Fantastic Four and I think they would make excellent crow food. I would be rooting FOR the crow in this movie. But it wouldn't be over because Jeepers Creepers 4 is this:

Jeepers Creepers Crow Goes To Washington.

This last needs to be made soon.

In Which A Fleeting Moment Of Shame And Regret Is Wiped Away

2005-07-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

Shame died. Who knows exactly when but I think we all know it happened. It's weird to me because I was born in a world that still had some some shame. Fuck, I was shamed miserably and frankly, I am glad to see it go. Fuck you, Shame! We are dancing on your grave! Fuck you shame! My mother caught me masturbating when I was ten or eleven. Talk about shame. I threw my body in a puddle of mud. She called me horrible names "ugly" "dirty" -- fuck I am sure I have blocked many of them out. Some had many syllables and were horrible, "disgisting" "perverse". That's how shame is perpetuated. A person in a position of authority finds something to shame a person in a weaker position about and the shaming happens. The entire fucking British class system of the 19th century was based on shame. "That's shameful." "Shame on you." Read the original Thomas the Tank Engine stories by Reverend Audrey. It's all about the British class system. King, Aristocracy, Military Officers, Enlisted Military, Prols, Plebs etc. etc. And they use shame to enforce a value system that uplifts a few and opresses many. So, Shame, I say fuck you!

And yet... here comes the turn in my sonnet.

It's weird to live in a world without shame. Paris Hilton. Jerry Springer. Southpark. Rap videos. Porn crap. All just absolutely shameless crap. Frankly I believe the world is a shitty place not when shameless crap exists... but when it is all so fucking popular. "It's getting hot in here... so let's take off all our clothes." The first time I heard that lyric I was subbing in an 8th grade classroom. Someone played the song on a boom box. I don't know how much innocence was left in that room but I felt embarrassed. Then an 8th grade student showed me the lyrics of DMX and Eminem. This was the 90s. A CHILD was showing me this stuff. And it was "okay" that he was showing it to me, a teacher, because major record labels produced it -- warning or no, Tipper. It was all over and it snuck up on me and before I knew it, shame had died. Girls were suddenly flashing their tits all the time and even normal fifteen year old virgins were going into salons and asking for Brazilian pussy and asshole waxing. Why? Because they were shameless and society told them that it was all about money and sex. And that's what happened. It turned out that it really was all about money and sex. And I don't know if girls who allow boatloads of dudes to fuck them cry bitter tears in the lonely hours of the night but they might and if that's so... if society has killed shame and it has created human suffering that only comes out in our most private moments and we cry bitter tears of regret... then that's sad.

So all the above is simply preface to this video clip I am about to share. [Shame on me for surfing wtfpeople.com.] It's a link in which a drunk girl is dancing on the bar and she falls off... and as she is being helped up, her breast falls out (ooh, shame on me) and she is standing there... in front of hundreds of people... now this is where something interesting happens. In the very last moments of this tiny clip, she notices that her boob is dangling exposed, and she covers herself... here... watch her face... her hands cover her now clothed boobs and her mouth frowns bitterly. Folks: That expression is Shame. Hello Shame, you are not dead. Pause the video. It is genuine. She is absolutely miserable. Shame. Been there. But we live in a world of Paris Hilton and Eminem and Girls Gone Wild and so what's there to be ashamed of in a simple nip-slip? Now... she raises her hand to her mouth and it is as though she pastes a smile. Frown in one frame. Smile in the next.

But my question is this: What does it mean? She was drunk. Her breast got exposed. So what the fuck? It's good she got over it inside of an eye blink. But this is my concern. Are people really "over it?" That's the big fucking new phrase these days: "Get over it."

Shame used to have the power to create Hari Kari. Now it's gone. I just don't know what to think.

In Which I Watch My Mother-In-Law Losing Her Mind

2005-07-05T08:25:00.000-07:00

If you have followed my blog wth anything but the most passing interest then you will remember that Kory and I moved to this Godforsaken state to help take care of my mother-in-law who is suffering from advancing parkinsons disease. After the pie last night with the in-laws, we were all sitting around the dinner table, being incredibly amused by my boy who is incredibly amusing and Jean, his grandmother and my mother-in-law, says to him, "Can you say Uncle Chris? This is your Uncle Chris."

The adults were stunned silent. But not my boy. He says, "Chris is my daddy, Gramma!"

I muttered, "You tell her."

And the evening rolled along and no one said a thing about it further.

And this is how it happens with people I guess. They start with losing it a very little. One sentence here. One sentence there. And the next thing you know, they have lost it completely.

In Which We Learn That Some Things Really Are Just Awesome

2005-07-05T08:14:00.000-07:00

This piece of video shows a surfer riding an enormous wave in a hurricane... and making it.

http://www.kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=2403&rtn=index-topten

Considering my circumstances, it's a bit inspiring for me today.

In Which We Learn That Steven Spielberg and Tim Robbins Are Weak Kneed Lackeys For The Man

2005-07-03T07:39:00.000-07:00

Do you want to know what real horror is? Real horror is having all of your summer classes canceled and having to live off your fucking credit cards. Try that shit. And real horror is believing in a project that you are working on with a partner so much that instead of getting a "real job" you work for ten hours a day on this speculative project, and make slow progress that could lead to real success, only to find out that your partner jeapordizes the whole project by acting like a dumb thug, almost getting himself killed by mafia and then arrested and then he injures himself while in the jail cell because he thinks he's fighting the man. You know what... that's the video I want to see played on the Internet. But that's a different story, I'm here to talk about scary. And I'm confessing that perhaps I'm in no mood for scary because I live scary and if you want to scare me you better have the fucking contagious walking dead and not some moose horned tripod aliens with blowjob hole mouths who talk in weird assed whisper and are so fucking stupid they came to America and drank the fucking water. How dumb could they possibly be? Everybody knows you don't drink the fucking water. Shit, I go to Mexico and I buy bottled and that's right next door.

Fucking slurp slurp slurp scene where these tripods moose horned freaks are too dumb to even know how to use a cup. Spare me Steven, you fucking lacky for the man.

Steven: But Tim Robbins and I thought we'd be so fucking insurgent and mention that the occupations never win. Dude, we're not pussies. We're on your side.

Chris: Suck balls you cock sucker! I remember watching Ton Cruise chase a fucking eyeball down a stair case in one of your movies. I remember the faces of two innocents looking up from a shitter. You are a god damn genius and you don't know how to use celluloid or digital technology to tell George the mother fucker liberty stealing civilian bombing mommy fucking Bush that's he's a fucking retard. Couldn't you just fucking say it so that when people walked out of the theater they were thinking, "Gee, Gladys, maybe voting for that Bush was the biggest mistake we've ever made."

That's the fucking movie I want to see.

All the fucking people that Bush is screwing over these days waking up and realizing they fucked up by voting for him and then kicking themselves for half an hour and then marching to the white house by the millions to demand that he pack his goddamn luggage and move to Bermuda.

Tim Robbins: But in the movie I said something about how occupations never win. See?

Chris: Blow me and go back to making fart in the wind comment movies that don't change anything like Bob Roberts.

Tim and Steve: See Chris, you saw Bob Roberts and Bullworth and all those other fucking movies that actually say something... you can't change things. So we're cocksuckers. Look, Farhenheit 911 came out in time enough to educate everyone and the vote was still close enough that the cocksucker in cheif still was able to steal the election with all his rigged fucking Diebold Voting machines.

I've lost it. I'm too angry to blog. I'm so fucking angry. Falling back into mommy blog land... I just can't fucking believe it. I say the word Diebold and I just think WHAT THE FUCK -- it's not democracy ASSHOLES if you CAN'T ASSURE THE VOTE!!!!! Fucking CRAP!

Tom Cruise's smug face hiding behind corners scary? No.

DIEBOLD -- yeah, you bet.

And the fact that no one will fucking walk out and start throwing rocks.

We've got to start making action a fucking key part of our lives or the fucking Pugs are going to plug their fucking blood siphening straws into us and spray us all over America... hey, wait... maybe there was more to that movie than I knew...

Yes... they've been with us for thousands of years: THE RICH.
They have waited underground until the time was right: THE RICH.
They suck the blood of the rest of us and spray it all over the country side: THE RICH REPUBLICANS!

Naaahhhh... fuck it.