Monday, December 18, 2006

Top anything of anything of 2006 posted in 2007


1. The day I listened to Ma$e- "Harlem World" all day. I heard "Jealous Guys" about 8 times. "I go by the name of Puff Daddy, and I'm a Scorpio....and I'm not a jealous guy." November 10th, a day that will live in infamy.

2. The chicken provolone sandwich from Bread Market on 52nd.

3. Ratatat- Lex. Again, shit sounds like Yngwie Malmsteen chopped up into a huge 6.arena banger.

4. Hot Chip- over and over. We'll give you laid back, motherfucker.

5. Turbulence- Notorious. The only dancehall I listened to all year.

6. T.I.'s verse on Justin Timberlakes's "My love". "If you don't come I ain't gon' die" he says. This guy.....

7. Denny greens meltdown after COMPLETELY shooting himself in the balls and handing them over for the Chicago Bears.

8. Darkplace. God damnit.

9. The trailer for 300. This could be the greatest or worst movie ever, I don't care. The trailer kicks fucking ass. In the year 2000, there will be awards shows for trailers. I called it.

10. My finding a house in queens. Second only to the first time had sex there. Christened the joint.

11. Beautiful/Decay Issue P release party. I promoted it, and you didn't go. Fools.

12. Clark- Body Riddle. One of the most listenable experimental IDM albums I've heard in a long time. Not just listenable, the sounds this guy comes up with are downright loveable. The transition from the track "Herzog" into the song "Ted" makes me moist.

13. The Jamie Lidell/Battles/Chris Clark show in NYC. The highlight for me was....all of it.

14. This. Both the video and the song. Fuck.

15. Feast. Own that movie. 80 minutes of people dying in horrific ways for no apparent reason.

16. TV on the Radio: Wolf like me. I spent weeks ONLY listening to that track. I'm not joking.

17. My Fantasy Football team, week 12. Thanks Drew Brees

18. Scoring E-40’s spare alcohol.

19. These:

20. This video. Because fucking with drunk passed out people sits right next to people falling down as the funniest possible shit in the world. Also because Kanye had a shit fit in the UK when this video beat out his video for "touch the sky" as "Best Video Ever" or something.

21. Gnarls Barkley. Fuck the hype. Somehow they created the most universally appealing music in decades. The hood loved it, my 16 year old sister loved it, my Dad loved it.

22. Clipse- Hell hath no fury. Remember when Neptunes made sparse-ass dirty beats? It's all here.

23. Ghostface- Fishscale. For a lot of reasons, the name, the track "Shaky Dog", and the "Directions to Heart Street" skit.

24. Liars- Drum's not Dead. I don't know why. That album does things to me.

25. This video. Whenever it came on at work, I was unable to stand for about 9 minutes. So much damn sex appeal.

26. Seeing this live. Good god. And yes, he is "playing" old NES systems. I saw dude actually blow on the cartridge. The crowd might be the real star here. They make being dorks look almost sweet. Almost.

27. My drunk ex-friend in full on histrionic mode. She will kill me for this.

28. This too. For no real reason other than the NES nostalgia.

29. Every blowjob I received in a cab this year.

Ok thats it, shittiest list ever.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Day after a Holiday Party.

This business starts their weekend on Thursday. Hangovers are reason enough to call in. A 400 dollar bar tab at marquee is a business meeting. Bloodshot eyes and brushing teeth in the office bathroom is par for the course.

"This wine is too damn good and there is WAY too much of it around here", I said, fuzzy already with only a marinated olive and some hummus in me.
My boss just laughed, poured me another full glass and ordered another bottle.

Glasses went up for the end of an era. Yesterday, Ahmet Ertegun died at the age of 83. Ahmet Ertegun, the man immortalized in the film "Ray" (Ray Charles hilariously calls him "Omelette" at one point) by Curtis Armstrong (Booger from Revenge of the Nerds) was the founding chairman of Atlantic Records. He started the company with a 10,000 dollar loan from his dentist and it went on to become well...what it is today, a major label, which is nothing to sneeze at.

This is how he went out though. He fell at a Rolling Stones show. He suffered a head injury, went into a coma, and then died. The events that lead to his demise happened at a rock concert. I might be saying this prematurely, but, good for him. Seriously, a music man like that I would think would be happy to go out for music. I always want to die listening to slayer, but the stones would be somewhere in my top ten bands to die listening to. Again, good for him. Right when I found out I blasted Otis Redding's "Happy Song" (Ertegun worked closely on Redding's career) at amazingly loud volume.

Still fuzzy, I put up my glass for the end of an era with some lawyers i didn't know. I had heard something like this a few days ago. The guys from TV on the Radio the radio talking about the death of the music industry. I feel it to be severeley ailing, Mr. Ertegun in a coma after rocking out a Stones show. Clutching at whatever it can to keep going, fistful of money in hand. Warner Music Group's partnership with Youtube is an example of this. Its the classic move to "keep friend's close and enemies closer". No one needs a record label to make music anymore, no one needs record labels to get music heard.

There are these things called "the internet", "cd burning", "blogs", "myspace" and a shitload of others that we have at our disposal to force our shitty art on "the public", albeit a much more narrow public, but "public" nonetheless. Shit, even I have an album, a record label, and a few people who listen to it. Here. Thats all I need really, my music is crap (except for "fuck the levels", that shit is genius), but I'm going to make the shit anyway because I can. Of course we want people to like it, we want to get paid for it, but if we didn't have all of that we would still make the shit anyway. I said "shit" a lot in this paragraph.

We presented a man who has more many than God with a 700 dollar bottle of wine and some crystal wine holder by some artist. We thought it was a wastebasket. "Is that where the company is going?", my co-worker said at an uncomfortably loud level. Happy Hanukka.

My boss broke a glass, I got her a cab, and I went to get drunk and listen to Das Efx in the basement of some club.

R.I.P. Music Biz.

Monday, December 11, 2006

The Queen's English

"If you don't come I ain't gon' die..."
Inadvertently my new motto....

A word about the "Queens English", I've been hanging out with a bunch of kids from Queens for a while now, and I've noticed a few things about the way they talk. I'm a fucking anthropologist now apparently. Keep in mind this might be a regional thing, not just Queens, but hey...

A few points on how to speak in Queens.

First thing you need to know is you have to say "yo" before almost everything you say. Second, you have to say "bro" after everything you say. You'd think the "yo" part would sound kind of corny, but once you hear it in conversation, it sounds so natural you wonder why the hell you haven't been using it all along. As a prefix to a sentence, its a fuckload better than "like". And "bro"? I'm not joking, if you think you are saying it too much, say it 5 times more. These people say "bro" a LOT bro. See Ari's impersonation of E in one of the most recent episodes of Entourage for an illustration. Its pretty accurate. I would take this any day over the preferred suffix in my homeland, "eh?", which makes you just want to stick a motherfucker all the way back to Montreal.

Another thing, if you are talking about a person, even if they are in the room, it is perfectly OK to call them "this guy". Example:
"Yo, this guy thinks he's Charles Bronson with that mustache bro."
Or, if they aren't in the room
"Yo I've been calling this guy all day bro, motherfucker can't pick up his phone bro"

Furthermore, if someone has used too much of something, they have "OD'd" (pronounced um.... 'Oh deeeed').
"Yo man this guy Od'd on the Cool Water tonight bro".

That brings me to "Yo man", (pronounced 'YO Maaaaaaaaaaan') this is an expression of disgust, used to let the person know they are fuckin' up. You don't really need to say more outside of this short phrase to let someone know you aren't pleased. You are not ready to hurt them, just peeved...they served you a 7 and water instead of a CC and water, or they forgot to take their nasty shoes off in your house. Yeah, like that.

Finally, "Brick". This one is new to me about 2 days ago. "Brick" means "cold". I don't fucking understand how, but it is definitely the case. My roommate explained that it is called "brick" because the cold is like being hit in the face with a brick...I don't buy it but I don't have a choice. A popular variation is, "Man it is Brick City out there today." I tried this when I walked into a shoe store in Astoria on Saturday. Guy asked me how it was out there, I responded with an enthusiastic, "Brick CITY out there bro", guy just gave a knowing nod and a smile and went to hit on his big-assed co-worker behind the counter. This phrase is not to be confused to mean "New Jersey"...I'm 90 percent sure a few parts New Jersey call themselves "Brick City" sometimes, but I stay far the fuck away from Jersey and anyone who lives there so I've never had verification.

So there you have it. Oh yeah, ugly girls are known as "busted", which is just plain fun to say.

EDIT: "Custy": This is short for "Customer", namely the customer of a drug dealer. Ghostface uses this term in his verse on that new Beyonce track. I don't know what its called so don't ask.

Apparently there are various levels a "Custy" can achieve. The highest is "Best Custy". If you are one of these, you can basically hit up your dealer at any hour of the night, and he will hook you up straight out of his personal stash. Depending on the drug, you are probably also allowed some amount of credit. But...

"Number six: that God damn credit, dead it
You think a crackhead payin you back, shit forget it"
-Notorious B.I.G., Ten Crack Commandments


More to come later.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Drinking on the job #2

Date: December 8th, 2006. 4:28 pm.
Type of alcohol: Champagne, the shitty variety.
Number of Drinks: 1 plastic glass.
Purpose: Surprising Brian McKnight. Dude had no idea a bunch of jerks who don't know him were going to be there pretending they "go way back".
Buzz?: Maybe for the first 4 minutes.
Fun Fact: I was supposed to be working, but the DTs and the shakes led me to the champers downstairs at my old employer.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Getting back on the horse?

Ah fuck,

So you are all going to this party if you are in the NYC area this weekend. Last time we ran out of free sparks 10 minutes before we said we would, and people were seriously angry...about fucking SPARKS.

My favorite moment was 2 hours and 10 minutes into working there, this exchange happened:

Stupid Girl: "You said there was free booze. It's all gone"
Me [making change and giving wristbands to 3 people at once]: "I'm sorry ma'am but there is nothing I can do."
Stupid Girl: "You are taking advantage of poor college kids with this party."
Me [putting wristbands on 4 people at once]: "Look, we have two theatres of movies, two rooms of music, and tons of other cool shit, if you came for the free sparks you came for the wrong reason."
Stupid Girl: "I want my five dollars back"
Me [counting out change from a hundred]: "No refunds"
Stupid Girl: "I want to talk to your boss"
Me [trying to get security guards to stop the throng of people with cool sneakers from beating down the door]: "He's the guy running around with skulls on his t-shirt. Anyway, he said he wont do refunds because he is a big Jew. You understand."
Stupid Girl: "This bullshit and you are being a jerk."
Me: "Look, I will buy you a fucking happy meal, just leave me alone."

Whatever, she had like 2 hours to get her free booze. So yes, you will be there, it always gets crazy packed full of gorgeous women, gift bags, great music, and yes, free sparks. Get the fuck in there. I don't usually recommend parties, but I am recommending this one because I write for them and I help them out because they fucking rule.

So this party being this weekend means I'm out this week every night "promoting", which means I have an excuse to go to 2-6 different bars and clubs every night to pass out flyers. It could be my return to debauched form. I've been a little bit of a wimp lately and I'm ready to balance that out with some outright stupidity. I will let you know if this actually happens.

Friday, December 01, 2006

Drinking on the Job. #1

I think I am going to have to document every time I drink on the job. With this format.

Date: Decmber 1st, 2006
Type of alcohol: Champagne, the shitty variety
Number of Drinks: 2 plastic glasses
Purpose: Presenting one of our artists with a platinum plaque.
Buzz?: Maybe for the first 10 minutes.
Fun Fact: It is perfectly acceptable to walk in to a 'platinum presentation', speak to only one person, swallow two glasses of champagne in record time, and walk out.

I am also going to start taking inventory of other things that go on here.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Whacky phone messages part 7.

Actual text I received...5 times.
It was sent 5 times, the same text. My inbox eventually became full, but I think attempts were made to send it even more.

"will u do me a favor and delete my # No offense i think ur super cool but we r on different pages & im not a fan Good luck with everything it was fun"

I'm not proud of this, but its the most interesting thing thats happened to me in the last 12 hours.

I am a real bastard, apparently...

The odd thing is that I only hung out with this person a few times, and it was definitely casual. We just drank and went to shows and hooked up, the fact that I wasn't available all the time and never really made plans i guess is the straw snapped the camel's spine. Don't know why it has to be so drastic but hey, it was her move and I am cool with it.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

I ain't going out like that.

"I'm a little upset about a bad sexual episode I had last night your honor..."
-Fletcher Reed

Ok, it wasn't last night but it wasn't good. It involved a large flap of skin that remained hidden to me until the zero hour, a lot of hair, some thanksgiving leftovers, and a stoned roommate who couldn't properly decipher my 2:30 am text message.

TEXT TO ROOMMATE: Dude call me and say that you are locked out.
RETURN PHONE CALL FROM ROOMMATE: Hey man, I'm inside, I don't know what you are talking about.
ME (in close proximity to bad sexual episode in question): Aww man that sucks, and you don't have a spare??
ROOMMATE: What? Dude I am here right now, I don't need a key, I am inside.
ME: Shit and [Polish Neighbor!] isn't home? Did you call the landlord?
ME: So you are telling me I need to come home and let you in?
ROOMMATE: Uhhh, oh my God, what is going on?
ME: Sit tight, I will be home in a little while.
*After we hang up, roommate sends me a camera phone picture of our door to let me know he was inside....good god.

She didn't let me leave though. I had to fight my way out, with my penis.
I finally made it home at about 4. It was, like I said, not good.

"Well you're still young, it will happen more and more"
-Judge Stevens

I don't know if you need to know any more. I tell this in the hopes that you can get some enjoyment from my pain.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

And now for something...

Conflict. It’s dark, cold, rainy, and windy, it’s like Scotland. They call it “dreich”. You will know “dreich” when you see it. There is two things that this weather does to me, one of which I know it does to the whole of Scotland. These two things are drinking whiskey and contemplation. I am doing both tonight, Scotland is definitely doing one of the two.

Ten minutes ago, I was dong something so self consciously “cool” it made me laugh. I was standing on my roof with a glass of whiskey, sipping it, looking down the wet streets, the lights of population miles in the distance, thinking about the ins and outs of whatever the hell decided to go in and out of my head. This stopped when I realized I was drinking whiskey on the rocks, foolishly just making my hand and body cold.

What exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I asked myself. Oh yeah, its one of those nights. Tomorrow will be the first thanksgiving I spend away from home. Playing football in the leaves, watching football in the family, and falling asleep spread eagle in the floor. Is this worth it? I asked another question. I suppose it is, because I am proud of myself, proud of what I have achieved out here. Proud that a weirdo like me could somehow parlay his strange disconnection with the world into some quantifiable “real world” success. But I miss my friends, the ones back home, and there is nothing wrong with missing where you came from. Did I leave too soon? I mean, I literally had two weeks between graduation and diving into my career. Perhaps it was too soon, but I am not usually in the business of passing up opportunities. And that’s what happened, an opportunity whipped by me with one finger stretched out screaming “grab the fuck on”, so I did, and I made all my calls from the road. With the size of the sacrifice made, a considerable feeling of loss is normal for me. I am aware of what I have given up to do what I feel passionate about, and that is comforting, that awareness.

What am I talking about? Nothing really. I am talking about seeing the inner workings of those things you really love. Sometimes though, you find out how hot dogs are made and you don’t want to touch them ever again. Gummy Bears are made up of animal toenails and eyeball skin. I am a music fan, and now I get to see how it gets to my ears, like watching those “meet your meat” videos by PETA that turned me vegan for a full 8 hours last year. Sometimes I am bothered by this, and other people are too. I’ve spoken to A&R people who don’t even like going to shows anymore. That is devastating to me. I am not there yet, but here, only 6 months in, I am already dreading the possibility.

I will give up this business before I give up music though. You can bet on that.

I’m learning, at the fastest pace I can imagine, about the places I can fit in to the world, which is what we all do I suppose. We figure out where it hurts to stand, and where it doesn’t hurt to stand, and we usually choose the latter. Unless we are in love, then we spend time standing in incredibly stupid places.

I guess all I need is a little time with my friends and my family. Damn I know some fantastic people, and I can’t wait to have them around me, doing nothing but being fantastic. I suppose it is all about balance. I needed a boozy, Scottish, contemplative night alone, and I got it. Now, I need a day surrounded by beautiful people who I know and who know me, and I hope I do get it in the near enough future. I think the chances of this are pretty good, if balance has anything to say about it.

Don’t get used to the honesty and sensitivity; it’s the scotch and the weather. Also in the name of balance, I will soon be back to beating my chest and saying “fuck” a lot.

Have a great night.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Lazy, thanksgiving.

George Hower (2:44:09 PM): lazy fuck.. get on the bottom
George Hower (2:46:22 PM): you should just post a fucking link to youtube and call it a day.
George Hower (2:46:40 PM): just say "explore as you'd please, there's plenty of good stuff"

Ha, he's right, but he's also a fuckhead.

Have a good thanksgiving. I will be running with the bolivians.

And now, Lindsey.

It's both shitty and awesome that she is playing for the other team. Shitty, because she chooses to share a bed with Ellen Degeneres, as opposed to sharing one with me, your Mom, and every woman I've ever slept with...awesome because well.....she's hot and she is lesbian.

See, this is why I am not writing anything, this is the best I can come up with.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

The Berzerker Loves You

I'm getting fucking lazy.
This guy is the fastest drummer in the world, verified by the Guiness book of world records. Sorry about the shaky video, but its worth it just to see what he does to the snare drum.

See, I could write something, but theres really no point right now in the face of all this brutality.
This one might have been banned for causing seizures or some shit...or because it is just ridiculously brutal.

There's more, don't worry.


Most brutal...

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Guest Post #3

3rd guest post comes from my good friend Drew.

Drew is 85% of the reason I started this thing. His Livejournal (circa 2002-2005) is something that transcended typical puffy-eyed bloggery to become something quite heroic. He inspired me. He still writes, but it is more like stand-up comedy now. He now makes more money than he deserves to, selling insurance in one of the Carolinas. He also used to have the most entertaining temper problem in history. I once saw him flip out and beat his hands into scappy lumps against a brick wall because an ATM wouldn't give him money to buy obscure Scandinavian pagan black metal CD's.


I remember a few years back I was walking around with my friend Scott Bibus on some railroad tracks. As we walked, we went by this sheltered kind of area where there were these two bums hanging out. Being that Scott's biggest fear was getting raped in the ass by a homosexual bum while light rock hits of the 80's were playing, we were already sort of on edge about the situation, but it was made worse when one of the dudes saw us and started yelling, "HEY! HEY! HEY GUYS, C'MERE!" Which went from really scary to really awkward because we had to just sort of smile and wave like two fucking morons that didn't know they were about to get a case of anal AIDS. Nothing happened, but one thing I did notice was that while the one bum was yelling at us, the other one was kind of covering his face and looking away, like he was embarassed. So I learned that people who cook shit in soda cans and literally shit where they eat (in dumpsters) actually do have shame. Which is fucked up. Even this dude who was crouching in a bus station all by himself was screaming apocalyptic shit at the moths surrounding him. It also made me sort of think on a deeper level how when you're in a shit situation where you feel totally isolated, you're forced to make due with what you have. To further elaborate, you have to make a fucking friend that you don't want to make - shit happened to me in the 5th grade with a kid named Andrew Lorge. Now, don't get me wrong, Andrew Lorge was a nice kid but there was a reason he didn't have any friends. The kid fucking smelled like shit. Those years where the onset of body odor occurs and if you're not careful, you're suddenly an outcast for reasons you might not understand. Of course, it didn't help that he was so pale that you could see the veins through his skin, either. He was obsessed with this role-playing game that I never understood but pretended to; called Mechwarrior. He would bring these fucking books to class, talk about them in the locker room; just fucking everywhere. The worst part was how he'd bring it up. He'd run up to you and yell, "YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT MECHS?" Being ten years old and already feeling like an ass because I had this group of girls who relentlessly teased me (the worst of which is now a fucking stripper), I did what anyone else would do: I beat the fucking shit out of him at recess until he stopped talking to me. Kind of an aimless story, but I guess I just wanted to say that on a very petty level, I understand what it's like to be forced to partner up with someone for survival.

Friday, November 17, 2006

This is where we fight, this is where they die.

A lot of shit on my mind. I will be honest and say I have been stagnating a bit as of late. I was feeling pretty uninspired, until my meeting with the boss man.

Our advertising department recently got a new big cheese, the new SVP. I met with him yesterday, and the effects of the meeting are still being felt.

He is one of those big idea advertising guys, the type of person that jerks in ties would pay 1500 dollars to see give a seminar at some swanky hotel in the city. He would definitely rock an N*sync-esque headset and use sweet powerpoints. Think Tom Cruise in Magnolia, Everything Scat, the main character in the book Syrup wishes he could be, Topher Grace in the movie, In Good Company, and Henry Rollins' character in Feast...I'm telling you, see that fuckin movie because I am going to keep dropping obscure references to it, and you are going to miss the frackin' boat. One of those people that is self-consciously hip, because he knows he has to be, lest he get swallowed up by all the tech-savvy young guns fresh out of college with their arsenal of Helios and Zune players, who think Myspace is "played out".

Be that as it may, I met with him, and it was refreshing, a solid shot in the ass for my attitudes toward work. He, of infinite success and almost unrealistic vision, expressed a lot of faith in me because I am young, and I will be "the future" of this organization and blah blah blah. He told me to go ahead and step on toes, ruffle feathers, and don't listen to what any old fucks have to tell me, Besides him, I need to listen to him, (he's 40, but you wouldn't know it...that's the point) and I don't have much of a problem.

He wants to "usher us into a new age" or whatever, break people down, generalize, compartmentalize, figure out how to manipulate them into buying ringtones so we can stop using outdated media like print (egad!!) radio (wholly defeated, I hear) and TV (we all love it), in preparation for the cliff-dive that CD sales are going to take. Now I can take this either way. Ive spent a lot of my life, especially my academic one, railing against this kind of manipulative, catch-phrasey jargon-rich rhetoric that comes from "Advertising Professionals". I am still very uncomfortable with it, but since this is my job for the time being, I am going to do my best to break it down, balance it out (the benefits of being a Libra), and go "black checker, red checker" on it...thanks uncle Joey.

Ok, quickly, my cynical analysis: This is all well and truly fucked. I'm fucking quitting, going vegan, deleting my facebook, shopping at thrift stores, and moving to Wascott Wisconsin, where I can drink in ONE bar, write leaflets, and jerk off a lot, safe from falling prices and the retarded/old greeters at Wal-Mart.

Anyway, on with the angular over analysis of this situation.

See, a lot of people hate on such pie-in-the-sky thinking because it is unrealistic, but when all the chips are down/the cards are on the table/at the end of the day/when all is said and done, cut and dried, the men separated from the boyz II men (pick your favorite cliche, apparently...) and you need to pull off some cool shit, it doesn't hurt to have one of these big dreaming motherfuckers in your crew. Inversely, it also helps to have a cynical realist fuck around too, to keep Mr. Helium Brain tethered to the ground.

In my situation, I have to weigh the options.

My other influence apart from this guy (we'll call him SVP), is my immediate boss, who I work with day to day. She is sweet, smart, and driven, but the truth is that she is extremely overworked and frazzled. I watch her writing emails and it is strangely amusing, watching her hammer on her keyboard and swear a lot. She resents SVP. She is the gruff Sargeant in the trenches stepping over rats and corpses holding defiled and failed magazine ventures, he is the Colonel, all shiny buttons, medals, and fucking fantastic boots (the 2009 Jordans, probably). To her, he doesn't know the reality of the situation, and he truly does not know what its like to bust ass every day in the mud like she does.

Because of SVP's rallying though....I get the distinct vibe that my department is afraid of me now....more on this later


There are a few other things though. Lil' Wayne is a fucking genius, if you don't know by now, you better get to the learning annex, bitch.

So be a competitor or get out the weather
Me? I got a umbrella and a Beretta

I shook this guy's hand, it was like he barely saw me, I am of ZERO concern to him, and his handshake reflected that. Loose, soft, unmotivated. I'm surprised I even got a look at all, or any kind of acknowledgement. A dark club, sunglasses on, and a non person like me is not a combination a guy like this even needs to concern himself with.

They ask me why I wear shades at nighttime...cause I don't wanna see nothin'.

The Diplomats work right next to me. I see Jimmy Jones' mom almost as much as I hear "Ballllllllin!!!". In the same vein, the cool ass AV technician guy made a music video about his receding hairline called "Ballllldin!!"

I went to the offices of Rolling Stone/US Weekly today for a luncheon with the rocker guy from American Idol who lost. Free food, and I got to see if the people who work for US weekly really are the twits I imagined they were. They are. Free food, free Rolling Stone magazines everywhere.

Ok, that's it, I'm out. I have a big weekend planned. Have a good one. Wait...before I go...


I realize it's small....thus making it anticlimactic, but, AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

51st post.

So that last one, the one with the cockeyed references to ex girlfriends and hard drugs, yup, that was the 50th post. Lets celebrate.

If you read this, do me a favor, tonight, slam/drink 4 beers in 40 minutes. Easy, no problem. Slam 'em and grab your cell phone. Go through it, find the phone numbers of all those random women/men you managed to grub digits off of. I'm talking randoms, the ones who probably don't know who you are. I know you all have plenty of numbers like that at your disposal. Bonus points if you skeeted/sat on their chin but that is beside the point. Take your 4 beer buzz and give them a call, what you do from there is your business...mostly, but please say one of these three things:

a.) I just got back from the doctor, and its not looking good.
b.) "You're the ebony to my ivory" (bonus points if she isn't actually "ebony".
c.) "Hey momma! You still do that thing with the back of your throat??"
d.) "I love you."

Really, try it, let me know what happens. Email me the results at
I'm serious. If one person does this (HIGHLY unlikely) I will be ecstatic.

This blog is now interactive, now go for it.

More to come later.

And now, Shane fuckin McGowan of The Pogues. The greatest man to ever walk the earth (?)



Tuesday, November 14, 2006

The reason I cant stop reading about rock and roll.

I told her I wanted to avoid any kind of heartbreak at all costs.

She obviously wasn't listening, or simply didn't care, because her next move was to insist that we get modern day mid-twenties married. No ring, nah, the only thing I handed her was a handful of explosive orgasms and clever Valentine's day gifts, Her, all she handed me was her lips and a massive shit storm every time I forgot to call her after work.

And now, which is different temporally from the time I was just writing about, all I can read is rock and roll folklore. Epic rockstar debauchery. The dark stuff. And now, which is slightly embellished and probably a little frightened, all I can think about is getting Keith Richards-Mcgowan-Reed-Ryder-Vicious-Rose-Costello fucked up and dancing like a fool at a Battles concert. You know, REALLY go for it, smash my teeth out on some ratty, sticker coated green room wall so the acid will absorb better, you know, get in there. Inject booze, go Aerosmith and inject acid, mix hair gel with crushed up painkillers and give myself a mohawk.

After all, I'm a human, I can take it. The closest I've come to testing my limits thus far adds up to something like this (choose one):

a. bungee jumping in Wisconsin dells.
b. mixing mushrooms, weed, and beer (oh. snap.)
c. calling my grandma after happy hour.

It never was going to go anywhere, but I will be damned if I didn't give the impression it was going to end in puppydogs, fairytales, glasses of wine over green fucking fields, flowers in her hair. I knew damn well what wasn't going to happen, but she didn't, and the rug came out from underneath. The resulting wipeout probably looked fucking hilarious to the sidelines, but we weren't laughing.

Afterwards, my dick look like I had used it to murder a thin-blooded public transit wino...

...I've never killed, or at least not with my hands.

And then there is my chosen line of work. There we go. The business, which is great, but these aren't the days of old, I don't have indie, mob-tied sharp dressed motherfuckers beating down my door, laden with hookers, lines of "work", and stacks of records to corrupt me with. No way, I have assistants being flogged by their bosses into calling me, wondering where the money for their digital billboard/pop-up ad is. Other people pretending they aren't looking out for the ol' number one.

don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but Nico was constantly whipping Iggy Pop's skinny fingers for not being full of "ze poison", as she called it, and she is half right.

Now her medicine cabinet?! That fucker had some rockstar potential. Close your eyes, reach in, and swallow, Syd Barret in five minutes.

So anyway, I keep trying to convince myself that there is a point to all of this...other than to finally write "that abstract shit" I keep hearing so much about. Sounds like a hoot, but I'm only going to write it if my grandmother can read it.

So Polka Dot, this one is for you baby. I hope it is what it should be out there. Make sure to keep the wig on, and cut that fucking dance floor into a million pieces. You can count on me to do the same.

Friday, November 10, 2006

More than you needed/wanted to know.

This is the only real time to write, I suppose.

For many reasons, I can't write successfully yet unless I am supposed to be doing something else besides writing.

I've been out, but not for good. Here is a breakdown of what the hell has been going on, supplemented by some recommended listening, Ogre's brilliant idea.

Let's start with last week.

EDIT: Make sure you read the guest posts below also.

Monday: Training my replacement. The heir to the throne. The kid is far over qualified for the job and knows more about the music business than I do. He made one of the two major jumps you can make once you are in this business. He came from "indie" (read: independent record labels, mercenary marketing companies, weed-blown recording studios) to "industry" (read: benefits, HR department, red tape, better quality control, mo' money). I've seen many make opposing jumps like this day to day, week to week, criss-crossing each other in mid air long enough to hand out business cards and high fives.

You could also break it down from a "grass is always greener" perspective as my friend Katie and I did. Katie is hardcore, a business woman hip hop head ball buster (with a deep sensitive side) who somehow managed to get Smiff n Wessun to reunite under their original name for a friends birthday party. We decided that any move from either sector is made in the name of scoring better drugs. It is probably that simple.

CMJ (College Music Journal) week began that day, meaning the whole city was overrun by bands with stupid names, showcases, parties, industry scrubs, and drunk-ass college radio music directors. That night I went out to a party put on by The Syndicate (who knows what they do, it probably involves some ridiculous cross promotion) drank as much free booze as possible, embarrassed myself in front of the bigwigs from my label, won an ipod speaker system, and hustled Chuck Klosterman books out of gift bags.

The Knife: "Heartbeats" - A guilty pleasure, but as the saying goes, "If it's good, it's good, if it sucks, it sucks".

Tuesday: Hungover. Continued training, our biggest artist (dead celebrity big) came in to do a press day about her recent exploits in a third world country. I didn't see her once, partly because of the inevitability that I would cram my whole foot in my mouth, and partly because of the fear that I would turn to stone. It was like the fucking president showed up to use the shitter. I found myself losing my mind, running around doing retarded tasks like telling the bigwigs from her book company (she wrote a children's book, too) to stand somewhere else.

It was also Halloween, so we had all this little kids in the office who were much more well behaved than any guests we've ever had. Power rangers, pirates, jedis, ninjas. The whole crew was in the house.

My workday ended by drinking Patron (gold) in the office, trying to pretend I wasn't.

At night, got high and overly-appreciated the movie "Feast". That movie fucking rules, especially if you've ever seen "Tremors", "From Dusk Till Dawn", "Aliens", "Demon Knight", or any other brutal survival horror flick. Not that you care what I think about movies, or anything for that matter.

A quick example of how wonderfully fucked this movie is (NSFW):

Jose Gonzalez: "Heartbeats" (The Knife cover) - almost as good as his cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart".

Wednesday: More training. I fucking suck at training people, and at the time I found myself going quite crazy, because at night when I wasn't overanalyzing the ins and outs of horror movie formats, waiting for sleep, I would have those moments of intense critical introspection, ending with asinine re-appraisals of the way I deal with people. Not anything of any substance, mind you, but things like the way I answer the phone, my diet, and the appropriate times to do that weird "hug and a kiss" greeting thing they do out here.

Regardless, this is the way I (and many others) do it. Get high and over analyze some shit. Like movie previews. By the way...

Oh yeah, music.

Ratatat: "Lex" - Sounds like someone chopped up some Yngwie Malmsteen shit and turned it into an arena banger. Instant badass.

Thursday: First day of the new job. I was treated like I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn't. Also, my department is all female, so they became incredibly interested in my love life. They know nothing.

At night, I stepped out with MassHole to BB Kings, a nice venue with terrible, terrible ways of doing business (7 dollar fucking Bud Light) to see one of our bands perform at a CMJ party. Oddly enough, this band is a Christian band, but their management did not want to send actual music fans running for the hills with the "Christian Rock" tag, so they ripped them from their Christ-tacular label and put them on a normal label, with no mention of the almighty. Seemed to work for them, because they are a hell of a band.

The first half of my night was spent trying to find someone cool with an expense account to buy my drinks, and ended up getting quite buzzed.

The second half I was absolutely riveted by this band doing their thing onstage, especially their instrumental stuff. I didn't expect much, but they blew me away, enough that after the show I was yelling (read: drunk can't control the volume of his voice) at their manager to force the guys to form two bands, one instrumental and oHe not, so they could open for each other. He thought I was amusing. I think.

Mutemath: "Reset" - Instrumental, fantastic fucking drumming. (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, say no more...)

Friday: Hangover. More new job. More not knowing what the fuck I am doing. Borat movie. Teste satchel.

Non Prophets: "The Cure" - A little "emo rap" or whatever, but the beat is amazing.

Saturday: Um...oh man this day by day thing is getting fucking stupid. Got really drunk on Vodka and Sparks (I'm calling it the the John Starks, my new favorite drink/NBA Jam player) and played Yahtzee all night.

That's all for now, it's good to be back blathering like a fool. Up next, either a guest post by hero Drew, the weird happenings of this week, or all the literature you will need on a religion I am starting.

See you soon, cunts.

Guest Post #2

Keeping with the "Before and After" Title of this blog, cleverly stolen from Wheel of Fortune: NameDropAcid....I will attempt to drop names and tell stories of dropped acid that In No Way Incriminates Myself Within the Story.

Name Drop

First the classic name drop. There I was, sipping Cristal and taking shots of Patron...all the while watching hot chicks walk in my general direction, before they turned to ignore me and talk to the several NFL players responsible for my classy consumption. We were the guests of these players whether they liked it or not, and judging by the amount of conversation between us and them, they didn't like us very much. Nonetheless, these Vikings and Lions players showed us how the NFL players roll on a Thursday night in a trendy bar in Scottsdale, AZ. I was too impressed with the situation to even think about how much bigger and richer they were than me, instead trying to drink as much as possible to allow for a long, painful reflection the following morning on the couch. The night went on and I was only able to stand around waiting for scraps, when I realized how stupid I felt acting like a hanger-on for a bunch of guys that were probably younger than me. But, they filled my glass with more Cristal and I got over it.

At the next bar I was pretty excited to tell everyone that I was hanging out with famous people, when I got word that Mike Tyson was hanging out in the bathroom. There was some commotion while I was in line, and I think I missed him. Mike Tyson is like 3 feet tall and probably slid below my legs while I was trying to light my cigarette or something. Undeterred, I went back to the dance floor to dance with my friend, hoping girls would see how cool I was and attack. That didn't happen, but I soon spotted most of the first round draft picks from the 2006 NFL draft. They didn't care who I was either and all I realized how sweet it would be if a big fight broke out and all these big dudes started rockin' other big dudes. It was cool, even though a fight didn't break out. As the night ended and I waited for something cool to happen, I realized that the guy who had been buying me drinks all night, was about to drive home in his rented ferrari. This ferrari had cost him about $30,000 for 7 days of rental and he had probably 20 drinks. Awesome. NFL players are so hard.

Quick second story: I heard Mike Tice told someone to "Shut the Fuck Up!" in church one time. Awesome.

Drop Acid

So this Friend of mine took a geltab on a Saturday at noon. He had to bounce at a bar that night, but c''s noon, how could that be a problem. The first stop on this new drug was at Hempfest where drugs would be welcomed with open arms. The first sight at this place is a man wearing a lizard rubber mask, nodding to the music that was playing. My friend tried to play it cool, but there was no rational reason for this and he was sure it a was a hallucination. After some quizzing of those around him it turned out the mask was real, and situation was ridiculous. Then the giggles hit. My friend sat by the river with his two other friends and laughed until they were told to leave before the police saw what was happening.

A full day of poor decision making ended when my friend thought going to work as a bouncer at a popular bar was a good idea. By this time the acid had bypassed the fun and exciting phase and bottomed out in the painful and introspective phase that is usually counteracted by weed/booze/sleeping. No one should attempt to work in this phase, and my friend soon regretted his actions. He was forced to work the door and check id's....looking people in the face as they looked back judging him. He knew that everyone knew he was on drugs and semi-retarded. He was sure someone would turn him in and take advantage of his weakened state. By four in the morning he had broken down and had a heart to heart with everyone in the bar telling them "I fucked up today, I took acid and I don't know what is going on. If you see me in trouble...please help me." That night he went home and swore off all drugs and thought of a way to get his respect back from all the people in the bar. As he walked in the door to the house, he was met with an alternative to quitting drugs and he took that instead. Go drugs.

Our second guest post came from my good friend Ogre.

I first met Ogre studying abroad in Scotland through a shared love of drinking, drugs, and grab-ass. His interests include, drinking whiskey and water (he is the only reason I drink that shit), telling fantastically over-embellished stories, and saying "sweet" and "awesome" (like the whiskey and water, I picked this up as well). He is also an expert in tavern etiquette, and the most politically astute person I know.

EDIT: That Mike Tice story in the middle is more mine than his. Bastard. Good thing only like 6 people know who the fuck that is.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Guest Post #1

The mighty Clitoris Rex has spoken for some time now. Every now and then there comes a time when life is simply too busy to allow time to write. This could be one of those times. So during these times of so-called busyness, what does a clitoris do? Does it fiddle with it's respective clit? Does it think of complex stimulation techniques to enhance her pleasure? Does it just rip it's hair out instead of shaving/waxing to feel something different?
Is your clitoris suicidal?
See but there in lies the issue at hand. There are all of these questions circling around about the whereabouts of out endowed leader.

Here is one man's opinion.
On October 28th, 2006 Clit disappeared without a trace. He left all he held dear to him in New York. He went on to search for greener pastures, rather than listening to the new Nelly Furtado over and over trying to find meaning. It is a dance album, fuck!. That's it..but Timbo killed it. Anyway that's all off topic. This was a Saturday to be reckoned with. Here is the actual accounts as they took place.

Saturday October 28th (series of events, times are all speculation)
Clit awakes from a night of much deserved pleasure-fucking-rest.

Clit scratches himself for the next hour...straight.

Clit moistens himself under a water fountain.

Clit dresses quickly and rushes out the door.

Arrives at the subway and waits for Jarrod... not Jared.

Jargy arrives.. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d! mcmarmely"

Clit punches Jargg in the throat and promptly escapes.

Clit decides to fly back to Minnesota to hang out with his real friends.

While on the flight clit becomes very intoxicated and hit on everything in the plane. Everyone promptly turns him down except for this marvelous looking plastic cup. He does it...hard. A nearby woman sees clit's cock in full-thrust and becomes moist. She decides to whip out her clit and spank it.

Clit arrives in Minneapolis.

Clit arrives on the street in front of the airport. He decides to hail a cab.

Clit arrives at Billabongs in Bloomington. He doesn't know anyone there.

He decides to sit down at the bar and drink.

While sitting, Jargg sits next to him. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim" d00d!

Clit promptly vacates the Billabong's establishment and walk the streets.

After walking for nearly an hour on acid, Clit searches for meaning in all of this.

A female with large gazonges approaches the clit. He reaches out and caresses her large members. She soon becomes moist and needs to fuck..naturally.

12pm Sunday morning: the night after October 29th
Clit wakes up..dazed as usual. Looks over at the clit he bagged and vomits profusely. Stands up walks to the bathroom with sagging balls. He looked in the mirror and says "what the fuck!" The clit he molested turned out to be a crazed grongler with a predilection for long sacs. This grangly horrible excuse for a female had fastened an additional stretched-out sac to Clit's already semi-dangly sac, making a ricockulouly ridiculous sac.

Clit comes to the full realization of what has happened to him and decides to go drink.

After stumbling around town all lopsided and shit (ones always bigger than the other and in this case two and large) he sits on a street corner in downtown minneapolis.

Jargg comes up to Clit. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"
Clit looks at him disgusted and walks away.

after wondering aimlessly he decides to become a male stripper and decides to work at "Gary's well hung dance emporium"

has his first dance. It goes over well. The mens all love his double sac.

Clit has unprotected sex with 19 exotic males.

Clit's ass hurts so much he can't walk for a week.

It is here that the details get fuzzy. The next week is all a blur.

Sunday, Novermber 5th
Clit awakens to planes overhead. He heads to the bathroom to take a shit. His ass feels much better now..but he has this horrible rash on both sacs and seems to be developing some kind of blister. Anyway he is surrounded by unknown whereabouts. He has never been here before. He decides to sit on a couch and watch tv.

A dude with a partial mohawk comes wandering out of the room near the bathroom.
Clit: Hey man...where am I?

Hawk: you mean you don't remember man? Your friend came and saved you from the gay club a few days ago. You've been passed out for days.

Clit: Great..where am I?

Hawk: do you want anything to eat man? you're probably hungry...huh..

Clit: I could go for some Spam out of the can, some ham and perhaps you might be willing to split a microwave hamburger with me?

Hawk: I'd love to dude.

Clit: Do you have the movie Mallrats?

Hawk: Yeah I think I do... let me go look..

Hawk: aha! here it is!

Hawk: Dude.. we got some freezies you want some?

Clit: (very puzzled) why yes... I'd love some freezies. You remind me of someone Hawk.

Hawk: Yeah man.. I get that a lot.

Clit and Hawk talk for a while and watch the epic Kevin Smith film "Malllrats"

Hawk: well dude it's been cool hanging out.. I have to leave now though.

Clit: Yeah man I've had fun. Where are you going?

Hawk: I gotta go to work.. your friend should be back soon.

Clit: alright dude...later!

Clit falls asleep during the third round of Mallrats.

Monday, November 6th

Clit wakes up frantic... (thinks to himself) "holy shit!!! have to get back to NY to go to work! I have this really crazy new awesome job for this ultramegahuge record label. I don't want to get fired.. Man.. how am I going to get home?"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"


Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"


(throws empty Spam can at Jargg)

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Clit: AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!


This is the last known whereabouts and conversation recorded of the Clit.

At this time we have no further information.

Stay tuned.. there will be more. we hope.

For know.. keep you clit moist because Clit does!

OK...I'm too busy to write, so I commissioned some close friends (probably the only damn people who read this thing) to handle it for me.

The only thing I will be writing I guess is introductions and overly-simplistic summaries of my friends.

This was from George Hower, an overly-sensitive ex-fat guy graphic designer who's girlfriend once convinced him that sex was a "bad thing". He is one of my oldest friends and an all around fantastic person.

Oh yeah...I barely proofread this thing.

Monday, November 06, 2006



I am sorry about the lack of updating going on. I have been in transition from one job to the next and simply haven't had the time.

I promise I will be back on the job very soon. I may have to start writing at home now....which might change things, being that I won't be swiftly hammering out posts when no one is looking.

I will actually be able to write....

In the meantime, continue hunting for porn and starting flamewars on the know thats what you do.

Friday, October 27, 2006

Sordid Tales

Brief flashes of seedy stories I will not complete. I extended my hand to introduce myself, she promptly fell on the floor and had herself a seizure...

...she sat on top of me, naked, put the pipe to my face, lit it, and then poured wine down my throat...

...the transvestite was kneeling, huffing Amyl Nitrate, jerking off right by my bed. He kept trying to rest his head near my feet, so I kept kicking him directly in the head, hard, telling him to fuck off...

...she wanted to fuck me because I looked and acted like her friend who just died in a tragic marching band bus accident. She would cry if I said certain phrases or moved certain ways...

...the bum swung once, the kids swung twice each, and connected. Whenever he would try and get up they would throw him across the train and continue stomping him...

...she moved the futon in front of the door and said, "it's going to get naughty in here"...

...the kid forgot his name, his address, even the city he lived in. He resorted to just staring blankly into the cop's face, gently moving his mouth...

...He asked who flicked the staple. I didn't answer, because I didn't do anything. I felt something hit me, and then saw blood everywhere...

And now, a picture from Ogre,
"this is you wearing black face, in fifty years, living in the south, and needing another 40 before the store closes. Oh, and you are not stuck in a scooter, you just use it to get special parking and days off at your job."

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Thursday, October 26, 2006

Poor writing, David Byrne, Woodies, Knickerbockers

It's been a big week thus far. I haven't slept much, I cant see straight, and I'm wearing the same clothes I wore last night. This post is going to be a god damn nightmare...

Let's see...

5 minutes before I was about to walk out, two 110 dollar Knicks tickets fell into my lap. Right on the baseline, under the basket. So I grabbed my friend MassHole, who is always down to do something random. She is awesome, a hard drinking Bostonian who likes really bad music. She reads this blog. We have had some fantastic drunk sex. Despite our best efforts, it is NEVER awkward between us. Especially now that she has a boyfriend, it's funny watching her melt into a crushing schoolgirl whenever she talks about him.

So yeah, MassHole and I got buzzed and yelled and watched the Knicks kick the shit out of Philly for free. I love this shit.

David Byrne was here. I repeat, David Byrne. Singer/mastermind, Talking Heads. Someone told me he was here and I turned into a giddy 14 year old waiting for Rex Manning to sign my tit. You have no idea how much I love the Talking Heads. I went as this fucker for Halloween two years ago, and somewhere there is a recording of my drunk ass covering "Burning Down the House" over drum machine beats from the 70's.

what the fuck?

I couldn't get any work done knowing he was there. I would constantly expect to turn around and see him standing there, white hair and all, with that slightly cracked but kind expression on his face. I rehearsed what I was going to say, to avoid activating the magnets in my foot and mouth... let us not forget the Tony Wilson incident.

I never got my chance. I got up to turn down loud ass BET, looked to my left, and there he was, 50 feet away from me, waiting for the elevator. He was looking right at me, wearing bright red pants, swinging a Vespa helmet. The second I looked at him, he moved swiftly into the elevator. It was like he knew what I was up to, and hurried to escape the blather of nonsense I was about to unleash on him. Smart man.

After that, the video promo girl I went on a date with not too long ago invited me to The Woodies. The Woodies is the MTVU awards show. This means its populated by low-level industry scrubs, college radio DJs, and of course, drunk ass college kids. It was the shit, Beck performed with puppets, Lady Sovereign was hammered, 30 Seconds to Mars were prissy, Slug from Atmosphere (I was on that shit back in 98. The hometown heroes.) is still a smirking, talented fuck, Katt Williams (Diplomats?!?) is funny as hell, Imogen Heap did "hide and seek", and TV on The Radio was the fucking shit. They played "Wolf Like Me" and I couldn't wipe the stupid red bull and vodka grin off my face.

We were out by 11:00, in the bar by 11:10, and home by 2. But not my home. Like I said, I'm wearing the same thing I wore yesterday.

What a week, I need to go home, nap, shower, and chill out.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Brooke, Asses

Brooke Hogan is at the CD store downstairs, and I ride for tall thick blonde girls, so yes, I will be there screaming with the goony 15 year olds the minute I get off work.

And now, a beautiful ass on stage with a metal cover band in Phoenix (Ogre, this one is for you buddy). This is awesome.
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There is a real post below this one too, don't get too distracted by the beauty above.

Whacky phone messages part 4?

I got another message today from our accent-switching whacked fuckhead who called a few weeks ago. (Call number 7 if you click the link)

Here it is, painstakingly recorded word for word, or damn close:

"I was wondering, as ah, somebody who has warned you continuously continuously, continuously, continuously about the fact that well, on the one hand I think like yeah like yeah you really owe me some money for...

for what exactly?

What do YOU think you owe me money for...

As somebody who wrote [something unintelligible]... Why would I be thanking them, yeah like yeah like your continued association here with people who have been bugging my house, nixing this thought and that thought, et cetera et cetera.

When the World Trade Center either went down or it didn't, I haven't been there to see... I haven't seen the corpses.... And that's the reality of it, I didn't even meet you but these are people that I've known for a long time, and I said, (American teenager/hippy accent) 'what are these guys talking about man? Are you ok?'

Reality...(Long pause, the way she said this word was creepy) They probably don't like you either. So as we sit here looking at you... you're looking at us... who's the best? I'm better than any...[cut off by the voice mail system]

Call 2: (Bloated oil tycoon southern accent) "Hi, I'm like a good friend of Donald Trump's, and I'm about the most aggressive purchaser that you are ever going to find.

cuz like, uh...

(stunned Irish accent) Who was that guy? Eminem was it? Really? like Eminem drove over a cliff with his pregnant girlfriend?

America! You are off your scrawny's! And that's why you lost the World Trade Center.. and thats why over...what, two thousand of your troops or something are dead?

that's why you are losers!

that's why you're NOT the #1 economy, because I said so!

Now I'm gooing to take you over, because you are bad news for everybody!

(Really screaming now in a cadenced Irish/Australian drill sergeant voice)

You are Hamburger Hill!
You are Ewan Mcgregor!
You're Colin [something unintelligible...Probably Farrel] jackin off!
You're fifteen fuckin years old!

In a rush of screaming static, she was gone. She wasn't cut off that time. I think I heard her handset disintegrate.

Now that I think about it, and verifying the location of her phone number that she didn't bother to block, I've been getting calls from this Australian woman during the day. She claims that she wrote a few songs by our biggest female artist. She would just tell me that she is extremely flattered but not angry, she just wants some money for them. These calls she sounds just spacey and extremely weird. In so many words, I always tell her to fuck off. This must be the same woman calling me after the sun has gone down and her Lithium/Foster's/Lithium cocktail has worn off.

We learned about this in abnormal psych, word salad, switching accents, and this woman is fucking off her nut. Or maybe I am. Either way, I was either close to laughing or close to screaming the whole time I was listening, yet I did neither, I just hovered in reactionary purgatory until it was over.

She did say some awesome things though, I really liked the bit calling us Hamburger Hill. However, despite her best efforts, she is still in second place for CRAZY, behind the legendary Mr. Steves.

I have the number of an ex-cop security guy who works for us, I am thinking about calling him up and giving him this woman's number. He's done some good work for us, namely on an extremely troubled Anthony Kiedis "fan" from Toronto. He fixed her wagon, fixed it real good.

Will keep you posted. Probably post some stupid picture later in the day.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Strippers, Rappers, Russians, and Gonzo Journalists.

One of our huge, big time, G-Unit Sympathizer rappers was just doing an interview slash photo shoot in my reception area.

It was cool the way the photographer did it, he would ask him questions about each track on his new album. When he started saying something that made him happy or serious or whatever, the photographer snapped a picture, mid-sentence.

He was what many of my music journalist friends would consider a "good interview". He was very forthcoming (then again, who doesn't like to talk about themselves?...ahem...) and wasn't spitting out pre-programmed answers.

It was cool to sit there and pretend like I wasn't eavesdropping.

What else....shit I only have a few minutes before I leave work....

Um, I went to the strip club a block away from my house on Friday with my brother, my roommate, my cousin, and this random russian fuck who lives in my building. It was going well with the jiggling asses and all, but ended badly when, after dropping 200 dollars between all of us, I flipped out on a stripper that tried to sell us a 5 dollar bottle of water. I left yelling, "that's how they get you!" while dragging my cousin by his shirt collar. It could have gone a lot worse.

I also just got an assignment to review the new CL Smooth album for this magazine. I've been verbally bitch-slapped a hundred times for not ever hearing the original Pete Rock and CL Smooth disc, and headquarters was no exception. Apparently I need to get the original before I can hear one note of the new one. I love the way these guys do business.

And now, the band that makes Slipknot look like the fucking Banana Splits.
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Friday, October 20, 2006

Brother and cousin visit.

Wow, I think yesterday's post was the most blatantly misogynistic (spelling?) thing I have ever written. Always good to reach a new low.

My brother and my cousin are coming from back home to hang out here for the weekend. Sheeeeeeeeeeit.

And now, a picture of my brother, blacked out, hitting on two of my ex-girlfriends at the same time.

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This is the definition of foreshadowing.

Thursday, October 19, 2006


Ok, so today I asked my friends George and Ogre (probably the only two people who read this thing) to give me things to write might have been a horrible idea.

Here goes...

Ogre: the fact that when you go to a small town people look funny.
I was in a small town in the mountains two days ago and damn, the bars were like a leper colony

Ok, Ogre is right. At the bus station in downtown Eau Claire, Wisconsin, the people all have this horrible look on their face. They are all mutants in Green Bay Packer Starter jackets anyway, but they have this look like they just swallowed shit pickled in vinegar while being kicked softly in the shins. Their lips go up to touch their nose, their nose is crinkled up, and their brow is perpetually furrowed.

This is an observed phenomenon. Verified and witnessed by this kid:
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His email address is if you want to verify.

Who knows why it happens, everyone from downtown Eau Claire is a mutant. It could be it's proximity to an ultra-stinky paper mill.

Ogre: Or maybe that people who were very impressionable during the 80's got screwed over in the areas of music interests and hair styles.

This is probably true also. Illustrated by the fact that as an 8 year old, I knew the words to some White Lion songs, and I was really into Saigon Kick....especially "The Lizard".
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There is no really good reason for anyone to listen to this music, except the fact that it was cool at the time for my brother, 11 years older than me, to be into that kind of stuff (half the reason that he CONSTANTLY had hot bitches with crimped hair following him around, the other half was probably his mullet [Ogre proves his point about hairstyles])

So he was impressionable by the fact that such trends got him lots of pussy, and I was impressionable because I thought my brother was cool for getting lots of pussy. Even as an 8 year old I knew this was something to strive for.

And bad pants

Zubaz, acid washed jeans, biking shorts, anything I wore on my legs from 1985 to 2003.

And Michael Jackson

Dude got a bad rap even then from the metal guys. I secretly thought thriller was the shit though.

and Michael J. Fox.

I saw him on "Scrubs" recently and he wasn't funny.

And Reagan.

As far as I know, Reagan turned the 80's into the new 50's. Or at least for all of his disciples. He is also the reason we were blessed with N.W.A., Black Flag, and the book, "American Psycho", by Bret Easton Ellis. Especially the part where he sends a starved sewer rat up a hooker's husband hole. That was Reagan's fault.

George: write about having relations with lots of women.. not just one.
Me: at the same time?
George: sure.. if you want. I really meant just throughout your life. you know.. grandpa from Little Miss Sunshine style

This reminded me of two things:

First, I know which line from the grandpa in that movie that George is talking about. There is a part where he goes off to a young kid about the importance of getting as much pussy as possible. So I tried to find this particular quotation online. I could only find this one:

Frank: I take it you didn't like it at Sunset Manor?
Sheryl: Frank...
Grandpa: Are you kidding me? It was a fucking paradise. They got pool... They got golf... Now I'm stuck with Mr. Happy here, sleeping on a fucking sofa. Look, I know you are a homo and all, but maybe you can appreciate this. You go to one of those places, there's four women for every guy. Can you imagine what that's like?
Frank: You must have been very busy.
Grandpa: Ho oh. I had second degree burns on my Johnson, I kid you not.
Frank: Really?
Grandpa: Forget about it.

This reminded me of studying abroad in Scotland. Spring 2003. There was something like 85 girls in the house that we lived in, and only 13 guys. I will say it again. 85 to 13. Do the math, about 4 of these guys had girlfriends, 2 were probably gay, and 3 were complete creepy fucks. That leaves 4 eligible men for this horde of horny harpies (alliteration, motherfucker), and I was one of them. I led the house in kills. Ogre (who you will know from above) was in second until he got a girlfriend out of the deal. Let me just say, THAT was a good semester. Second degree burns indeed.

Second, and this involves the "two at the same time" thing I asked George about. That would be sweet. All I can think about is this story:

It was new years eve, my first year of college, and for some reason I went back to my hometown to throw a huge hotel party with my buddies. I started out the night by either losing, or willingly throwing away the cap to my bottle of Jack Daniels. This meant that the damn thing had to stay in my hand or in my face at all times. So it did.

By 11:40 I had counted down the new year at least three times. Luckily, it was all good people in the room. My friend Tweak, my cousin, and a whole bunch of my hometown friends were all in rare form. My cousin had just blown it with one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. They dated for awhile, but things came apart when he went to college. She was a flirty little petite thing with an amazing body who acted like a huge tease, we will call her "tease".

Anyway, Tease had this friend, Kim, who I had made out with when I was playing wingman to my cousin in his Tease exploits. Kim was kind of gross, broad, square shoulders, and a weird shaped head. She looked like a doorframe. She also had the hugest tongue in history. The thing had to have been a yard across. You know how when they make molds of your teeth at the dentist, and you have to breathe through your nose so you don't panic and gag? That's what making out with her was like.

Back to New Years. The layout of this place is important to the story. You walk in to a living room. On your right is a door to a bedroom with a bathroom, the same on your left. About 4-5 inches of Jack into the night, my friend Opium went into the other bedroom with his girlfriend and locked the door. This left one bedroom, and one bathroom that was open to the public, and the living room.

Eventually, as I was sitting, swinging a bottle of Jack, screaming about how cool AZ the rapper is or some shit, I get grabbed by Kim and Tease, and pulled into the remaining bedroom. On the way in, Tease grabs Tweak, who was nearly in a coma.

We get in, lock the door, and I am about to start "doing the damn thing" with Kim, when I remember the gagging, scared feeling of the dentist. I think about how stupid I am, and deflect Kim onto Tweak with expert timing. She jumps all over his little ass like those bitches Andy Kaufman used to wrestle. That left me and Tease, and we had a great time, she was just as gorgeous naked, and we were having fun. The problem was that next to us, in the same bed, Tweak and Kim are screaming like a fucking deranged redneck couple.

Tweak "IT WON'T FIT!!"

He must have eventually gotten it in, because she started screaming porno-perfect-turned-to-11 for all outside the door to hear. Those outside the door were two people, my good friend 5, and my cousin, everyone else had left. My poor cousin was convinced that those sounds were the result of me screwing his ex-girlfriend. 5 and Cousin were trapped in that room, and this had been going on for an hour. So they tried to pass out sitting up. They slammed all the booze in the room, smoked all of their pot, tried stuffing newspapers under the door, in their ears to drown out the sound. Nothing worked.

By this time it was about 5 in the morning, so they decided to walk to the nearby Denny's to get breakfast. It was closed , so they turned around and came back to find us still going strong.

Eventually, we came out of the room. I will never forget looking over to see 5 and Cousin sitting on the couch in a room sticky and dripping with party goo, their faces buried in horribly crumpled newspapers, "reading". I said, "good morning, guys" with a smirk on my face. They said nothing, they didn't even look up from the papers they weren't reading.

Later, as we were all cleaning up, not talking to each other, I went into the bathroom to change. I looked down to see my boxers covered in this weird rust-colored stuff. I panicked and called Tease into the room like a dog who had just done something bad.

Me "What the fuck is this"
Tease "I dunno, I..."
Me "Are you OK?"
See, I was nice about it.
Tease "Yeah I'm fine, it's just..."
Me (Waaaaaaayy too loud) "YOU'RE A VIRGIN?"

She just gave me an angry look and walked out. Turned out she was. She lost her virginity New Year's eve in a bed while a 4 dollar live sex show played out 3 feet from her, and she lost it to ME, of all people. She was really pretty though, and I am pretty sure I was gentle...pretty sure.

Wow, George had a few more suggestions, but I am fucking tired of writing. Later.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006


I sent an email to my old professors and advisors to let them know what I had been up to. Seemed like the thing to do.

One of my main advertising teachers sent this back. He is a cool guy, smart as hell, it is just hard sometimes to understand him through his STRONG asian accent. Like a "L's sound like R's" type of thing.

Here it is:

Hi, ClitorisRex,

Yes, I remember you. You looks like a cynical person.

That's great news that you've got a job as the assistant to the advertising director for [company].
Last Monday I brought your email to my class and showed to students in my capstone.

I also had a chance to chat with Karen. We're really proud of you.

Can you give me a contacting information? I will pass it to students for a professional interview project.

Congratulation! Keep it touch!

The part that really gets me is the "You looks like a cynical person" bit. HA, there is no way in hell I will ever figure out what the hell he means. I AM cynical, but the way he said it will forever keep me up at night.

I laughed my ass off. Maybe you can get something out of this.

More wacky damn phone messages.

"The curse will be lifted from the families of the employees of the label that signs mo' Puffys to a more lucrative record deal than that of baby-raper R. Kelly"

"Oh no, Stevie Knicks will say, oh some people call me all the time. I know what it sounds like...
Do I have a platinum record, do I have an exclusive contract?
I don't know...
Do I have a gold record, do I have two reps?
I don't know...
[Leaves name, phone, agency]
I want a record contract, do I have a platinum record?"

Shit sounded like a fucking limerick read by the whiniest drag queen in history. It had iambic pentameter...I think.

Anyway, my date was fun, she's a cool girl. Extremely cool in fact. I don't know if it will go anywhere since I am about as "relationship ready" as a three-year-old, but I am definitely going to hang out with her again, and we are going to hook each other up with concert tickets and CD's from our respective labels. One hand washes the other. She did say it was "the best date she has ever been on" though...whatever that's worth.

And now, a picture I took a few weekends ago of a bridesmaid doing a kegstand...while getting felt up.

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Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Fucking Interns

There's two types of interns. The type who shut the fuck up because they know that they are interns (I was this kind, the good kind), and the type who walk around like they run shit, like they just mutated into a miniature David Geffen...which is REALLY small because David Geffen is tiny.

If you are ever an intern, follow these simple rules and you will be fine.

1. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEARN. That's what you are there to do, LEARN. You are not paid, and 90 percent of the people you work with don't even know your name. "Jackie Treehorn draws a lot of water in this town. You don't draw shit".

2. NO job will be below you. If you are asked to wax some rich dude's curly crap cannon, you do it and don't complain.

3. Make an impression, but don't be obnoxious. There's this kid who interns for one of our world music labels who walks around yapping the ear off of anyone he works for, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, not realizing that the people he works for want him to just shut the fuck up an organize their CD closets.

4. If you don't know something, ASK. This is probably the only time you should be talking, is when you have a question. No one wants you rushing into a job without knowing what is going on, so ask.

I think that's it. I got pretty heated there so I am going to slow down a bit.

Anyway, I think I am going to post a picture here every day, at the least, because, lets face it, we all love pictures.

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This is COMPLETELY unrelated to anything ever discussed here, but apparently these big fucking 100 pound flying carp are taking over the great lakes, blitzkrieg style. They jump out of the water and knock people's teeth out, knock them unconscious, or knock them out of the boat. Thanks Ogre.

I am going on a date tonight with a girl who works in video promo for another label. I met her when I was drunk so who knows what could happen. Keep you posted.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Champagne stories

I lead a charmed fuckin' life here.

My first day as an intern last summer I walked in...after getting horribly lost taking a freight elevator, I was completely green. Prior to that I got lost again looking for our damned offices, expecting to see our logo in lights above the door where Jagger-hot groupies oiled up and used each other like slip and slides...nope. Just another normal big-ass building.

Anyway, I made it in to our offices and within 15 minutes of being there I was handed a glass of shitty champagne. After that I was handed a glass of Dom. Nevermind WHY I got the spensive champagne, the point is that I did.

Because of my stressing and lack of food in stomach, I got drunk. I was drunk on Dom my first day working in the major music business.

I only think of champagne because since we will find any excuse to drink it on the job around here, we did yesterday. One of our guys got in to the NYU masters program, which is one hell of an achievement. So we drank. I caught a buzz a half hour before I was supposed to leave and go to dinner and drinks and a James Blunt concert with my future department.

--I wrote that last Wednesday and forgot to post it, or decided not to. I'm not sure but its up now, so yeah.

The day following that I went out drinking with a bunch of video promo people from all the major music networks...You know, the A-Team. I don't know what it is, but those people know how to party. I had a great time, and at some point I think I offered a girl large sums of money to titty-fuck her. I'm a vile person I know, but a bunch of funny gay guys put me up to it. A good time was had by all.

Lets wrap this up with another wacky phone message.

This guy calls with a voice like a grinding clutch telling me about some show he saw at the Count Basie theatre in Jersey. It must have been a lounge act because this guy was LIVID (as livid as a 900 year old man can be) about how disrespectful this show was to Dean, Sam and Frank. Somehow this was my fault... that this guy saw some cheap imitation of the Rat Pack on a nursing home outing. He said he was a friend of the group, and for all I knew he was part of their crew. Or he was just crazy as hell, and given my answering machine's sordid past, I'm going with door number 2.

And now, a picture of my cousin after drinking the worst bloody mary ever.
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