I know most of you have seen the classic film Friday, and wondered, “What are hog maws, Mr. Jones?” Yes, hog maws are the stomach’s of pigs. And if you think that might be tasty take a look at the picture I dug up for you of hog maws. Want some?
“Every time I come in the kitchen, you in the kitchen. In the goddamn refrigerator, eatin’ up all the food. All the chitlins, all the pig’s feet, all the collard greens, all the hog maws. I wanna eat them chitlins, I like pigs feet.”— - Mr. Jones (John Witherspoon), Friday
Ok, yeah, I smoke cigarettes. I smoke fifty packs a day. I like it, I enjoy it. It gives me something to do. It keeps me calm when I’m feeling stressed, it gives me a break in the monotony of the day. I’m a smoker, I know it, but people around me seem to think I’m afflicted. As if, because I smoke I want people to help me stop smoking. I’m a smoker, HELP ME, I can’t control myself. I’m killing myself everyday and I just want YOU to help me stop. Please help me, I’m a useless human being who doesn’t understand what I’m doing. HELP!
Fuck you. I smoke and I want to smoke. So, suck it and fuck it assholes. If I want help, I ask for help. If I don’t want to smoke, I won’t smoke. If I have problems quitting, I’ll deal with it then. But, I’m not ready yet. My life isn’t that important yet to have a need to stop smoking. If someone doesn’t like me because I smoke, suck my ass. Unless I’m doing a family thing, or if you want my body and you don’t like smokers, I’m going to smoke. If you’re either of the two previous thing, BAM, I stop smoking. I’ve done it many, many times. A girl I was seeing before had me stop for months. Months! And I did it, I did it all for the nookie. But, as of now, I’m a smoker, just like my idol Bogie.
I wasn’t mad when they banned cigarettes from restaurants and bars. I think it’s a good idea. First of all getting engulfed by cigarette smoke while trying to eat a meal sucks assholes, it’s nice to just enjoy your food without distractions. The only good thing was enjoying a cigarette after you eat, but you can sit up and walk outside if you really need it. As for smoking at bars, well, it kind of sucks, but not totally. Did I care that my clothes smelled like smoke after bars? Nah. My clothes smell like smoke anyway. The thing that I like about it is that it gives you that break from the bar. Away from the loud music and tight places, so that you can really talk to someone one on one or to get away from the annoyingness that is the bar. It actually gives you something to do while drinking, take a walk outside. Nice, thanks lawmakers!
So, smoke if you got ‘em, or don’t smoke if you don’t. I don’t think people should be judged on their smoking status. In fact, I don’t think people should be judged at all. But, these are judging times. And if you choose to enjoy cigarettes and subtract years off your life, go for it. I’d rather enjoy cigarettes now, then make with the diarrhea in my Depends when I’m eighty-four.
“I can remember a time in this country when men were proud to get cancer, God dammit! When it was a sign of manhood! John Wayne had cancer twice. Second time, they took out one of his lungs. He said, “Take ‘em both! Cuz I don’t fuckin’ need ‘em! I’ll grow gills and breathe like a fish!”— - Denis Leary, No Cure for Cancer
Baseball, Baseball, Catch the Fever Now or Pat Burrell's Chlamydia
Well it’s in the 6 AM hour here on Tuesday, and I have the luxury of watching the first baseball game of the season due to me being up so early. Red Sox are already down 2 and Dice-K seems to be sucking even though he’s playing in Japan. Sucks to be Dice-K, doesn’t it? It’s like if the movie Mr. Baseball was real and Tom Selleck’s team came to play in the USA and Tom Selleck sucked hard.
Even if he played with his shirt off! Anyway, I’d like to say that I’m real excited that baseball season is underway. I’m a huge Phillies fan and after last year where they did as well as they did, this year is looking bright. And people ask who is my favorite Phillie, and I always answer Pat Burrell. People are shocked and outraged, and tell me how much he sucks balls. I just ignore them and think of this.
And then I remember all about Pat. Pat the Bat. Pat is the fuckin’ man, and I ask anyone to bring that shit to me, cause I’ll tell you why.
Top 10 Reasons Why Pat Burrell Rocks
10. Pat Burrell has a hot wife.
9. Pat Burrell knows that the called 3rd strike that just went by him was actually a ball. So he gives the ump a look as if to say, “You got that one wrong, bro.”
8. Pat Burrell plays outfield, while not being good at outfield. (If you play a professional sport and you’re not good at your position, yet you still play and get paid, that rocks.)
7. Pat Burrell has a toenail at the end of his penis.
6. Pat Burrell is a “Met-Killer” and has killed former Mets Howard Johnson, David Cone, and Willie McGee. Their heads are mounted in his den.
5. Pat Burrell has gotten booed, and very often, at his home stadium as he comes up to the plate, yet he still loves Philly and wants to stay.
4. Pat Burrell flipped off the Red Sox and it’s forever remembered.
3. Pat Burrell has a no-trade contract and the Phils have tried to trade him like 3 times last year. He just waves his finger like Mutumbo and says, “No-no, Pat stays here.”
2. Pat Burrell wets the bed, and has done it on his various hot sleeping guests.
1. Pat Burrell is a player of the game, you can tell when watching him he really loves baseball and that kind of love for the game is missed in a lot of players. When I watch Pat it makes me love the game too, for what it is. And Pat Burrell will lick your asshole for a half-gram of crystal meth.
And that’s that folks. Pat fuckin’ rocks, and I know, I’ve run into him twice in the Rittenhouse square area. And one time I waved at him like I was a lunatic, Pat just stared at me. It was a stare of complete contentment, and that’s the day I knew I was destined for great things …
“So remember, when you’re feeling very small and insecure, how amazingly unlikely is your birth. And pray that there’s intelligent life somewhere up in space, ‘cause there’s bugger all down here on Earth.”— - Eric Idle, The Galaxy Song
I have been going to bed very early recently due to me working early and waking up at 6 AM everyday for the second week in a row. My body is still not used to this going to bed before midnight deal so I have a lot of time I spend laying in my bed to let my thoughts fly. It’s been bad. My mind is so clouded with thoughts it’s hard to go to sleep. It’s flying from one end of the spectrum back to the other side and leads to late night stress and anxiety which I’m not used to. I like to relax and sleep, not worry.
And all the anxiety and worrying leads to fucked up dreams. Back in ‘07, my dreams were spectacular. They were all fucked up in good ways. Like being transported to a world where everything is made out of gummy. And I can just run around biting into cars, trees, dogs, streets, and people’s shoulders.
Or swimming in a pool of money like Scrooge McDuck in DuckTales. Or being selected for America’s Got Talent and have nothing prepared so you just make weird sounds into the mic for 3 minutes. Or playing in a televised poker event naked and constantly trying to check-raise your balls. Or actually being in Wolfenstein 3D and having to remember your past video game knowledge to beat the game and come out alive. Nazi killing is such a great thing to add to a dream and I’ve had this dream multiple times, it’s awesome trust me.
But no. The fun has ended folks. You might even call them nightmares, but nightmares are dreams, so I’m just gonna stick to one word. My dreams suck now. I have dreams I go to work and accidentally kill people in the MRI scanner, and it doesn’t end there, I go through the whole process of being reprimanded, arrested, sentenced, and jailed. It’s horrible, and when I reach jail I’m such a mess, that I just get fucked up by everyone else there. What fun! Or I had a dream that two of my friends were gay with each other. Now, that doesn’t sound so bad, but it was frightening for me. Because I was just sitting down watching TV with them, and one just started going down on the other one. The shock alone of this happening made me defecate. I’ve also had a few dreams where friends turn Benedict Arnold on me, and ruin my life in different ways. Whether it’s stealing girlfriends, identity theft, or killing someone close to me, it seems that people I once trusted are turning against me in my dreams. It has gotten to the point that I want to go back to not dreaming at all, it’s a lot less of a hassle to not be stressed like that while I sleep. Plus it’s making me try to distance myself from these people in real life, I don’t understand dreams, but if you saw off my foot in a dream, I’m not gonna be your friend the next day and buy you a High Life at a bar. No. No, High Life for you.
Well, no not really. But, I really liked how that title sounded, so I went with it. Yes, it’s Good Friday, the day when Jesus died, and I wonder why I sit here on my lunch break at work, that I’m here today. I mean the Lord and Savior of my religion died today, and I have to sit here and MRI people all day? That makes no sense. Other people have off, but health care workers have to work through this. Fuck that. I want off. I love Jesus, and pray to him, but other people who don’t still get off. Why must I suffer through another day of work? Ugh, I can’t even write anymore, I’m so miserable here. It’s just been a fuckin’ awful kind of day and I check the NCAA scoreboard and all my teams are losing. Great, I’m the douche of the world. I have to sit here and work my ass off, watch my pool hopes go down the drain, and then in the back of my mind I have to remember that the Romans killed Jesus today. Fuckin’ Romans. Sure, Jesus died for our sins, but you could have let it waited until he was an old man. I mean Jesus had a lot more to do, at least he could have, I didn’t know him personally. And Drake is losing by 7 points, fuck Drake. I have bad problems going with teams that I like their names, and make them go to the Elite 8.
But, no they won’t even get out of the 1st round. I always tell myself, just go for who’s supposed to win. But, I have to pick these huge upsets, and hope that everyone thinks I’m a genius when I take all their money. Fuck Western Kentucky. I bet if Jesus were around today he would have picked Drake over Western Kentucky. I mean what is even in Western Kentucky. Who the fuck knows? It’s fuckin’ Western Kentucky. I need to get out of work now before insanity completely takes over. Goodbye for now, remember Jesus died, Drake’s dying, and I’m dead (figuratively).
I recently had an article about Skip-It’s and how I loved it when I was little. This must have been a downright lie by me. Because, a friend recently bought a Skip-It (off eBay, due to my blog) and I gave it a whirl. I couldn’t get the damned thing started by myself, no matter which direction I kicked my leg. I looked like a damn fool trying to get it to spin. Then I was finally told that you have to pick up the ball and spin that sucker around to get it started. So, I did that and it started spinning, and the first kick I gave to get it to go around again, it came back so fast to my other leg that it nearly took out my ankle and sent me tumbling to the floor. After the near-death experience I refused to try the Skip-It again. This couldn’t have been something that I loved and enjoyed by myself in the early 90’s, I’m sorry for blatently lying to all of you. I sometimes get how much fun people are having on commercials confused with how much fun I was having in my own life.
“So if you are the Christ yes the great Jesus Christ, feed my household with this bread - you can do it on your head.”— - King Herod, Jesus Christ Superstar, trying to get Jesus to prove who he is through song and dance with a bunch of strangely clad hippies
“It’s beyond me. Help me, Mommy! I’ll be good, you’ll see. Take this dream away. What’s this? Let’s see. I feel sexy. What’s come over me? Oooh, here it comes again.”— - Brad Majors, Rose Tint My World, Rocky Horror Picture Show
Fear them, for they can kill you and have no remorse. In case you don’t know, Ambien is a sleeping medication for people who have trouble sleeping. Now, that’s fine with me, take it if you can’t sleep. But, it’s what happens after they take it which I fear. I saw a commercial last night for it, and you know how all the prescription medication commercials has that list at the end of it of all the side effects like loose and watery bowels. Well, this one said you may eat or drive after taking ambien and have amnesia about the entire event. Whoa. Eat, yeah, whatever. Drive? DRIVE? These people can be out on the road driving and have not remember they were driving at all. Am I the only one that thinks this sounds a little dangerous? What if you were drinking and got the spins and wanted to take an ambien to get to sleep? Then you get up and drive around for a bit, killing 40 school children, come back home and sleep it off. When the police is checking out all the blood on your car, you can just say, I didn’t drive last night, I was sleeping. And it would be the truth, cause you don’t remember driving at all, Ambien made you kill those 40 school children. AMBIEN IS THE CAUSE FOR THEIR DEATHS! HASN’T HEATH LEDGER’S DEATH TAUGHT US ANYTHING?
When you hear the Village People, most people automatically think of homosexuality running rampant in the streets. Well, I was sitting downstairs with nothing to watch on TV, and Can’t Stop the Music was on TV. Wow, if you ever get a chance to watch this movie, do it. It is something else. Steve Guttenburg and Bruce Jenner were walking down the street with the Village People and the went to the YMCA. So, they walk right into the locker room and there’s a bunch of dudes changing and they start singing the YMCA to them. Then it goes into this ultimate man work-out montage with wrestling, gymnastics, pumping iron and whipping each other in the shower with towels. I would have turned it off right after the shower scene, but then they cut that scene with shots of this blonde chick’s boobs floating in a hot tub. That scene alone blew my mind, I had no idea what to think or what to do. Then they had this whole scene singing about making milkshakes, and that scene was just about the most insane piece of film I’ve witnessed.
"Leather men don’t get nervous, leather men don’t get nervous." - The Leather Dude to himself while banging his head on a wall.
Anyway, the Village People amaze me because they were a 5 dude, all-gay band and yet their songs seem to be timeless. YMCA & Macho Man alone are played at 70% of weddings and proms. Stop, wait. This was a 5 dude all-gay band, doesn’t that blow your fuckin’ mind? Imagine if a 5 dude all-gay band came out today. They wouldn’t get the time of day from anyone, it’d be for gays and that’s that. But, the Village People were for everyone, they were for disco fever, and everyone was stricken with it. They took gay pride to a whole new level. Take five macho men and have them sing about hanging out with dudes, and how much fun it is to be around dudes. I mean, you don’t even have to be gay to like their music. Dudes enjoy the company of dudes. Not all the time, but some times. And it’s not like their singing, “In the navy, you can suck some sailor’s cock, in the navy, push up hard against his rock.” They were just singing about dudes, straight up. And it had a good groove. And by the way, was the navy pissed off about that song? I mean, they didn’t even let gays in the navy back in the 70’s. That whole reference is very confusing, cause apparently the navy let them use that. Wild, anyway, I just wanted everyone to think about how the Village People owned us and made us their bitches. And forced the world to accept and dance to gay music and quite frankly, I’m glad they did.
“Vitality, they need, they also want something good and sweet. Just get a glass of milk, you see it’s not very hard to make. Add some ice cream and blend, you will have yourself a great milkshake. Do the shake, do the shake, do the milkshake, the milkshake, do the shake. Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry Yeah!”— - The Village People, Milkshake
I know what you’re thinking, are you crazy Hamish? No, I’m not, but I was thinking about it yesterday and we’ve really all taken him for granted. It’s our last year of him running our country and I’m gonna miss him. He’s been so much fun and he’s real entertaining to watch. He’s so goofy. His stumbles and stutters through his speeches, with his funny accent and weird gestures. I mean his politics are something else, but the man George W. Bush is just so great to watch in action. It’s something that I’m going to miss if Obama or McCain wins the election. They are not fun men; they are very stern and serious. Bush is a jokester, a prankster, he’s a jester performing for all of us.
And this is someone that all of us got to watch perform for us on a regular basis, you can’t pay for that kind of entertainment. And we’ve had it good for awhile, because before him we had 8 years of Clinton, and he was fuckin’ hysterical too. He was a hippie, a saxophonist, and a sexual maniac. W. Bush was pretty cool too, a college frat boy, a coke-head, and the man loved vacations. He had the life, and lived it up as best he could. He seems pretty funny personally, and I would probably have a great time chillin’ with him. We could drink together, and go out hunting and shit. If you gave me the choice of what president I would want to hang out with he’d win hands down. Reagan? Bush Sr.? Nixon? Carter? Ford? LBJ? Fuck, no. W. Bush all the way man. None of those other guys would be at all fun to hang out with, maybe Nixon for a little while, but he’d get annoying. He reminds me of that friend you have in your group who’s a little dumber than the rest of you, but he makes up for it through his sense of humor, and at the same time runs the country. If you don’t think we’re going to miss all the fun we’ve had at his behalf, you’re lying to yourself. Just think of all the laughs that have come at his expense. So, many people hate him as a president, but Will Ferrell made me pee my pants every time he impersonated him.
The two they got playing Obama and McCain on SNL, not as funny, and will never be, because Obama and McCain aren’t funny enough as people. Bush was such a riot that making fun of him, was so easy and so funny at the same time. We are going to miss out on a lot of great political humor when he leaves, and I for one am going to miss it. I don’t want to live in a country where making fun of your president is no longer commonplace to do. Well, I’ll still live here, I was just being a little extreme (thanks John Adams), I just want you all to enjoy Bushy while we still got ‘em, cause this great nation won’t have as much fun as we have had, without him. Goodbye, Bushy, I’m gonna miss you.
GWB-“Shed no tears Hamish, I will miss you too, God Bless ‘merica.”
And the Very Best Part of All, There's a Counter on the Ball!
Hey, I don’t know if you remember the late 80’s or not, but there was this amazing item that the toy company’s came out with that I absolutely loved. It was called Skip-It and was basically a shackle with a ball at the end of it.
Kind of like something they made prisoners wear in the 1910’s. Which is probably who came up with the idea. Some prisoner sitting there looking at his chain on his leg and thinking about little kid toys, then BAM, kids would love this shit. And we sure did, shackle this shit to my leg, and I would skip and skip and skip. You couldn’t stop me. Of course I would do this in the privacy of my own home, since Skip-Its were mainly for girls. And the best part was there was a counter on it, so you could see how many you did in a row. HOT SHIT!
Anyway, I recently found out that had a World Skip-It Open in Germany in 1995, and this dude who won got 300,546 skips in a row. Holy shit, man. That’s a ton of fuckin’ skippin’. And he had a custom glitter Skip-It, nice touch. But, it looks like now I’m going to have to find a Skip-It just so I can get into shape. I’m also going to need a PogoBall, anyone got any leftover in a garage somewhere?
But this is the sad state of toys today. They no longer seem to make these products that made us go outside and do physical activities. And you wonder why we see so many fat kids. Blame the toy companies, if they really wanted to help, they’d make PogoBalls and Skip-Its available to everyone. But they don’t, they want you to be fat and play video games. Thanks XBox and Playstation, you guys obviously didn’t listen to Whitney Houston when she said, “I believe the children are our future. Let’s smoke some crack and vomit our meals away.”
I tried once to get a job at Brach’s candy, they had an office somewhere near Syracuse. I called up their HR department, and told them how I was interested in working for them. I talked to this lady for 5 minutes about what the job was, and she eventually asked what is my qualifications. I told her that I’ve eaten candy for most of my life, and was partial to Brach’s. Especially the fact that they had a section of my local supermarket where you could put a nickel in and take your choice of their Pick-a-Mix. I then went on to say as I got older I began pretending to put nickels in and just stealing candy and I felt I owed Brach’s something back. At which point she hung up on me. Probably shouldn’t have done that phone call stoned. - Hamish, How to Get a Job, and How Not To
Have you ever had somebody ask you if you could go back in time to kill Hitler would you do it? If somebody asked me that, I’d be like, “I’ll kill the fucker, but only if you will let me go back to kill baby Jimmy Buffet on the day he was born.” BAM! Hopefully they’d agree and I could kill 2 birds with 2 stones. Learn it now folks, I fuckin’ hate Jimmy Buffet with every inch of my body. And Hitler, well Hitler would probably have been a huge Buffet fan if their paths ever crossed.
But, man, I sure do fuckin’ hate Jimmy Buffet with a passion. I would like to thank the new South Park last night for giving me the inspiration. I almost forgot about how much I hated him.
It started a long time ago. This is another deep seeded hatred, like Braveheart. I’m a big classic rock fan, you could say it’s my favorite kind of music. But Jimmy Buffet’s music doesn’t do anything for me, because his music is targeted at a certain group of people. I mean I guess you could call the sounds that Avril Lavigne makes on the MTV music, but I’m not a 14 year old skater boy. Get it? I’m not a 60 year old white millionaire, who does nothing but hang out at my beach house all year drinking margaritas and letting my balls hang out of the netting of my new swimming trunks. It’s these people, man, these people who I saw who were big Buffet fans, they’d make me sick. They’d get all dressed up, drink a ton of cocktails, and loaf around to his horrible music. I like drinking as much as the next guy, but you couldn’t pay me to go mingle with this crowd. A bunch of annoying beach dwellers, blowing loads in each other’s asses while sipping margaritas scares me. It’s hard to explain. It’s that music he plays, it sounds like a pile of shit picked up some musical instruments and started banging them until a song came forth. It sounds like something I expect to hear in the Enchanted Tiki Room in Disneyworld, not something coming out of my radio.
It was my unrelenting hatred of Jimmy Buffet that turned me towards vandalism. I began cracking Jimmy Buffet CD’s in every music store I went into. It’s really easy to do, just put your hand into a fist and then push your knuckles up hard against a CD case, it cracks! I seriously must have cracked over 40 Buffet CD’s at various stores, mostly in the NJ area. But, I dud manage to crack a couple when I went to England in ‘00. If you don’t believe me go to the Borders closest to my house for they got it the worse. I would go to their Buffet section and see like 10-12 in a row with cracked CD covers. I would imagine some would still be there today, for only assholes would actually buy a Buffet CD. I take that back, because Borders is known for filling their stores with assholes. Anyway, I’ll save Borders for another blog, back to Buffet.
And it’s those dreadful lyrics, “wasting away again in margaritaville,” “cheeseburger in paradise,” and “I don’t know where I’m gonna go when the volcano blows.” They shout, Hey, I’m rich and have a beach house, and Jimmy tells me that it’s ok to sit around all day, drinking, and do absolutely nothing with my life. I’m a waste of space, and will probably die in a drunk driving accident that I caused, and that killed my entire extended family. And when the volcano blows up, I’m going to melt in the magma because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do! And when I’m in hell, I can eat all the cheeseburgers I want, SWEET! FUCK YOU BUFFET! You’ve turned a whole group of people into a cult of evil asshole alcoholics. Homer Simpson clearly stated that Hawaiian shirts can only be worn by gay guys or big fat party animals. WHICH ARE YOU, PARROT HEADS? Get it? Got it? Good.
SIDE NOTE: I do have Jimmy Buffet on my iPod. But, then again I also have Celene Dion and Michael Bolton. You see, I want to be ready for any situation that might present itself. Say, I’ve got this girl in my car, and she loves the Buffet, and says how much it turns her on to hear it. BAM! I blast Margaritaville, and I’m singing along like the biggest fuckin’ Buffet fan this side of the Delaware. Ugh, sometimes I make myself sick.
I sit here and wonder what it would be like to have Don Knotts as my best friend. And I can do nothing but giggle. It would be glorious to see his eyes bug out of his head and his goofy ass voice. And then I would take advantage of him and screw him some place uncomfortable.
“Squeeze her once when she isn’t lookin’, get a squeeze back and that’s fancy cookin’.”— Marcellus, singing the Shipoopi from The Music Man, also trying to show how public squeezing of girls should not be sexual harrassment
I swear, the last 3 times I’ve gotten a cab by myself the taxi cab driver was on his cell phone the entire time. Not only that, but he’s speaking loudly in a foreign language I’ve never heard before Now, I consider myself a decently popular fellow, but I don’t seem to talk a fraction of the time as much as some random taxi cab driver. And when I do talk on the cell phone, most conversations last a couple minutes at best. These guys are gabbing it up for 5+ every time. WHO ARE THEY TALKING TO? I’ve heard the other voice on the phone before, it’s not a woman. These dudes are talking to other dudes for countless amount of time constantly. Not to mention, it’s basically illegal to talk on you cell phone while driving, in most states. These guys drive for a living and seem to talk for a living too. My first thought was it must be some kind of secret social circle, that all taxi cab drivers talk to each other, so they aren’t forced to talk to us the riders. But, what could the possibly talk about for all this time? I have 3 ideas.
They are talking about who they have in their cab and saying which celebrities they look most like.
They are making up a foreign language and talking gibberish.
They are all terrorists trying to form some kind of plan against us.
I’m against the third, because if it was true, then it’s taking them way too long and too much planning. They are all talk and no action. Which I guess is better than action, but still taxi cab drivers love people, right? That’s why they took the job, because of their interactions with people. It’s not because they’re good drivers. I’d say only about 1 in 10 are good drivers. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. Someone please enlighten me as to what foreign taxi cab drivers talk about on their cell phones all day long … perhaps it’s a 2-job thing where they are also working as a 1-900 sex operator for the Middle East?
I don’t know how many times people feel the need to tell me, “But, it’s a really good movie, how can you not see it?” Fuck that. I’ve seen a shitload of movies, probably more than most of you will ever see. Don’t doubt me, it’s fuckin’ true. There is no idea of watching a movie I hate more than the idea of watching Braveheart. I’d rather watch From Justin to Kelly 50 times in a row. I’d rather watch a movie where Queen Latifah takes off her clothes and sits on the beach turning over every 5 minutes for two hours and reads aloud verses from the Mormon bible. I’d rather be trapped in a rubber room in a straight jacket with Tiny Tim there playing songs on his ukulele for all eternity.
Actually, that last one wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. I do dig ukulele. But, you get the picture. Now, you want to know why. Why do I refuse to watch such a “good” movie?
It’s deep rooted in my screwed up mind. You see back in ‘95 when the picture came out, I was more interested in seeing Die Hard with a Vengeance. I was and still am a big Bruce Willis/Die Hard fan. I was really pumped to see it. But, when it was brought up that everyone was going to the movies to see Braveheart, I was sadden and disgusted. I wasn’t young enough to drive, or to get into see either movie by myself. So, I was fucked. Out of protest, I decided to stay home. I sat home in the dark, listening to some weird music my Dad owned, I believe it was the Moody Blues.
I went into a trance of sorts, and my hatred began to build for Braveheart. I began seeing images in my head of Mel Gibson in that face paint, mixed with demonic imagery. As the music turned stranger, so did my thoughts. I began connecting the movie with all that was evil in the world. Mel Gibson kept screaming over and over demonic Latin phrases that scared me. The fire of hell could be seen coming out from all sides of him. There were demons with skeleton bodies flying all around and chanting in the background. It was terribly frightening. I didn’t have much hatred in my life then, so it was easy to concentrate it on one idea. And that idea became Braveheart. It got worse from there. Everyone I talked to at school or my friends at home, absolutely loved the movie. They went on and on about how great it was, and how they were inspired by William Wallace’s story. It made me vomit in my mouth everytime a single person would speak praises onto the film. The fact that everyone loved it so much, and wanted me to see it so much made me feel almost as if it had brainwashed the world to think and act a certain way. I had no desire to ever lay eyes on it. I needed to be anti-Braveheart to save my soul and also on a smaller note give a big fuck you to the film industry and the world.
I felt so passionate about never seeing Braveheart, that I began leaving people’s houses when they would show it on VHS or it came on HBO or Prism. I keep my feelings true to this day. I have had people try to bribe me with money, alcohol, food, and even sexual advances. The answer is still, “No.” Mel Gibson and his “awesome” films can eat my asshole. Plain and simple. The only Mel Gibson directed movie I ever saw was A Man without a Face, and we are going to keep it that way. Because that movie made me shit in my bed for 3 weeks straight.
So you want to try to get me to watch Braveheart? Ha. Now you know, it’s like trying to get me to fuck Satan for 177 minutes and then say how amazing it made me feel and how his sperm tasted like candy corn.
Ok, I do love KFC and all that they provide for the world in chicken items. But, growing up I was always so found of Roy Rogers.
Perhaps because I could have chicken, burgers, roast beef, or curly fries. I had that option. But, Roy Rogers isn’t really around anymore. Seems like there’s only like a couple dozen left. The only time I ever see one is driving on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. And, I eat there when I can, but the quality of food at the rest stops are nothing like a free-standing Roy Rogers in a small town. It’s just not the same. Why are people constantly trying to take away from me what I know and love? The world changes too fast and I’m sitting here watching it past me by. Fuck Marriot, fuck Hardee’s, fuck everyone who spent time in ruining Roy Rogers for me. I used to go in and see that picture of Roy on the wall, and think to myself, “What a great man. And so studly, too.”
Roy signed his fuckin’ name to it too. He promises good food, that’s fast, and friendly service. And if you can’t get that, than you can hunt down Roy himself and demand a refund. You don’t get that shit at any other fast food place. There are no promises there. They’re just like here’s your shitty food, eat it, cocksuckers. I dare you to do something about it. Fuck you, Burger King. None of you have an iota of class that Roy had. Roy made me feel like I was at a classy restaurant. Full of love, pride, and the American way. Where has the love gone? And you wonder why I don’t eat fast food anymore. It’s not cause I don’t like it. It’s because I no longer feel safe eating it. They’ve lost my trust, and the only way to get it back is to put a Roy Rogers at the end of my block. Do it, assholes, do it, I dare you.
“You will not be able to stay home, brother. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out. You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, skip out for beer during commercials, because the revolution will not be televised.”— - Gil Scott-Heron, American poet, letting us know back in 1970 that when the revolution does come, we won’t know, because it won’t be televised
I was recently playing Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out and I was having the damnedest time with Soda Popinski. There’s this one punch he hits you with that he gives you no forewarning sign that it’s about to happen. You just have to anticipate he’s going to throw it. And being intoxicated I couldn’t anticipate it. But, that didn’t make sense to me. I mean Soda Popinski was obviously intoxicated too. Why could he block all my hits so easily? This proves a cold hard fact that Russians are the greatest drinkers on the planet. This man can chug bottles of Vodka before a fight and get out there and whip ass. I take a few shots of Calico Jack and I’m getting TKO having to re-fight Piston Honda again, and again, and again. I know what you’re thinking, his name is Soda Popinski, he’s no alcoholic. Bullshit. The shit he said was all about getting crunked up. In fact, the original character was called Vodka Drunkenski, but was changed for the NES version. Nevertheless, it still shows how well some people can handle their alcohol and still be productive members of society. Now, Soda Popinski may not be that productive, he still goes out there and kicks ass everyday of his life.
The real question, is why doesn’t he still fight? What happened to Soda Popinski past 1987? What has he been doing with his life? I read a little article on a boxing blog website all about what happened to Soda Popinski, and I’m here to share it with you. Seems like all Soda Popinski knew was boxing. He was very limited in the rest of his life. His skin color (pink) comes from him having a terrible case of Guttate psoriasis. He drank to forget the terrible pain he suffered everyday with constant strep throats and itchiness. He fought for awareness of his disease and suffering. He was a damn good boxer, but soon after his loss to Little Mac, Popinski went into a deep depression. Instead of victoriously fighting for Guttate psoriasis and donations for his charity, Soda Popinski would give handjobs to men in dark alleys for $7.50 a pop. They said the bumpiness of the psoriasis made it more pleasurable, I don’t see it. After years of a seedy life, he was found on the streets by Don Flamenco looking to get his jimmy waxed. Don took him to his house and got him cleaned up. After using his body like a band-aid, Don took Soda to his hair salon and got him a job sweeping up. Soda’s life was taking a turn for the better when he died suddenly in June of 1997. He was out celebrating his new job with Don, Von Kaiser, and Bald Bull and as soon as he finished his first vodka tonic he died. It seems that Soda had no liver left, and the alcohol went right into his bloodstream unfiltered and killed him. Live, my friends, everyday as if it were your last. And believe in what Soda Popinski knew and taught us, for life is too precious to waste on giving people psoriasis handjobs in back alleys.
I saw this little documentary on IFC the other day called The Outdoorsmen: Blood, Sweat & Beers. It’s about this group of guys who go off into the woods and they compete in various events/high speed drinking games that are combined into one.
I like beer. No, I love beer. It is my friend, my sweetness, my shoulder to cry on. And this movie has made me want to either find these people and enter myself into their competition or create my own competition that involves a series of events with beer drinking. I cannot say this enough, that games/events and beer drinking together is always an amazing idea to provide lots of fun and excitement. Shit, I spent too much time reading more about this and not enough time writing this blog. And I have to get back to work. Well, anyway, have a beer for me. And wait until my competition unravels itself, then sign up, and prepare to lose.
SIDE NOTE: I think this piece of fork I’ve swallowed is fuckin’ up my stomach.
A lot of people want to know what I do with my free time.
Since I currently work part time, I have some days off where no one is home at my house. I’m sure most people think I sit around watching movies, playing video games, or I’m on the computer. Well, I hate to burst everyone’s bubble, but I am usually very productive during my time off. Constantly working on various projects to better myself as a human being and as an artist. You still might sit there and call Hamish a liar. I thought you might, so I spent a day making a little video for all my blog readers. So, sit back and enjoy my little rendition of Boyz II Men’s chart topper On Bended Knee. Hopefully it will blow your minds!