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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Friday, October 13, 2006

How I got fired from a radio station.

I worked at this radio station in college, Wolf 108. The guy who ran it was a complete fucking lunatic.

His name was Wolf, legally, and he was batshit crazy. He told some bullshit legend about how he got his name.

Supposedly a man in black approached him in a bar and gave him a vial of white liquid. The man in black told Francis (I don't know his real name so I made one up) that if he drank the liquid he would become a werewolf. Now and forever. What a bunch of shit. Obviously he drank it.

After this he went completely off the deep end. He started to refer to his hands and feet as his paws, his nose as his snout, hair was fur, you get the idea. The really obnoxious part about this is that while most people don't usually find ways to work their nose into casual conversation, this guy would go out of his way to refer to his "snout" just so you would get the whole "I'm a wolf" thing. Fucking jackass.

He also received warnings from his doctor to stop eating raw read meat, and his neighbors were often pissed because of his late night howling at the moon. He also stopped drinking because he got in a bar fight, bit some guy in the neck, almost ripped out his larynx, and then howled over the guys sputtering, bleeding body. Dude almost died.

We were talking once about Lycanthropy. Talking to him was like talking to a microwave filled with scrap metal, he was always snapping on people or shutting down. The most socially inept fucker alive. He liked talking about wolf stuff though, obviously, so we got to talking about Lycanthropy, which he explained is a condition where someone thinks they are a wolf. I responded with, "So you are kind of a lycanthrope then?" He said "No, there's a difference, they THINK they are wolves, I AM a wolf". Fuckhead.

Ok, enough about how nuts this fucker was. I could go on forever. It should be obvious that he was completely unfit to run a radio station. Radio stations are fairly democratic places, or should be, but Wolf was a fucking DICTATOR. I almost got fired twice, once for using my cellphone inside (dipshit thought it would interfere with the signal, not true) and another time for spilling a teaspoon's worth of pizza sauce in the lobby. Both times he screamed so loud and got so pissed I thought he was going to hit me.

His dictator shit went even further. He billed himself as a "community" radio station. However, within the first month he alienated one of the only TWO rock music venues in town because they promised a deal and didn't deliver. So from that day forward, he would not even SPEAK of anything going on there. There was also another community radio station just starting to get their shit together. They weren't even on the air yet, but Wolf went ahead and fucking blacklisted anyone who even mentioned them. Serious, you were fired and out of the office.

I ran the industrial show. I like some industrial, I know a lot about it, but I'm not necessarily "into" it because of the high amount of dickheads who listen to it. These people suck, especially the ones who listen to EBM, an offshoot of industrial that sounds like gay German trance with different vocals. Bullshit. The people who like it are even worse. Horrible human beings. Anyway, I did it because I liked the idea of playing Ministry at high volumes and talking shit.

It should be obvious by now that this place was headed for the bargain bin.

I eventually got fired. Wolf and I had a bit of a "falling out" over someone playing an mp3 on the air. He had a legitimate right to be pissed since the thing sounded like shit, and it happened on my show, so he was pissed at me. Again, rightfully so. He told me I might be getting cancelled, but he didn't know and would let me know by Monday, my show was on Wednesday. Monday came around, no info, so I called him, emailed him, nothing. By Wednesday, I was under the impression that I will still on the air. So I got ready to do my show, got REALLY high with my roommates (which I rarely do) and as I was heading out, I checked the website to see a big "TBA" in the timeslot where my name should be. Fucking prick didn't have the balls to fire me personally.

I went in anyway, to pretend like I hadn't seen the site and there he was, getting his shoulders rubbed by his Bear (read: hairy gay man) tech guy...I think they were dating. Anyway, he told me to turn in my badge I was fired blah blah blah. I knew I was fucked so I took this as an opportunity to rail on him for a good 15 minutes straight, dusted out of my mind. I think I might have called him fat at one point. I broke down why he is a dumb fuck and why his station will fail.

It was the only time I've ever even made an attempt to "tell someone off". It was also one of the rare times I've willingly burned a bridge. I pissed on the ashes. Fuck that guy and every failed business he decides to start.

Wolf 108 went under like 2 months after I was "dismissed".

Why tell this story? Shit, I don't know. I thought about that nutbar on the train today and I decided I would write it down so I never forget it.

Here is a story about the station on the website of one of the Wolf 108 shows that actually survived on another station, complete with a picture of the man himself.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Bragging Writes

This is definitely as good as you think it is.

We all love it, walking around watching our dicks grow. Women, maintenance, even the mailroom guys feel ten feet tall around here if you get them at the right moments. Huge swinging dicks and egos in the breeze.

We are in the nerve center, no matter what level or impulse you find yourself straddling, you are part of one of the major institutions in this country, on this planet, in this universe. Source of so much pain, murder, love, fucking, and dancing. To name a chosen few. We create vice, make you spend money, inspire vice, glorify spending money. Each day I walk around here, I see an email being sent that will end a career, turn a life around, move millions of dollars, or millions of people.

This email might even have the word "cunt" in it. That's something you cant avoid, a bunch of crazy motherfuckers working in this business. Jerry Heller, co-founder of Ruthless Records with Eazy-E (also one of the most hated men in rap history) talks about this. The idea that we are all here because we are too damn nuts to be anywhere else. The guy who trained me, an ex-hippy-phish-following-acid-head acid head acid head, said the same thing. This is the only place a guy like him can be successful...and happy.

This might sound extremely fucking cocky, but this pride is rooted in satisfaction, many people you hear talk about working in this corridor will speak with similar grandeur, name-dropping all to hell while continuously checking to see if their balls are still there. They are. They always are. This is because they are happy with their job, and satisfied with their station in life.

Now we the American working population
Hate the fact that eight hours a day
Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
And we may not hate our jobs
But we hate jobs in general
That don't have to do with fighting our own causes
We the American working population
Hate the nine-to-five day-in day-out
When we'd rather be supporting ourselves
By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
That we have harbored based solely on the fact
That it makes us smile if it sounds dope
-Aesop Rock

Based solely on the fact that it makes us smile if it sounds dope. This is why we smile.

Sometimes I even feel guilty for liking my job so much. It really really gets to me, to the point that I feel like I am bragging to people on accident simply by telling them what I do. That is why I am writing this right now, to communicate the utter pride I am immersed in daily.

Also keep in mind that this is a persona, one facet of myself, as we are all multi-faceted and never given to being pinned down by the wings into one definition or the other. This voice that I write in has been chosen to amplify one identity of mine that I am particularly proud of, and I am not sorry for that.

I am changing though. What you see and hear a lot lately out of me is some pretty self absorbed shit. This attitude is a direct result of a relationship I was in about a year ago, one that took me away from my friends and caused me to forego my own wants and needs in the name of someone else. My friend Ant called it "my fulltime job", and it was. I sucked for that part of my life.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. My reaction was to end my relationship, and launch myself into a pit of pussy, drinking, high-fiving, and a complete NEED to only look out for myself. It was plum necessary, "following my dick and my ego around" I believe Ant described it.

This was important because I realized that I had been a bit of a doormat for a long time in my life. Some times more than others, and that needed to change. So my got me to this point, where I can say I am happy. The cool thing is that I didn't hurt TOO many people. I might have said some offensive shit in a bar or seduced a woman, but I always made sure to buy a beer to ice the balls I broke, and I always made sure to hold the pretty girls afterwards, and keep them as great friends. I'm not a terminal dickhead, I'm just dabbling. I will never be able to do this fulltime.

So its time to cool it a little I think. Air out some of the bitterness, embrace more positivity, and let the cool air do it's thing. After all, winter is a shitty time to be a hedonist. That's why we have Tourist Jamaica.

My dick and my ego led me here, to the fulfillment of my dream, and to happiness with my station in life. Now that I am here, I can dust off the ol' heart/brain combo for some playing time, sit back, and drink beer on top of it all.

Thanks for reading this shite. For whatever it is worth.

A pretty girl has her desk right next to the Men's bathroom on our floor. By now, she knows everyone's poop schedules.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


Seriously. Their videos are way too fucking quiet while their commercials are the loudest things known to man, they will randomly turn up the volume in the middle of 106th & Park to the point that it sounds like its coming out of a broken fucking Teddy Ruxpin. I DONT GIVE A SHIT WHO THE LIVEST AUDIENCE IS, THEY ARE ALL LOUDER THAN SHIT. AND they cancelled Cita's world. Bullshit.

I have to have this channel on all day long because I'm required to have videos playing in the lobby constantly, and BET is the last network that still plays videos.

I have the dance from "Chicken Noodle Soup" memorized. I am not happy about this.

This is not me...

I like all the foreplay on this one...


It's either Dorf's cousin or a problem with the camera...

These guys are the coolest fuckers ever.

This guy is a tool. I also love how no one knows what to do until they hear those magic words, "let it rain, clear it out".

Had enough????? I'm not through yet.

This is ALSO not me...fucking interpretive dance.

White people bug the shit out of me.

what the fuck? ha.

It is.

Broke ass Flava Flav meets The Breakfast Club meets...Sideways....

OK I'm done. I hope this stopped being funny long ago.

Monday, October 02, 2006

Whacko phone calls Part 2.

Something happened this weekend. The nutbars huffed EXTRA gas/crack/fluorescent lightbulbs before calling me this weekend....

Call 1: "Work at a big record company? You gotta be kidding me." That was it, the entirety of the message.

Call 2: Hyper white guy, calling from "The View". Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Call 3: Another rapper, from 20 minutes outside of Detroit. Informed me that he "was the next to blow, do it real big". He also said he needed rap because he cant get a normal job due to some misdemeanors on his record.

Call 4: Guy from Call 3 rapping some generic sounding shit. I remember hearing the word "chrome".

Calls 5,6: A strange sounding guy who was calling to inquire why some unsigned pedophilie rapper (I couldn't hear his name) didn't have a deal because he had sold more than 2 million records online, by word of mouth. Apparently this "MC SuchAndSuch" went down to New Orleans with his harem of school girls to meet his 10 yr. old Pen pal, a Hurricane Katrina survivor, only to find the 10 year old raped and murdered. Naturally, the phantom MC caught some revenge by finding the perpetrators, raping them back, and then killing them. To the guy on the message, this rapper should have a deal, because he has an even better angle than R. Kelly in the "gross shit" department.

Man...this guy needed to elaborate MUCH more if he wanted to match the heroic craziness of Mr. Steves, a legend on my answering machine.

Call 7: An extremely manic women who said a lot of words, but I understood about 6 of them. She would switch accents mid-word, and it was disturbing. She went from high pitched white girl to Asian to English to Australian to southern finally coming to rest at English. Apparently she's really into her ancestors, visiting graves, we owe her a few million, and her father is a dreamer while she is a do-er. She didn't leave her number. Just called, babbled, said "like" 22 times in 40 seconds, and hung up.

Man, I'm going to miss this madness.