Monthly Archives: August 2004

Like Water for Legs

Last night I saw a man with no legs readjust his wheelchair over and over again to get a better view of the inside of a luxury chocolate shoppe. I imagined that in his head he was thinking One day I’m going to get those prostheses, and I’m going to walk into Chocölad like a man!.

He also had a dirty Subway napkin on one of his knees/stumps.

VH1 v. RNC

For a few days I’ve been trying to decide if I like this band called The Killers, so I’d just like to thank VH1 this morning for showing a The Killers video and helping me make my decision.

I wish VH1 would stop reorganizing their programming to appeal to a younger audience. I kind of liked it when they were just the one-stop-shop for Phil Collins acoustical jams. Now I’m like “Who knows what the grab bag of VH1 will offer up today?! Will it be Josh Groban, or Modest Mouse? I’m so excited!”

Also, according to Rudolph W. Giuliani, in the middle of the Tragic Events of September 11th, he grabbed the lapel of Commissioner Gordon and said, “Thank God, George Bush is our president.” Regardless of his politics, what he should have said is, “Holy shit, I’m scared, and I want to live.” What an ass clown. Or…wait a second…could that be…are you lying Mr. Giuliani? You dumb wop?

Hungry Like Wolf


There was one okay part of my weekend which was when we went to the karaoke bar and I was pretty much 100% trashed and I tried to fill out a request slip but I was too drunk to write neatly and I also didn’t want to use my real name and so the little piece of paper had very messy writing in pencil and said:

Duran Druan
Hungry Like Wolf

But then, I thought the slip of paper was so funny that I didn’t want to turn it in, because I wanted to keep it, or send it in to Found magazine, and OKTiger and Neilgene kept being like, “You can’t send that in to Found magazine, you made it yourself,” and then they tried to wrestle the paper from my hand and turn it in so I would have to sing, but I am stronger than they are, but I am also stronger than the paper was, and so it got ripped in half, and so I said, “OKTiger and Neilgene, you have ruined my evening. But on the upside, this torn piece of paper will look even more authentic when I send it in to Found magazine.”

Later, I went to sleep.

The Other Lives

Do you know why MTV calls their show Cribs? It’s because celebrities are a bunch of babies. Jesus Christ. First there was Shaggy, who, I mean, when was Boombastic a hit? In 1902? Wasn’t Boombastic a hit back in the day when black musicians only had their music broadcast on the radio and they tried to sound white so that without any images of the band the mainstream would believe the music they were enjoying to be the racially inoffensive product of some wool-sweatered letterman from the local campus? My apartment is bigger than Shaggy’s house, incidentally, and he referred to his Ferrari as “moist”, which is disgusting, and sick.

Then there was some guy from the New York Football Team, who lived in an apartment building on Long Island. His “dining room” was the size of a breakfast nook, but it had a glass enclosure, and I shit you not in the least when I repeat what he said: “It’s really cool, in the wintertime, to have a candle-lit dinner out here. When it’s snowing it looks like the snow is going to fall right on your plate.” Listen, Kunta Kinte, it’s called glass, and just because it’s clear doesn’t make it magical. No one thinks they’re getting snowed on in your breakfast nook. Then he kept talking about these two paintings that he referred to as his “mistress” and “the woman of the house” and I was like, ah, the telltale signs of a fellow chronic masturbator, giving human behavioral characteristics to two-dimensional images of women. But my very favorite part may have been when he took “us” outside to show us his cars, and then wandered around the grounds of his apartment building, and he said that he liked to come out there sometimes and just sit and listen to the waterfalls and think about life. The waterfalls to which he was referring were two really ugly fountains that just sprayed water, they weren’t even fountains in the shape of waterfalls. And I’m surprised he has much time to sit and ponder “life” or whatever the fuck that means, when he has two anxiously awaiting oil paintings upstairs just waiting to be spooged upon.

My weekend sucked.

De Tigris ain’t just a river in Turkey!

McCullen told me this story about the Russian guy at the store (Marseilles? What the fuck kind of name is this for anyone—other than, like, a Marquise or some shitty noble, who would be too busy penning billets doux to be working at a liquor store anyway—much less a Russian?). Marseilles was coming to the register from the back of the store with this customer who was holding this bottle of beer, and the customer was like, “Yeah, I thought you had it, I’m telling you man, it’s really expensive,” and Marseilles was like, “No vay,” and he rang it up and one bottle of beer was ten dollars and the guy was like, “See, it’s from Canada, it’s so expensive, a sixty-dollar six-pack but it’s really good, I was just surprised you even had it.” Marseilles looked at the bottle very carefully because he was so surprised. Then the guy left with his beer and Marseilles shook his head and said loudly to himself, “SUPER CRAZY…SUPER VEIRD!” So I have been saying this to myself about everything ever since I heard that story.


Co-worker: Hey, Worker #3116, how are you coming along on that work that you are doing for your job.
Worker #3116: Fine. Get off my back.

Okay, that’s a really bad example, because I couldn’t think off the top of my head what a good situation for “SUPER CRAZY…SUPER VEIRD!” would be, I’m not a magician, a-holes. But I do say it to myself, usually just out of context and in my head, unlike Marseilles who says it in context and SUPER LOUD.

Argh! Argh! Republicans Bad! Kill That Guy in Badge More!

I watched FOX News for the first time ever this morning—The Bill O’Reilly Spin Factor Hour Zone excluded—and it wasn’t as bad as all of the liberal elite are always trying to force me to believe against my will.

Go Bush!
Go Iraq!

My favorite part was when they interviewed the NY police commissioner about preparations being made for the RNC and the guy asked “So, should delegates be careful to take off their i.d. badges and hats and stuff when they’re walking on the street?”

The RNC is in New York, right? They didn’t move it, to, like, Mogadishu or something, right?

Girls Only Like Guys Who Have Awesome Skills, Like Sucking Wes Anderson’s Dick All the Time!

Going to see Napoleon Dynamite is a lot like going to a taping of TRL, except that the girls are even dumber because they’re not trying to look good on TV. Jesus Christ, I was waiting for them to start serving graham crackers and apple juice halfway through. And why do college kids laugh at all of the least funny things on the planet? And why do college girls still say “eww” all the time in 2004? And here’s another thing: that movie was so easy. You could have gotten as many laughs by just showing people tripping and falling down in the street and stuff. And why was everyone in the movie high on cold medicine? If nothing else, though, I’m sure that Wes Anderson enjoyed having his cock gently and lovingly caressed for all 98 minutes or whatever the fuck.

The one good thing that came out of Napoleon Dynamite was when one of the characters in the movie said “Peace out!” and the two guys behind us had this conversation:

Guy 1: Peace what?
Guy 2: Peace out.
Guy 1: Oh.

corporate3116: Meet Me on the Ragball Diamond at 3, I’m Going to Kick the Shit Out of You!

This one time, and maybe I told this story before, but everyone in my fourth grade class was teasing me and so I stopped playing ragball or whatever we were playing and started walking back to the school and these two known bullies walked up to me and were like “why you crying?” “what’s the matter, crybaby?” and I told them to leave me alone and they didn’t so I punched one of them in the mouth and then ran to the teacher and told her that the kids tried to hit me so I had to hit them back, and they both had to sit out for the rest of recess, mostly because they were black so OF COURSE they had tried to hit me, at least that’s what I think the teacher thought. One of the bullies, Greg, moved to a different school soon after that, but he was back in my Junior High and he came up to me one day and was like “didn’t you go to Elementary School” and I was like “No, I went to Blah Blah School” and he gave me a look and walked away. But the reason that I’m telling you all of this is that had I only had a computer with the internet I could have simply i.m.’ed those guys when I got home and said something like “you are black and no one likes you and it will be a lot easier for me to get a job when we get older and even if you do get a job it won’t pay as well as mine, and even if you get rich and famous just the simple act of hailing a cab will prove difficult because NEVER EVER EVER will this country repair its racial divide, a divide of which, my dear bullies, you are on the WRONG SIDE. So who’s the bully now motherfuckers?” Beep boop bip. Send!


Ever had one of those mornings where you look at the alarm clock and say to yourself “No, it can’t be 9:30 because I’m at work at 9:30.”

Ever have one of those this morning at 9:30?