- four young dudes
Power pop, my ass, these guys can bring it, Spinal Tap style. Come to Chicago and see TheTreeShakers ! More than worth it. No Robert Goulet. No Bobby Goldsboro. But still WORTH IT.
Monthly Archives: January 2010
Always-ALWAYS-Talking!!
Gecko. Now that guy got down to business. Of course, he was an amoral jackass, but that's beside the point.
I don’t have any fucking idea what you’re talking about. I can’t hear you over my own loud voice talking loudly in a bar, trying to hear myself and the person I’m talking to on my phone over the other bar patrons and their loud conversations on their cell phones. You know what the world needs? A bar and/or restaurant just for people that want to talk on their fucking cell phones all day and not be bothered with face-to-face contact. You know the shit I’m talking about. Guys that think they’re players and chicks that think they’re divas and young pieces of shit that have no real life and can’t handle silence because they might be forced to think or something. Feeling a little bitter today about cell phone assholes. I don’t even like talking on the fucking phone. Right to business, I say. Just the factual, jacktual.
Getting Medieval on My Ass
this ain't my barber
Ah, yes. A trip to the Town Barber.
“The usual,” I say to him.
He gets his tools. Ancient. Bigger than you’d expect. Hand made Iron Age shit. “Looks like we’re going to need the leeches,” he tells me, in a distracted, but matter-of-fact tone.
“Mmmmmm,” I affirm.
“You’ve got more than a colon problem this time. I’m going to need to heal up this giant ring of fire, this Fisher’s Hook, and there appears to be a rather run-down mobil home park taking up space on your gooch area. What you been using to wipe, sage brush?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t laugh. “I have this extra asshole out back, on ice” he tells me, “that I took off a dead seventy year old guy a few years ago. You might be better off with that. His crack-skin was far more resilient than this can of strained peaches you’re using got right now. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna need my Ass Auger and my bigger Crack Trowels.” I’m going to have to tip him a little more than I do for the standard hair cut, I’m guessing.
Astigmatatism
I haven’t tried the direct line to the Vatican yet, but….my contact solution has lasted for four and half years now. And I’m not frugal with it. I use a liberal amount to rinse my contacts, and I pretty much fill up the two reservoirs on my contact case. To tell you the truth, I’m frightened. Is this a sign of the apocalypse, or is it a minor miracle? I am definitely the type of guy who would get miracles in the form of unlimited household products. I wouldn’t get raised from the dead, I would just get the Never-Run-Out Head & Shoulders tube. I called Joseph Cardinal Bernadin, but it turns out he’s dead. I wish someone would have told me. So either way, if this is is a sign of evil or a sign of some heavenly descencion, I’m more than a little worried. I think I can handle the evil thing o.k., because I’ve always sort of expected some evil shit to go down in my crib. But I’m totally unprepared for any messiah-like visitation. And I’m not talking about clean towels (note to self: check if I’ve had to buy laundry detergent in the last 4 1/2 years), I’m talking about spiritually. You can count the amount of times I’ve prayed in the last twenty years on your penis. And that includes you girls. It’s either one time or zero times depending on your definition. So, for my sake, let’s hope this is just a practical joke or I have some psychological repression that makes me forget I’ve replaced toiletry items.
