Friday, July 28, 2006

24 Hour Hardee's Evil

I met Tony Wilson on Friday.

--If you don't know who Tony Wilson is, he singlehandedly started the UK rave movement with his independent label Factory Records, signing Joy Division (Love will tear us apart) who became New Order (Blue Monday [NOT Orgy]), and the Happy Mondays (Whose lead singer's fat head is in Noodle's closet in the Gorillaz video for "Dare"), among others.

He came in and introduced himself as "Mr. Wilson". This man is a legend, especially to me. Initially, didn't know it was him, so I hung out with him while he waited for his meeting with another legend, who is a different story altogether. We hung out and bitched about the incompetent security in our building. You could tell his reputation for being an uncompromising prick with a grim sense of humor is warranted. You could also tell he was extremely cool.

Eventually, legend #2's assistant came out to get him, at this point Mr. Wilson said his first name. This is when the wheels came off for me. When I put 2 and 2 together, I made this stupid noise that was somewhere between a gasp and the sound boxers make when they get hit. Somewhere in this noise I incorporated a, "YOUR Tony WILSON???!!" making me look like a huge moron, they both heard me, but not quite well enough to respond. As they walked past they both gave me a look like I had just whipped my dick out. The kind of look that was meant to say, "put it away kid, you're embarrassing yourself."

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

A message from beyond the grave.

Its a monday morning and I am checking my messages. Soon after three stuttering mouth breathing jerkoff messages from some guy wanting to know what kind of guitar Lyndsay Buckingham played, I get this:

[Massive Static, sounds like it is coming out of the TV from the Craig T. Nelson classic, Poltergeist]
Sultry female voice: Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...huuunnnnnnnhhhh sssssiiiiiiiiiign me. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiign meeeeeeeeeee. sssssssssssign me to a lucrative record deal. I will be your sssssssssex slave for a year. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh...mmmmmmm.
Didnt leave her number, if she did, I would have hit her up.

Monday, July 24, 2006


O’Reily from the old HBO show "Oz" (you know the one with the prison, where Elliot Stabler is a fruit bat) wandered into the office today. We share the floor with a large internet company that is on it's way to ruling the world. A lot of people wander into our office thinking they are walking into the offices of this famous acronym we share the floor with. O’reily is one of these people. Me "Hello. How can I help you?"
O'Reily [Sits Down] "Yeah I'm here to see (some name I've never heard)."
Me "I'm sorry, that person doesn't work here."
O'Reily [Gets out cell phone] "I just talked to him. Make it happen." At this point I'm surprised he hasn't called me "Chief".

I knew long before he did that he was in the wrong place, but I didn't want to be a dick about it. I mean, its O'reily, he'll probably get Cyrill to fondle me in my sleep with a coat hanger or some shit if I fuck with him. So I lead O’reily over to the acronym while he mumbles something about being high.

Speaking of “O’”names…I also work near the headquarters of a news network that most dirty sandal-wearing liberals despise. My friends Cliff, Tweak, and I were walking down the street when we see the networks most famous and most hated anchor, O'fuckhead.

O’fuckhead walks by, Cliff recognizes his face only, O’fuckhead smiles.
Cliff [Points] “Jerk.”
(This was amazing, the way he said it was somewhere between a question and a declarative statement.)
O’fuckhead stops smiling.
Cliff “Who was that guy?”

Underage kids

That blonde girl from that TV show High School Musical seems like a nice kid. She’s really into bags and um…Fort Minor…I don’t know, shes blonde. And her sister is really hot.

This booze is the property of E-40

E-40 came in the other day. Hell of a guy, he walked right up to me, shook my hand. He asked me about my job for a second, and cracked jokes about how he still hasn’t been on Fuse or a cereal box.

More importantly though, he left his liquor behind. Free booze for me. Which meant that like a jerk, I am on the crowded subway just hours later holding a massive jug of 8 dollar burgundy, with my backpack full of the kind of liquor they write rap songs about.

Anytime. Any fucking time.

I got hammered alone on my roof and I was hung over, red lipped, and late for work the next day.

Fuck up a record deal??

I’m a moron.

About two weeks into my new job here, I'm told to watch an assistant's phone for "five minutes". Im not that good at these damn phones, but this particular assistant is hot and has a big butt so I have too much of a half-stock to ask for help.

Inevitably, this phone rings, I pick up, and there’s no one there. So I panic and hit the only other active line. I start saying, “Hello? Helloooo? How can I help you?? Helloooo?”. Im sure my thick midwest accent makes me sould like a dipshit. All I hear is a cacophony of voices on the other end. So I continue being a moron, “Hellooooo?”. A label exec runs out of his office saying “Dude, what the fuck?? HANG. UP. THE PHONE.” Turns out I had stumbled into a multi-coastal conference call with Paris Hilton.

I feel like a jerk and dont talk to anyone for the rest of the day.