Best Buy Called Me The Devil

Every review I read of the Seinfeld DVD is nothing but a slew of Seinfeld references. "This sponge-worthy DVD is full of extras that want to be your latex salesmen, including yada-yada-yada commentary from the cast! It's the set about nothing you won't want to regift, and it'll keep you saying 'No soup for you"!" Congragu-fucking-lations. You've seen the show before. Thanks for proving it to me. I guess I get what I deserve for reading reviews of anything by anyone ever. All reviewers do is simply try to impress their readers with tangential metaphors and in-references, especially for shows so steeped into the national consciousness such as Seinfeld. Everyone knows these references already. They're the easiest in the world to make. There's no point in even incorporating them into a review.

God, look at me, complaining about DVD reviews? What the fuck? Why do I even read them? I should be complaining about my poor spelling or lack of grammatical or typographical skills. I should be complaining about the fact that all my H's come out as capital letters on the first try or the fact that every time I type the letter A, I accidentally hit the caps lock and fuck up my whole sentence. But why bother with that? That's just as futile and useless. Why bother complaining at all? How come every fucking post of mine turns into a god-damned rant on obvious subjects to no positive result? I'm not a cranky or angry guy. I shouldn't give off the impression that all I do is sit in my room and steam until I can focus that pointless anger enough to write some stupid shit in a dumb blog that no one gives a shit about. I'm happy. I'm carefree and good-natured, god dammit. I'm a fucking happy cunt son of a bitch and anyone who fucking argues with this is going to get elephant shit shoved up their face. I guess this blog is an outlet, in which i plug my angry juices to get catharsis for me and possibly a chuckle out of any potential readers. But I sometimes feel like what I write in here is trite and foolish and that my posts have since been focused around "Hmm. What can I bitch about next?". I don't like fishing for things to piss me off; I'd prefer they come to me and then I write about them if they really grab me. But then if nothing comes to me, I'll have nothing to post for a while and the masses will be displeased. Can't have that. Ah, fuck that. Fuck everything. Piece of shit. Why the fuck am I writing this, too? Why do I write anything?

Ah, yes, the ever-present boredom factor. I am bored, as the stupid little tagline on the right-hand corner of this page so definitivly proclaims. But I don't want to leave you readers with another one of my stupid-ass self-questioning posts, nor is the Seinfeld bitching worthy. But what to write about to keep fans happy?

Aha!

Old Navy can diddle my cocks.

Why Anna Nicole Was Out Of It

Alcohol.

I apologize for my lack of posts lately, but it's not my fault. Seriously. Blogger decided every time I'd type anything, even comments, that'd it'd be all like "Nuh uh, bitch" and slap me around a little bit to show me who's boss. I typed a couple of big old posts that got fucked and set aside like so many college girls with low self esteems and high blood alcohol levels. I wasn't as enamored by them as the others that have been lost that I bothered to rewrite, so you'll never read 'em. They weren't that great. Maybe one day they'll become "The Lost Blogs" and everyone will be searching desperately for them, treating them over-nostalgically as "teh best thing evr, d00d", despite their obvious mediocrity. Well, good luck, fools. They're lost forever, because I ain't never typin' 'em again. They weren't that great; I just felt like I had to post something because it had been a while. I haven't been that inspired to write anything. Perhaps because I haven't been as bored lately. Boredom has been my main source of ideas, but I'm leaving for home soon, so I've been busy, dammit. I didn't have the patience to give a fuck when my giant post decided not to get counted because the friggin' internet and the friggin' conspiratorial right-wing evil icy black hand running Blogger are evil and feel the need to flaunt their power by pissing on my face, metaphorically.

But back to that whore Anna Nicole, she is what's wrong with America. She oughta be on the dollar bill, she's so American. The little toolbar thing on my Hotmail account pummels me with the unimportant news of the week whenever I check my mail, and in the past it has helped me get the hottest hair of the season and informed me of 25 ways to make my baby smarter. All news on pop-ups and toolbars is vitally important to my well-being as a human being and, more importantly, as an American. Because these colors don't run, baby. But even all-American, gun-toting, fag-hating, confederate-flag waving, cowboy-hat-wearing me has to draw limits. I don't give a shit about Anna Nicole Smith. No one should. Ever. Obviously no one actually thinks she is a worthwhile person and deserves the air she breathes and food she envelopes. If they do, they should be shot in the face with an crossbow. Make that two. But the reason she's so popular is because people love to hate her. I can see this, but come on people. Realize the consequences of your actions. If you watch the Anna Nicole show because you want to say to yourself "God, I HATE her", you're only supporting her and her symbolism of what is wrong with America. She is a drunken blonde fat whorish goldigging fuck who is unattractive in every way possible, and she's on those fucking diet pill commercials. What more need I say? She is wrong, conceptually, because people like her. If you watch the show to hate her, stop because it is really you disguising the fact that you actually like her from yourself, and you shouldn't like her. Cut it out. Supporting her in any way is supporting American's love for fat ugly rich whores, which we need to put an end to. I'm doing enough harm by even acknowledging her existance, but I shouldn't have to be told by some dumb-ass faux news celebrity ass-kissing toolbar that she did something at some event, because NO ONE SHOULD GIVE A SHIT. Stop caring. Hell, stop reading this, even, because this post implies that you should notice Anna Nicole's various fuck-ups and hate her for them. Hate her for who she is, and pay no more mind. Also, don't pay attention to the Olsen Twins. No one seemed to care about them until they became coked-out kiddie porn queens, and now they're on the cover of every other fucking magazine in the grocery aisle. I find it hard to believe so many people were fans of "How The West Was Fun". They don't deserve your attention; no one deserves your attention. Stop buying into that shit. Fuck celebrities. Who gives a fuck what any of them do? You add to the bullshit these splotch-headed numbnodes persnality complexes by giving them reasons to get inflated egos. When the headline "50 killed in raid in Iraq" gets shoved in the corner in favor for "Ashlee Simpson: Did she lip synch her shitty song instead of singing it shittily???!?" Please. Everyone knows everyone lip synchs all their songs. That's on some fuckin' Milli Vanilli shit. We've been through this before: Popsingers suck at everything. We don't need the cover of some dumbass rag magazine informing us that Jessica Simpson and her boyfriend are having marital troubles, despite both being culturally irrelevant for their entire careers. I pick Anna Nicole specifically because she has no talent, and by no talent I don't mean in the no-talent-but everyone-still-perceives-that-they-do Jessica Simpson kind of talent. I mean literally she has no talent, not even a talent that can be faked. She just gets drunk in front of a camera. I can do that. I do do that. But I don't get payed or glorified for it. And no one should. I know it's the American way to be obnoxious and loud and fat and rich, but, I've said it before and I'll say it again: Fuck America.

And if this post gets lost I will kick all your asses.

Officially Changing The Name To "Jack Gets Angry About Opening Bands And Other Blogs"

Damn me and my instinctual hopes that an opening band will ever be good. I went to go see Ted Leo and the Pharmacists at The Metra last night and hoped that the opening bands would at least be palpable. Palpable they were not. They weren't even servicable. The shit-doctors this evening were The Tossers, and two other bands I found too worthless to even bother remembering the names to. I don't know if you've ever heard of The Tossers, but some people in the audience apparently knew the words to the songs, which suggests not only that they have at least a moderate following, but also that a lot of people suck. They were wanna-be's, in the most literal sense of the term. They really, really wanted to be. They, as a band, wanted to be Flogging Molly. The flautist wanted to be a valid and respected member of the band. The singer really wanted people to find his endless solos to be powerful, and for the audience to give a fuck when he sang "fuck". They really wanted to be Irish. The fiddlist really wanted to be the cute token woman of the group. The drummer really wanted people to say his playing was totally hardcore after the show. The bassist really wanted people to recognize the fact that he had a red six-string bass that was not justified by his playing abilities, and that he can kick in the air. Their Pabst Blue Ribbons really wanted to be Killians. Everything about them just screamed Flogging Molly carbon copy. All their songs sounded like Flogging Molly songs, often times resulting in my questioning of if they were doing a cover. The audience was even remarkably second-rate in this vein. I don't know how you can fuck up a mosh pit, but it happened. Even if you don't know the techniques or the ettiquite, or the terminology, which is vitally important, you should at least realize that the concept is to run into each other. It's really not a difficult premise. The crowd ran around for 1 second, long enough to create space for them to do their thing, and then stopped. The entire pit was how most pits I've been in look like during the slow songs or when everyone is collectively tired. The fans really wanted to be as well, trying exceptionally hard to feign interest in this exceptionally mediocre knock-off group. The other bands were also not very good at all, but these guys especially got to me because everyone else liked them. Even Ted Leo himself made it a point to express his happiness in the fact that he is touring with them. I had the theory that he asked them along for the tour to make himself sound better afterwards. I would have lost respect for Ted Leo after this, if he didn't rock so damn hard, sign my inch long piece of paper I found in my wallet, and play "Suspect Device" by Stiff Little Fingers. All the opening bands I've seen simply make the headliner have to try harder to make me leave happy. One of these days it'll simply break and a band I used to like will not rock hard enough to make up for the shitty opening bands and it'll be curtains. Curtains, I say.

And, yes, I'm still here. I simply haven't had anything particularly interesting to write about lately. I'm not going to turn into one of those blogs that post about things that I've done during the day. You wouldn't want to read that.

-Monday: Slept.
-Tuesday: Slept.
-Wednesday: Slept. Played "Legend of Zelda". Slept.
-Thursday: Slept. Saw Ted Leo. Smoked. Slept.
-Friday: Don't remember, but one could bet good money on my sleeping.

Yeah. Awesome. Plus I can't post about how I haven't posted yet. You all know I haven't posted yet, and giving you an explanation is breaking one of the rules. If I tried to post when I had nothing to say, this'd turn into every other blog even faster than it already is. So be patient, all. I'll post when something I have something to say.

Word.

Fuck The Person Who Made The Site I Am Preparing To Complain About (OMG!!!!!1)

I fucking hate this blog and the person who writes in it. He should shut the fuck up with their uninformed opinions and wasted space. God, he just sucks so much and I totally hate him. I hate him so much. He writes about things that I don't like and he should stop. I hated everything he had to say enough to warrant me to write about it in my blog. I rushed to my computer as soon as I read his blog and typed all sorts of nasty things into my web journal because I don't like him at all and he's dumb and stupid and he says things that are dumb and I'm going to complain because he's dumb forever and I'll always hate him all the time for ever and ever. I'll spit on his grave and piss in his mouth because the words he typed made me angry. If I had a big pointy stick, I'd rape him with it until he died because of the way he writes about things, which is stupid and dumb and stupid. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

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Truth be told, I don't give two shits about the site I was just talking about. I just found the whole concept very funny: The guy creates a blog to bitch about another guys blog that he came across while trying to get to Maddox's site, which basically just bitches about things. I thought it'd be funny if I bitched about a guy who bitched about a guy who bitches about things while trying to get to another site where someone else bitches. There's so much bitching going on in these stupid blog shits. I know that's what my blog basically revolves around, I just find it interesting that that's pretty much what everyone uses them for. Don't like something? Oh boy! You can write about it! Yay! Typing angry words will solve everything!

There are basically two blog camps: Dumb people who type about the boring things that happen in their lives, and dumb people who complain about stupid things that happen in their lives. There are also the info sites and the porn advertising, but those don't count because then I'd have to make a new camp for them and things would just get complicated. There are many people who belong to both camps (myself included). Some people (also myself included) bitch hypocritically at the entire concept of blogging, as well as the entire concept of bitching about things. And most spell things incorrectly (definanatalay myself included). The whole thing begins to just feel absurd, and I laugh, and to add to the absurdity, my first thought after this realization is that this would be something I can write about in my blog. So here I am bitching in a blog about a blog that bitches about a blog that bitches, but not as well as a different blog that bitches, and laughing to myself about the whole ludicrous concept of blogging, bitching, writing, the internet, and the human mind. Ha ha ha. That's me laughing.

I Don't Think The Beach Boys Fully Thought Out What They Were Proposing

Think about it. If everybody had an ocean, that'd just be too much. There's, what, 294,754,350 people in the United States? That's a lot of fucking oceans. The Earth is not nearly large enough to support that many oceans. It's about 75% water as is with a mere seven. Where would they all go? We don't have room to store oceans. People can't just have them in their backyard or stored away in the garage. A lot of people don't surf and wouldn't even use them. The Beach Boys imply that if you had your own ocean, then justifyably you would simply have to start surfing. I feel not everyone would be surfing. Even those who hadn't ever surfed, for lack of an ocean to themselves, would probably get bored of it eventually. And then you've still got this fucking ocean sitting around going to waste. People would probably set dirty clothes on it or shove in a box in the attic.

Beyond that, each American having an ocean would be yet another example of the "We're the US; we're the shit" that so many country singers tout around that, frankly, I'm just sick and tired of. If a government mandated hand-out of oceans came to each person, so many insecure shit-toting Americans would puff out their chest, stuff their pants with socks and push Arab people around saying "We're America! We have our own oceans! We're the best country on Earth!" The fact that everybody'd be surfin', you know, as though it were Californyeyay, would not forgo the simple fact that Americans are dicks and would use this ocean thing to boast their supposed superiority. I'm sure at the time the Beach Boys simply thought that the world would be a better place if people all across the nation surfed more often, which may or may not ring true, but granting eveyone an ocean is not a very rational ideal to strive towards. Realistically, it would hurt more than it would help.

Life, As A Bitch, Has Manifested Itself Into My Big Toe

I've got an ingrown toenail. God damn if I don't fucking hate ingrown toenails. And since blogs are solely for the purpose of bitching to an anonymous group of cyber-individuals about the petty and trivial annoyances of the lives of people with no real problems, I think I'll go into a tirade. Alright. You know me. I love tirades. I almost wait for shitty things to happen to me so I can write about them on my web journal, because my life revolves around emoting my life on a soulless, cold information superhighway. Oh yeah.

My body is constantly fucking with me in one way or another. One day it'll be my toenail, then my stomach'll act up, or I'll have on of those evil shits that must've been formed by Satan himself, or my femur will feel strained, or part of my hand will spontaneously bleed, or I'll choke half to death on cream soda, or my neck will be stiff as a board for weeks, or somehow my hair will sprout nerve endings in the middle of getting a haircut, or something. If it's not something, it's something else. My body is honestly trying to shut me down bit by bit. The fact that I'll feel pain in the most random places makes me believe in the Calvin and Hobbes theory that inside my body are little me's running around sabotaging arbitrary sections of my body. Hardly ever am I in an in-between period where nothing hurts or is agitating, and when I am I take full advantage by sitting there and enjoying it.

And now it's my friggin' toenail. I have to cut into this fucker with a knife or something, and that's going to hurt like a bitch. It hurts like a bitch as it is. What bothers me the most about it is how fucking pointless the entire concept of "nails" is. Why does the human body need toenailsor fingernails? Why bother? I know it protects the section of skin that is extra sensitive underneath, but why is that part so sensitive? What evolutionary purpose does it serve for the ends of our fingers and toes to be like hyper-sensitive California plastic surgery bitch-hole actress types who need the constant supervision of a nail to make them secure with themselves? If we didn't have nails to begin with I wouldn't be having this problem. Granted, most of my problem's solutions involve something elaborate like going back in time to the first animal to evolve fingernails and kill them all off so that I don't have to deal with this annoyance if it never existed in the first place. Maybe the solution to my problem is dealing with it.

Ha! This is a blog! I can't deal with my problems! I have to write about them with a hint of pretention and assume there is no solution so that I'm able to continue to complain! Silly me!

Hey, on a meaningless side note, today marks the first full month this blog has been around. Let's hear it for pointless milestones, huh? Yeah.

The Little Critters Of The World; They Don't Know That They're Ugly

As I'm walking down the street today, from the other end of the sidewalk this woman begins to stare at me. Oh god, I think. She's going to want to talk to me about something. Sure enough, as soon as I got within a reasonable proximity of her, she asked if I had a moment. I gave her my moment, not wanting to be a dick. She began to talk to me about Children International, a non-profit organization designed to try to improve children in third world country's standard of living. Now I'm all for this. But I'm in college. I don't have a job. All my money goes to eating. I like eating. It keeps me alive. Sorry to rub it in the faces of undernourished children, but I'm a middle class white man in America. I'm more important than you. So here I am in this conversation with this person, all the time realizing that it's not so much a conversation as it is me waiting for her to stop talking so I can say "No Thanks" or "I'm sorry, I have no money". Frankly, I found it hilarious. Don't get me wrong, the concept of hungry dying children only occasionally makes me chortle. It was more the realization that I was in this one-sided conversation with this person and I knew full well what my response was going to be. Somehow or another, here I was, being told information, that I was politely ignoring, as I knew where this was going to lead, by this person who I knew I was going to reject as soon as she finished speaking. I always have moments like this where I suddenly realize, almost from a third-person perspective, what is happening, and I usually find them simply comical. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. I tried my hardest to keep it to myself, because that would just be plain rude to laugh at this picture of an impoverished Mexican boy she showed me. But I found it laugh-out-loud hysterical. Because for some reason or another, this women picked me out specifically from the crowd to talk to. An entire crowd passed by as she stared me down. Why me? Do I look like I have money in my ratty faux-homeless-wear gray and black striped jacket with a broken zipper? If I were rich, I would gladly donate the 60 cents a day to these poor kids. But I'm not, and if I find 60 cents on the ground I scoop it up and horde it as much as humanly possible.

Being a person who talks to people on the street must be a difficult job. People are bound to give you shit all the time, and everyone is too cynical to really care that much about what you have to say. Life's a bitch, and I find that hilarious.

The Eternal Debate

What is a "milkshake"? Kelis is obviously using it as a metaphor for something else, unless she actually works at a diner in which many men attend because of the superior dairy delicacy. In an interview she states it is "anything that gives you a sense of empowerment". But come on, Kelis. How dumb do you think we are? It's obviously a sexual reference of some kind. Just watch the video. If "empowerment" means fellating cherries and spraying metaphorical ejaculate all over everyone in the room, then all civil rights activists would double as porn stars.

Theories that have been batted around include it being the ass. Certainly this makes sense, as the verb "shake" has often been connected with the ass. But how can you "teach" someone to have a better ass? The line about having to teach the individual Kelis is singing to how to improve their milkshake hints to us that it is an act rather than a specific object. This brings us to the blowjob theory. You can learn to give a better blowjob, and certainly Kelis would be one to teach us this. The connection to "milk" is also prevalent in the blowjob theory. But Kelis also says that her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Now, obviously this may be simple hyperbole, but even if exaggerating, that's a lot of boys. Not even Kelis could have given that many boys blowjobs, much less could those boys have recieved blowjobs from the individual Kelis is speaking to to allow for comparison. I believe the milkshake combines both a visual object and an action, so that people who have experienced Kelis' milkshake can attest to it being better than yours, and those who have not can arguably get a sense that it is better than yours by looking at it. You can't tell by looking at a person if they give good blowjobs or not. This leads me to believe that the boys would not come to the yard for a blowjob, but because there is something visually appealing.

My personal theory is that "milkshake" refers to a frothy vagina. The visual of a milkshake has connotations of a frothy vagina (vaginal structure, full of a milky and delicious liquid, phallic symbols such as straws and spoons are often inserted), and the video furthers this concept. The milkshake machine mixes the milkshake at an alarming speed and eventually it gets mixed so hard that it bursts and the entire diner is covered in vanilla ice cream. Milkshakes are topped with cherries, which imply a connection to the "popping of the cherry". Plus, when was the last time your waitress touched herself all over when serving you a shake? Someones vagina would bring boys to the yard by the visual of it or by word of mouth of those who had experienced it. And a frothy vagina is a happy vagina.

I Am Aware Of The Existance Of Breasts

(Before I continue with this post, I would like to give a quick but much-needed "fuck you" to blogger for losing my post. I spent a good half hour on that bitch, and this one I'm writing now is a second-rate carbon copy of the original and has lost much of the wit and vinegar that can only come with the enflamed passion of a first draft. Blogger can eat my shit, as soon as my shit is nutty and frothy enough for them to deserve it. I'm off to eat some prunes, carrots and quesadillas, and then you're mine, bitch.)

I'm always unsure of what to say when some guy leans over to me and says something along the lines of "That girl has nice tits,". How do I respond to this? What does he expect me to say in return? Does he feel that I am somehow visually impaired and cannot see the tits for myself? Or does he doubt my abilities of recognition when tits are involved and wishes to inform me that these particular tits are worthy of notice? Does he place himself as the "tit expert" and wants to let us laymen know the subtle differences between "nice tits" and merely "adequate tits"? What can I possibly say after this?

- "Yeah, she does!"

- "No, she doesn't!"

- "I am unaware of this concept you refer to as 'tits' and thusly will have to discontinue this conversation, good day."

Typically I simply respond with a non-commital "Yeah" and quickly leave the premises. Am I intended to turn this realization of nice tits being had into a full-fledged thoughtful conversation? The statement itself is both a conversation starter and killer. There's nowhere I could really go from there, other than moving on to other body parts which could be considered equally nice, but this would be an exercise in futility and the conversation would seem more dead and bloated and pus-filled than when we began. Besides, do I really want to continue a conversation with a man who's opening line is "That girl has nice tits"? He might as well have said "I'm a total jackass and you should avoid talking to me,". What does he hope to achieve by expressing to me his recognition of the quality of tits? How does that help me in any way? How does that help him in any way? What does anyone take away from this statement? If he were to lean over and tell me I had nice tits, I would thank him for the compliment (my tits are so non-existant, however, that they actually cave-in and no one in their right minds would ever compliment me on them). But how do I respond? They're not my tits he's complimenting. I can't respond with anything other than some monosyllabic grunt like "Yeah".

Straight men feel the need to express to other straight men the fact that they are straight men. I couldn't care less whether you like tits or not. Congragulations. You've managed to inform me, a complete stranger, of your heterosexuality. Good job, sir. Have a cookie. Why do straight men like to inform other straight men that they are straight? Is it for sense of comradry, or maybe in hopes to actually spark up a conversation based on their similar lust for womany types? Of course not, silly. Rather than trying to inform others of their heterosexuality, they are trying to reassure it for themselves. In their mind, they are afraid of their potential to be homosexual, and thus need to prove to others and thus themselves that it is not so. Much of the hatred and violence directed at homosexuals comes from straight men who harbor homosexual feelings but are afraid to admit it, and in order to prove to the world they're not gay, they'll hate or beat some gays. "Yeah. That'll show 'em that I ain't no fag."

Being in the straight men category, I've only really come across this concept of proving to others your sexuality with other straight men. Do women see a guy walk by and lean to a nearby women and comment "Wow, look at the cock on that guy!". At the same time, do homosexuals feel the need to prove their sexuality to other gays? I'm sure this occurs in all forms of people, but probably most often (and probably most violently) in straight men. Why? See, straight men are stupid. Think of the 10 stupidest people you know. How many of them were straight men? Exactly. It's kind of hard to be in of the, if not the, stupidest groups of all time (straight white men), a group who has basically fucked up everything there was to fuck in history since the dawn of man. Ah, the pain of being in the majority.

The reason so many people need to mask their homosexual feelings from others is because of the religious and societal teachings that ALL HOMOSEXUALS ARE BAD. Bad bad bad. Don't be like those people. They're wrong and evil. Hate them all the time. Grr. The Bible even says so in this passage that I either made up or took very far out of context. If God hates fags, so should you. Hate hate hate. Grr grr grr. Forget all that "love thy neighbor" stuff. That doesn't apply to the gays. Nope. They're morally wrong and they're all sexual deviants who want to corrupt our children. Hate them because I say they're bad. Bad bad bad. Evil evil evil.

It is this specific stigma that makes questioning straight men feel the need to mask their inner feelings with violence or simple hatred. Straight men objectify women and beat up gays in a pitiful attempt to prove to themselves and others that they are straight. Why? Why bother? Who really cares? If you like tits, you like tits. If you don't, you don't. Big deal. The problem is that people who are questioning can't let on to people that they're questioning, because, as I said before, being gay is bad. Bad bad bad. But the people who purport this feeling are typically similarly questioning straight men. See, in a perfect world, all closeted gay men who hate gays would simply simultaneously stop hating gays and go have sex with each other all the time. But unless it's simultaneous, there are going to be other straight men who have to mask their gay feelings who give the out individuals a hard time. If the stigma of gay = bad being stricken from peoples minds, straight men would be able to question their sexuality free of fear, and could realize that they are attracted to men. Or that they are actually attracted to women. Or both. I believe most questioning straight people would remain straight, but at least they would have thought about their sexuality and learned something about the nature of themselves. They would also be less hostile towards gays knowing what they were going through. Because, honestly, what makes being so bad? Huh? Why do people get so riled up over this seemingly trivial issue? People are people. Love is love. Who cares if guys want to be with other guys, girls want to be other girls, etc? The stigma in our society is so debilitating, and yet, when rationally thought about, is just silly.

The original post was better. Bah.

In Which Jack Once Again Contradicts His Own Beliefs

I know none of you probably care, but I'm going to post this anyway. This kind of post would have been allowed before I had any readers, but now that all of you hold a certain ideal of what a cranky old piss-dealer like me is and is not supposed to blog about, this may not be allowed. But fuck it. I don't care. I was chastised before for selling out with this post, so what the hell? If I've already sold out, I have every right to post a stupid story about what I did last night that no one but me will find interesting. Besides, I've done post-concert posts before, so whatever. I had no idea I would ever have a fan base, so I never thought I'd have to avoid alienating them. But away I go, so prepare to be alienated!

Last night I went to go see Le Tigre with The Gossip and Measles, Mumps and Rubella. Measles, Mups and Rubella were mediocre, which is a vast improvement from most others I've seen lately. The Gossip rocked, as usual. Le Tigre were insanely awesome, and I really wish there had been more room to dance, but the place was packed. I'm sure those around me got quite a few uninvited elbows to the tit and smashed feet, but whatever. Kathleen Hannah invited this one guy onstage during Deceptacon because she liked his dancing. That so could've been me had I been in the front. Damn. He got a backstage pass and everything. I'm a better dancer too. Bah. I was really hoping to meet them backstage or on the bus or whatever or at least get their autograph. I started a pretty measly autograph book when I went to see Mouse On Mars. I arrived very early to find their tour bus parked outside, so I ran 6 blocks away to a grocery store to buy a small notebook and felt tip pen for them to sign. I chatted with Jan St. Werner about the tour and how much they rocked and such, and came away with a quite interesting autograph. So after Le Tigre, the group I was with waited outside for some time, but gave up after a while. It was starting to get chilly.

At the Vic, cameras are not allowed. Not knowing this, I brought a disposable camera with me. They searched me and found it and told me I couldn't bring it in with me. So I stuck it in the alley to retrieve after the show. After returning home from the show, I realized I left it there. My friend Meghan and I went back to go get it, only to find a fire truck parked in front of the venue. We went around to the alley and saw an ambulence with a stretcher prepared, conveniently parked at the exact spot that my camera was located. Rather than walking right past the ambulence, we decided to go around the block. We snatched the camera and walked around the ambulence, asking the people there what happened. "Accident," was their reply. This didn't really clear things up for us that much, so we decided to stick around for a tad. This one guy kept running back and forth from the tour bus to the alley; we thought he might be the manager. After the ambulence left, we checked the alley to see what was up. And standing there was Johanna from Le Tigre! I was very excited. I asked for her autograph and asked to get a picture. Meghan said she would take the picture of the two of us, and immedietly handed the camera to someone else to get a shot of all three of us. I'll try to get the picture on here after I get it developed. She was very nice, but she had this kind of at-a-funeral face of trying to keep a strong front for the fans, but she was obviously distraught about something. We heard later that the other band members followed shortly after, so they're all ok. JD was apparently in a huff, so I'm kind of glad we didn't see her and Kathleen so as not to anger them. My theory is something happened to the kid backstage. The typical theory is people ODing, but Le Tigre definantly don't seem like the type to hard drugs after a show. I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to upset things, but Johanna was very nice through the whole thing, whatever it was. She rocks.

We walked off, congragulating her on a great show, and smoothly walked back to the train. A soon as we turned to corner, we both instinctively jumped up and down and danced in glee. We get up to the train, still ecstatic, and Meghan tells me "Don't you dare lose that camera!" I said "Don't worry," and like clockwork, it flies out of my pocket and into the train tracks. I could almost invision it happening in slow motion. I swear, there is some mystical script writer in the sky who thinks he's clever and likes to fuck with my life because that was too perfect to just happen. After several "oh fuck"'s I descend to the lower level and try to talk to the person at the desk to let me through. As luck and a vengeful God would have it, there was no one there, requiring me to squeeze underneath the stairs to get into the gated-off area in which it fell. The space is just small enough to not allow for anyone with hips, especially my perfectly sculpted child-bearing hips, to get through. We were told by these other train patrons that the gate is easy enough to climb, as long as you put a jacket or something over the barbed wire. I go to the gate and realize the jacket isn't even necessary: There is a roof to a small shack right next to the gate that can easily be climbed onto and the barbed wire simply hopped over. As I begin to do this, these other train patrons inform me that the lady is back at the desk. Not wanting to get caught climbing over the gate (but man, did I ever want to), I ask the person at the desk for assistance. She lets me into the gated area, I retrieve the camera, and put it in Meghans purse to make damn sure fate didn't fuck with me again.

Those who don't know or care about Le Tigre aren't going to give nearly the fuck that I do about this whole story, but for me it was an awesome ordeal. So fuck all y'all. This is my blog and I can write whatever the fuck I want.

Yes, saying this may be viewed as hypocritical because I often chastise others for what they write in their blogs. But see, I spell things correctly. And even when a subject I write about is trite, I at least attempt to add flare and fizz to make it seem less trite. And they have the right to write about whatever they want too, I simply have the inverse right to talk shit about them for it. Plus, I rock and everyone else sucks so the rules don't apply.

You Can Always Tell What The New Big-Budget Epic Movie Is By The Specials They Air On The History Channel

Most concerts I go to, people don't dance right away. No matter how dancable the music is, some need prodding or persuasion to rock the fuck out. I, however, will dance whenever given the chance. Sure, I'll be tired some days and not be fully into it, but that hardly stops me from dancing at all. Granted, I can't dance for shit when you take into account legitimate dance styles, but come on. It's 2004. There are no legitimate dances around anymore. Dancing has become sex without the sex. All people do nowadays is bump and grind and hump and fondle and generally make themselves look like whores. And you know what? That's great. At least they're moving. I hate going to see a band that I absolutely love and feel the need to dance like a maniac just to see no one else in the crowd moving at all. The show is improved tenfold when the entire crowd is completely into the show, for instance Mouse on Mars last Friday (best show ever!). That's why, even when no one else is dancing, I get up and dance harder for their lack of interest. My dancing style is basically spastic. I have no steps or preconceived ideas of what I'm going to do. It's all freeform, baby. I treat dancing like a demon has found its way into me and I need to shake it out before it eats my soul. I get much inspiration from the pogo and skank styles of British punk and reggae from the 70's, as well as 80's hip-hop and break. Everything I need to know I learned from Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. I can't dance for shit, actually. I just go on pure energy and pure look-like-a-foolery. But so what? When I get up and dance, it tends to inspire those around me to dance. I actually got stopped in Wicker Park the other day by two random people who went to a show I was at who congragulated me on my dancing. That made my day. People need an instigator like me to show them "Hey, this guys acting like an idiot in front of everyone! I suppose I can too!" I am the fucking party.

Why do people have trouble dancing immediately? Embarrassment. Everyone simply stands to the side or near a wall and bobs their head occasionally. They feel the need to look cool at all times. Fuck that. Cool's not cool. All the cool folks do is sit to the sidelines and point out people dancing and say to themselves "Look at that idiot". That damned Terror Squad song is terrible and wrong for hip-hop as it was meant to be because its chorus encourages men not to dance, because they wouldn't be thugs if they danced. This seems to be how people act at shows. They lash out at others who dance because they are embarrased to do it themselves. You know what I say? I say fuck embarrassment. It's pointless. You don't need it. Embarrassment is the least necessary emotion of them all. Fear is necessary, as it prevents people from jumping off a bridge and such. But embarrassment? Embarrassment is simply social fear, and is completely useless. Looking like a fool in front of people is not going to physically, or even emotionally, harm you. You may feel like your emotions are being harmed when embarrassed, but ultimately the feeling is completely consequenceless. People may talk about you or make fun or dislike you if you do something embarassing, but they're probably jackasses anyway and you shouldn't care how they feel about anything. Go ahead. Do embarrassing things. Make an ass of yourself. Who cares?

Embarrasment is a natural feeling and happens to everyone in socially awkward situations. But because it is not necessary, you should try to train yourself not to feel it anymore. In situations where you may be embarrased, such as speaking in public or dancing, simply ignore and get beyond this embarrassment and just DO IT, ya pussy. The feeling of embarrassment is slightly annoying, but so what? Who cares, really? It's a minor bother that people blow way out of proportion and treat as the worst thing in the world. People find themselves physically unable to do certain things because of their embarrassment. Why? Embarrassing situations aren't going to hurt you. Get over it.

Now, I would like to pepper this statement with something: This does not give you the right to be a jackass. The only positive I can see to being embarrassed is that it prevents you from being a total dick. People not embarrassed to piss on the subway or scream obscenities at the top of their lungs or wave their dick in front of you and yell "SAY HELLO TO HERBIE... DUH...." are not a good thing. Granted, most of this comes from being drunk. Being drunk is a funny concept to me because the drunk people I come into contact with are total jackholes and do the most obnoxious things I've ever seen, much like the way I act when drunk. I enjoy being a jackass while drunk, but dislike those that do the same. It's a quandary, I know, and this makes my stance on embarrassment pretty muddy. There must be a line to be drawn as to where things are pointlessly embarrassing and where things are simply obnoxious behavior. I like to think that it's more than just embarrassment that keeps people from shitting in their hands and rubbing it on their ankles, but who knows? This could very well be a natural tendency that people do not engage in simply because of the social awkwardness that would occur.

So basically, I'm just trying to say that it's ok to look like an idiot in front of people. Dance your heart out. Sing your lungs out. Get past your social fears and just fucking do it. However, always bare in mind when you're going from being the dude with no inhibitions to the dude who's a total asshole. This is of course going to be subjective to each individual, and being drunk blurs (literally) the line between the two, so I don't know. Maybe I'm hurting more than helping by trying to dispose of embarrassment. I just basically wanna see people dance.

Internet Delays Are Due To A Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy

Fuck Bush. Fuck Ohio. Fuck 51% of this damn country. Fuck people who voted while uninformed or on a single-issue. Fuck everything. Fuck it all. Who wants to move to Canada with me?

I can't actually believe Bush won again. What is wrong with this country? Are we that fucking stupid? Yes. Yes we are. Fuck America. Fuck the flag. Fuck freedom. Fuck liberty. Fuck the army. Fuck the south. Fuck John Wayne. Fuck everything. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck 'em all. We're fucked.

I promise more focused and particular anger in the future. I just need some venting time.

Fuck.

Typo Negative

Clever title, huh? Thanks.

The title refers to that which some have no doubt already discovered: this freakin' site, the indoctrinating apocolypse-predicting uber-Christians who use outdated and unsubstantiated bible passages to tell you that you're going to hell. Very soon. Now, this is the internet. There are assloads of sites of this nature everywhere. What makes this one so special is the name. Blogpsot.com. Blogpsot, of course, has no pertinance to the site itself. It is simply a common typographical error for Blogspot, the site which hosts peoples Blogs. This means if one were to try to go to http://shfta.blogpsot.com, they would find themselves bombarded with Chrisitian propaganda and end times rhetoric, instead of my typical anti-blog propaganda and bullshit social theory rhetoric.

This concept is dastardly clever. Any blog site one tries to go to with "blogpsot" instead of "blogspot" will take them to this undesired site. Not only is "blogpsot" a common typo for "blogspot", but it's hardly noticable. It took me quite some time to discover why it was that my site was consistantly turning up this damned Christian site because, when looking at the word "blogpsot", it does not immedietly register in the mind that two of the letters are in the wrong place. This comes from a natural tendency to look at the word as a whole and assume based upon the arrangement of letters and previous knowledge of similar arrangements that a word is the word we think it is. I had a t-shirt that said "Coronado Lacrosse" on it, and every person who read it thought it said "Colorado". They were not familiar with the word "Coronado" and assumed based on the letters that the word was "Colorado", as this word was one the recognized.

This is not new. Web sites have known about this typo concept since the beginning, and smart (not to mention wealthy) sites buy up the names of commonly misspelled variations of their sites name. During the last election, the Bush administration even went so far as to buy up sites like Bushsucks.com and FuckBush.com so no one could use those names. But it is not Bloggers fault for not owning Blogpsot.com; it is these friggin' bible-bangers who are trying to get you to read their dogma instead of your intended Slutblog. They use sick little tactics like taking advantage of peoples (seemingly) natural desire to make typos and use it to get you to view their blasphemous religious piss-shitter. At least they're not infecting computers with little Judas-Bugs every time the site is accidentally visited... SO FAR!!!

Since the invention of the internet, people have discovered ways to fuck with people with it. Spam e-mail with links to girls being raped by horses; pop-ads that try to trick you into thinking they're contests you've won or your computer asking you something; all manner of viruses put forth by people who are so lonely and pathetic that they get off on hearing someone talk of their screen name "9_inch_kok6969" infecting peoples computers and ruining their lives; spyware that keeps track of your interests and aims specific online ads at you without your knowing; the site that,when you click on a link, it opens up 90 other endless sites telling you how to "increase your bust" or "get it up"; sites that won't allow you to click "back" or navigate away from them; the list goes on. At least it would if I could think of any more right now. (That's a commercial techinique: List everything you have, then add "An Much More!" at the end). I'm starting to hate the fucking internet. If it weren't the easiest way to get pornography and I wasn't able to ward off boredom for so long with this stupid blog thing, I would become a neo-luddite and go live in a cave. But porn is starting to bore me, and other peoples blogs make me question the validity of blogging as a whole. There is e-mail, which is easy. But maybe that's the problem. Everything becomes so fucking easy that we rely on it and cannot function outside of this ease. Then when something fucks up, which is always, we freak out and write nasty things in our blog about it. The internet is a great concept, because it brings the human race together on a singular network to share information, knowledge and entertainment. But the things that have happened through the invention of the internet gives me an impression of what mankind is: greedy, selfish, power-hungry, dogmatic, and lovers of kiddie porn. The internet has brought us all together, and man are we some sick fucks.

Abs Of Steel, Abs Of Hatred

I saw Captured By Robots play at Logan Square last night. They are easily the greatest band to see perform on Halloween. It was fabulous. For those not in the know, Captured By Robots consists of one man, J-Bot, taken hostage by robots and forced to be in their thrash-pop band. Yes, the band is made up of actual robots. GTRBOT666 plays rythm guitar and bass, DRMBOT 0110 mashes on the kit; Automotom rocks the toms and backwards crash; George Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld kick the horn section; the Ape Which Hath No Name plays tamborine; Son Of Ape Which Hath No Name plays cymbals; and J-Bot sings and plays lead guitar and keytar. Oh yeah, and controls all of the robots. He had a small remote control attached to his guitar that he used to make the robots sing, dance, play their instruments, and have a negative attitude towards the human race. It was like being in a B Horror Movie, and watching GWAR at the same time. Oh, and as if that wasn't novelty enough, the entire show was centered around the concept of an exercise video. J-Bot and company were determined to get the audience fit, even if it meant chopping some limbs off. Magnanemous. The Advantage opened; they perform rocked-out versions of old Nintendo songs. I've never wanted to play Mega-Man 3 more in my life. They didn't play any Legend Of Zelda, but other than that they covered all their bases. Bowsers Castle and the theme to Bomberman 2 were among my favorites. Brilliant, brilliant work.

The first opening band sucked again. I don't understand what it is with opening bands. Sometimes they can be fabulous, ie Ratatat opening for Mouse On Mars on Friday. And sometimes they can be just raunchy and awful and make you question your motives for going to the concert, such as last nights abortion Johnny Westerlake and his Tender Years. The name alone should've stopped me from seeing them, but I didn't know who the opening groups were. Basically, they were a group of shit-eating pricks who sing along to the demos on the Yamaha (and sometimes butcher playing a clarinet) in the style of shitty lounge singer/70's R+B star. It was one of those bands where it's supposed to be funny, but unless you know the band personally it's simply gut-wrenching. Even if you knew them personally, you'll probably regret it afterwards.

Why do I go to see the opening bands if they typically suck? Because on the off-chance that they don't, they can be insatiably fantastic. If I had gotten a cue from Johnny Westerlake and not stuck around for The Advantage, I would've missed out on quite a show. So it's give and take. Mainly give. Or take; whichever one is the one that you're not supposed to want to happen. Whatever.

Go see Captured By Robots if they come to an area near you. I guarantee you won't regret it.