Like a tight pattern of double-barrel sonic buckshot, I can now wield Soundpedia as a deadly instrument in the war against musical ignorance.
We're talking free albums, here, people. A whole website that's a giant "Fuck You" to the RIAA.
To be clear...
I'm all for file-sharing, especially when it comes to music. The way musical fandom works is that some people are casual music-lovers (listening to the radio in the car, at work, or whenever anyone else is listening to the radio), and might buy albums or singles when they hear a song, artist, or group they really like. Generally, they don't broaden their horizons beyond the music they know.
Granted, the above designation describes a majority of the people on the planet, but contrary to popular belief in the upper-echelons of the music industry, the rest of the people are much more important.
The remainder of the population is like me; so devoted to music that they go out of their way to buy every album, see the bands live, and constantly try to spread the word.
Before Napster got big in the late-nineties (and got bought out), "illegal file sharing" was known as "lending a CD to your buddy."
The only thing that file-sharing networks achieved was allowing the "lending a CD to your buddy" concept to flourish beyond mere physical borders. In essence, downloading files from someone else is like that person letting you burn a custom CD from their own extensive music collection.
And, again, most often, the person that downloads songs is the same person that gets hyped up when a new album is announced. A friend of mine downloaded the latest Trivium album, "The Crusade," before it came out because he needed to hear it something awful. After listening to the bootleg copy for a week, he bought the actual album on the release date. When other friends (those who don't fucking get it) asked him why he would buy an album he already had, he just laughed (because he fucking gets it).
And the cats behind Soundpedia, evidently, also get it.
Where else can you hear every Radiohead album ever made? Check out "Amnesiac," if only for "Pyramid Song" and "Life in a Glass House." And "The Bends" is thoroughly kick-ass, as well (especially "My Iron Lung").
They also have a few Clutch albums. I weep for the absence of both "Blast Tyrant" and the newest album, "From Beale Street to Oblivion" (with the amazing "One Eye Dollar" and "You Can't Stop Progress"). They do have the entire "Robot Hive/Exodus" album, though. Every track is killer, especially "Gullah," "10001110101," and "Never Be Moved" (featuring the science-oriented line, "Hey, hey, hey, hey! Get your evolution on!").
And, to my semi-admiration, they have two full Cake albums; "Prolonging the Magic" and "Comfort Eagle." So you can listen to (from "Prolonging") "You Turn the Screws," "Where Would I Be?" and "Let Me Go." And (from "Comfort Eagle,") you can get down to the hard-ass "Comfort Eagle," the groovy "Meanwhile, Rick James," and the nasty-funky "Arco Arena." Unfortunately, no "Motorcade of Generosity," "Fashion Nugget," or full version of "Pressure Chief."
They've also got Faith No More's "Best Of" album, with "Stripsearch" (so gorgeous it almost makes me cry), "Evidence" (one of the smoothest songs ever recorded), and "Be Aggressive" (the only song in world to feature a common cheerleading theme and still kick copious amounts of ass).
The thing that permanently hooked me, however, is the inclusion of all three Mr. Bungle albums, especially "California." If you're even half as weird as I am, you'll fall in love with this album the very second you hear it (mainly "Sweet Charity," "Retrovertigo," and "Golem II: The Bionic Vapour Boy"); if you're slightly-less-weird, it might take a few more dedicated perusals.
So, please, enjoy the free music at your leisure, and be sure to continue to purchase all the good music you can.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
JUMP CUTS: THE SPIDERING
-The spiderfication of the area directly outside my residence continues unabated. Even when the vinyl siding outside is pressure washed and the spindly sons of bitches are eradicated, more are back by nightfall and (though this is sheerly conjecture on my part) royally pissed off. Big ones, little ones, a cornucopia of body types, and a veritable rainbow of colors; and each of them just as disgusting and terrifying as the last. It’s like a never-ending horror show for arachnophobes (of which I am their King and Living Martyr). It’s gotten so I have to carry a broken golf club shaft around as a de-webbing stick; I've dubbed it "the Callaway Web Master Series VI."
-On a more insectoid tangent, I’ve seen some gigantic mosquitoes here in SC. I don’t remember seeing many that big (mosquito hawks aside) in VA and, while I’m glad they’re not that numerous, they’re hungry bastards and, to borrow a choice phrase from an acquaintance, "big enough to fuck chickens." The best part is that I’m finally getting some smug revenge on the people who constantly bitch at me for never wearing shorts, no matter how hot and jungle-sticky it gets.
-I’ve been thinking about this line from Chroma Key’s "America the Video" as of late. "Lost my head in my hotel room when the ground shook/Had to choose between the Bible and the phone book." That’s a good way to deal with the whole "No Atheists in Foxholes" malarkey. Hell, I’ve come close to looking the classic personification of Death in the face (and hearing him talk in ALL CAPS) and never once did I rely on anything other than myself, other people, and the natural laws of the world which, in my case, have been rather forgiving. So far, at least. The same fervent believers who take seriously the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument will, with regularity, go to the hospital when they are sick or injured, call the police when they’ve been wronged, and seek out professional help when the occasion arises. Sure, they might pray and petition for otherworldly intervention, but when the bad shit goes down, they all end up dialing 911 in case of emergency. (Unless they handle rattlesnakes in worship; but that’s a entirely separate and very special dimension of fucked-up.)
-Also, did you notice that the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument abbreviates to NAiF? That, to me, is the very essence of appropriateness.
-On a more insectoid tangent, I’ve seen some gigantic mosquitoes here in SC. I don’t remember seeing many that big (mosquito hawks aside) in VA and, while I’m glad they’re not that numerous, they’re hungry bastards and, to borrow a choice phrase from an acquaintance, "big enough to fuck chickens." The best part is that I’m finally getting some smug revenge on the people who constantly bitch at me for never wearing shorts, no matter how hot and jungle-sticky it gets.
-I’ve been thinking about this line from Chroma Key’s "America the Video" as of late. "Lost my head in my hotel room when the ground shook/Had to choose between the Bible and the phone book." That’s a good way to deal with the whole "No Atheists in Foxholes" malarkey. Hell, I’ve come close to looking the classic personification of Death in the face (and hearing him talk in ALL CAPS) and never once did I rely on anything other than myself, other people, and the natural laws of the world which, in my case, have been rather forgiving. So far, at least. The same fervent believers who take seriously the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument will, with regularity, go to the hospital when they are sick or injured, call the police when they’ve been wronged, and seek out professional help when the occasion arises. Sure, they might pray and petition for otherworldly intervention, but when the bad shit goes down, they all end up dialing 911 in case of emergency. (Unless they handle rattlesnakes in worship; but that’s a entirely separate and very special dimension of fucked-up.)
-Also, did you notice that the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument abbreviates to NAiF? That, to me, is the very essence of appropriateness.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
8 RANDOM THINGS YOU PROBABLY DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW IN THE FIRST PLACE...
I done been tagged by the illustrious Krystalline Apostate (of Biblioblography and God is for Suckers! fame). So now I am compelled to do the following...
I must post the rules or, evidently, Gorlock the Mighty, the Primordial God of Chaos, will rend the meat from my bones and play my intestines like a super-sized kazoo.
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.
1. I’m highly allergic to cats and, for some weird reason, horses. I can’t even sit down in a house with more than one cat for more than an hour or so without some heavy-duty allergy medication and a stand-by inhaler. My entire respiratory system locks up like a beat-up AMC Pacer at the slightest hint of feline or equine. But I’m fine around dogs, which leads me to...
2. All dogs love me. Except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones. And I love all dogs, except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones.
3. Though I don’t believe in ghosts (and don’t really think I ever did) I’ve got better ghost stories than the people who really think they’ve seen or experienced paranormal activity. The "Ghost in the Window" story and the "Ghost Who Listens to Chicago" are particularly fun.
4. In 1988, when I was in fourth grade, I won an environmental awareness poster contest on the state level. I don’t remember exactly what I won, there may have been money involved (upwards to a Hundo), but I vividly remember the entire set of ‘88 Topps Baseball Cards I received. For a sports-loving fourth grader, that’s like hitting the fucking lottery.
My design was the Earth with bites taken out of the side, like an apple (with a little stem on top and everything), and the caption read "If we don’t start recycling and stop polluting, Earth will be eaten to the core." Not bad for a fourth grader, I thought. A few years later, when I was in middle school, my father decided to attend a work-related convention in Vegas and turn it into a family vacation.
In the Hard Rock Café, they had a series of shirts designed by musicians. Don Henley’s design was the Earth with bites taken out of the sides, like an apple, though it was drawn as a proper "apple core." It had no caption, and while I’m not accusing Henley of outright theft, it is a rather odd coincidence.
5. Everyone has their quirks; mine are, obviously, music-based. I tend to sing often and for no reason; if I happen to hear a song I know, singing is guaranteed. I also drum on anything with in reach, including my own body. I do this completely subconsciously and tend to annoy people with it very often.
6. I’m a moron. I’ve always like the phrase, "The more you know, the more you know you don’t know." And it’s true. I realized long ago that, no matter how much I learned, I would always only know an infinitesimal fraction of all the possible knowledge in the universe but, and this is the important part, I never let it hinder me.
So, I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m just an average moron but I still try to accumulate all the knowledge I can. And I expect the same of everyone else. In my idiot opinion, that’s all anyone can do.
7. I'm a freak for bad weather. When I was a kid, thunderstorms scared the shit out of me, but once I finally outgrew the fear, I found that they were fun beyond measure. I enjoy nothing more than watching high-winds, driving rain, and brilliant lightning while listening to thunder so loud I can't even hear my own screams of elation.
8. I’m an aspiring screenwriter. This is evident in my propensity for writing bits in "faux-screenplay" format (I also find it’s easier to read long blocks of dialogue with names in ALL CAPS and the aforementioned dialogue below the character designation). I started writing movie and TV show scripts for fun in late-middle-school and early-high-school because, well, I’d watched a ton of cheesy movies on HBO, Cinemax, and Showtime. And I’d also seen a ton of shitty movies in the theater, most of them produced by Jerry Bruckheimer or directed by Michael Bay (oftentimes both). I figured, "Hell, I can cook up a better story than this." I’ve been writing random shite for about thirteen years now, and I’m finally starting to take it seriously...
Now, I am compelled to tag others, but just about everyone I read on a regular basis has already participated, so if I think of someone, I’ll run up, slap them on the back, scream "Tag!" and dash away cackling.
I must post the rules or, evidently, Gorlock the Mighty, the Primordial God of Chaos, will rend the meat from my bones and play my intestines like a super-sized kazoo.
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.
1. I’m highly allergic to cats and, for some weird reason, horses. I can’t even sit down in a house with more than one cat for more than an hour or so without some heavy-duty allergy medication and a stand-by inhaler. My entire respiratory system locks up like a beat-up AMC Pacer at the slightest hint of feline or equine. But I’m fine around dogs, which leads me to...
2. All dogs love me. Except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones. And I love all dogs, except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones.
3. Though I don’t believe in ghosts (and don’t really think I ever did) I’ve got better ghost stories than the people who really think they’ve seen or experienced paranormal activity. The "Ghost in the Window" story and the "Ghost Who Listens to Chicago" are particularly fun.
4. In 1988, when I was in fourth grade, I won an environmental awareness poster contest on the state level. I don’t remember exactly what I won, there may have been money involved (upwards to a Hundo), but I vividly remember the entire set of ‘88 Topps Baseball Cards I received. For a sports-loving fourth grader, that’s like hitting the fucking lottery.
My design was the Earth with bites taken out of the side, like an apple (with a little stem on top and everything), and the caption read "If we don’t start recycling and stop polluting, Earth will be eaten to the core." Not bad for a fourth grader, I thought. A few years later, when I was in middle school, my father decided to attend a work-related convention in Vegas and turn it into a family vacation.
In the Hard Rock Café, they had a series of shirts designed by musicians. Don Henley’s design was the Earth with bites taken out of the sides, like an apple, though it was drawn as a proper "apple core." It had no caption, and while I’m not accusing Henley of outright theft, it is a rather odd coincidence.
5. Everyone has their quirks; mine are, obviously, music-based. I tend to sing often and for no reason; if I happen to hear a song I know, singing is guaranteed. I also drum on anything with in reach, including my own body. I do this completely subconsciously and tend to annoy people with it very often.
6. I’m a moron. I’ve always like the phrase, "The more you know, the more you know you don’t know." And it’s true. I realized long ago that, no matter how much I learned, I would always only know an infinitesimal fraction of all the possible knowledge in the universe but, and this is the important part, I never let it hinder me.
So, I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m just an average moron but I still try to accumulate all the knowledge I can. And I expect the same of everyone else. In my idiot opinion, that’s all anyone can do.
7. I'm a freak for bad weather. When I was a kid, thunderstorms scared the shit out of me, but once I finally outgrew the fear, I found that they were fun beyond measure. I enjoy nothing more than watching high-winds, driving rain, and brilliant lightning while listening to thunder so loud I can't even hear my own screams of elation.
8. I’m an aspiring screenwriter. This is evident in my propensity for writing bits in "faux-screenplay" format (I also find it’s easier to read long blocks of dialogue with names in ALL CAPS and the aforementioned dialogue below the character designation). I started writing movie and TV show scripts for fun in late-middle-school and early-high-school because, well, I’d watched a ton of cheesy movies on HBO, Cinemax, and Showtime. And I’d also seen a ton of shitty movies in the theater, most of them produced by Jerry Bruckheimer or directed by Michael Bay (oftentimes both). I figured, "Hell, I can cook up a better story than this." I’ve been writing random shite for about thirteen years now, and I’m finally starting to take it seriously...
Now, I am compelled to tag others, but just about everyone I read on a regular basis has already participated, so if I think of someone, I’ll run up, slap them on the back, scream "Tag!" and dash away cackling.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
MY TEN COMMANDMENTS FOR THE COMPLETE AND TOTAL PRICK FATHERS OF WOMEN I MIGHT WANT TO DATE
Via this post on Pandagon (a reaction to this Townhall article). I will now sort-of respond to Doug Giles (and so-called "men" like him) with "My Ten Commandments for the Complete and Total Prick Fathers Of Women I Might Want To Date."
Though, granted, this can’t be directed solely to Mr. Giles since, obviously, I have no idea who he or his daughters are.
But Mr. Giles serves as a perfect example of the typical, over-inflated, self-styled "uber-male" who will attempt to conquer every female he can get his hands on (or into) until he creates a female from his own sexual desires and, suddenly, turns into a hard-ass prude. And notice how, in his article, he refers to his daughters (and, presumably, his wife) as "my ladies." I shall reiterate; "my ladies." They're not individual, autonomous people with their own lives who happen to be related to him. They are his. Or so he says. One can only hope he's talking about young daughters and will relinquish his iron-clad domination over them once they become adults.
And, though I don’t have any kids (and, unless I meet the perfect girl, will never have any), I can understand the general protective stance that a father (or mother) takes in regards to a child. But, come on...
Mr. Giles seduced and defiled someone else's daughter. And if he's gonna tell me that he and Mrs. Giles have only had quick missionary-position sex in a dark room and have only done so for specifically reproductive purposes, I’m gonna call "Bullshit" on his whole schpiel.
And if his sex life with Mrs. Giles really does encompass the above description, I’m gonna call "Lame Bullshit."
So, here are my commandments to all the self-righteous jerk-offs who have daughters and want to control their lives because they think that someone, somewhere, might be attracted to them. And keep in mind that all of these "men," not just Doug Giles, have sexed-up other men's daughters.
1. Thou shalt understand that, unless you're a decent guy to begin with and attempt to endear yourself to me as would do to you (as your daughter would undoubtedly wish), you are, essentially, meaningless. We live in a day and age where people can choose their own lives and destinies outside of their family’s influence. If your daughter and I are in love (or getting our mutually-consensual groove on), it has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re lucky that she even told you about us.
2. Thou shalt keep your nose out of my business. I’ve got a life. I’m not a lawyer, doctor, politician, or (Apollo forbid) a conservative pundit on the Internets, but I make the loot, I've got some amazing friends, and I know how to show people a good time. And I make enough greenies to buy a lot of condoms.
3. Thou shalt get a fucking clue. If you think that your daughter and I have only discreetly held hands under the piercing gaze of a pre-approved chaperone, then you’re much more of a comedian than I wish I was. We weren’t in each other’s pants on the first date or anything, but we’ve done things. To each other. In your house. Probably while you were there.
4. Thou Shalt look me in the eye, shake my hand, and not give a flying fuck about my cell phone. (Cell phone? Is he an asshole? What if it’s an emergency? What if a friend or family member is sick? Is he gonna shit in my Cheerios because my brother got in an accident? Ass.) I can look you in the eye and shake all day long, but that ain’t gonna prove a thing. Charlie Manson could look you in the eye while he shakes your hand, will you let him date your daughter? And what the fuck does Snoop Dogg and MTV have to do with anything? I don’t listen to the former nor watch the latter. Are you gonna love me automatically because I prefer the History Channel over Comedy Central? Not all modern males below the age of 30 fall under your stereotypical designation of "modern males below the age of 30."
5. Thou shalt understand that the definition of a "man" is in the eyes of the beholder. Sure, you have a dick. So do I. You can grow facial hair. So can I. You can posture, and poke your chest out, and talk about how much of a fucking bad-ass you are. So can I. Your definition of "a man" is as meaningful to me as your definition of "hurklawdable." And, evidently, you are a neanderthal. At least, now, you know that we agree on something.
6. Thou shalt grow a fucking brain. I am neither liberal nor Democrat, neither conservative nor Republican. I was born and raised in the backwoods VA countryside by a "No Bullshit" father who could lift an engine block in each hand. And we ate meat, too. And (as if it matters) I was educated by brilliant college professors who would call you a "Pansy City Boy." And there’s nary a living soul on this planet who could even hope to program me. And you’re at the top of that list. You dig, "Pops?"
7. Thou shalt know that I don’t buy loyalty or affection. You talk a big game on everything else, but you’ll be cool with me when I buy you cigars? Damn, if I knew your daughter had a pimp, I would’ve never got involved with her...
8. Thou shalt know that "A joke is a joke." You've never told or heard a dirty joke? You don't get to drinking your Johnny Walker Blue with your golf or fishing buddies, or your old frat brothers, and tell a few? Fuck you, hypocrite; I bet you've got more than a few "nigger" or "faggot" jokes up your sleeve. And be careful of idle threats; your daughter might bring home an All-American linebacker or wrestler one day, one who's butt you couldn't even imagine kicking.
9. Thou shalt... Well... That one’s not so bad. I do keep my word and honor my promises, and I expect that of others. And I never welsh on bets. So, what’s your daughter’s number again?
10. Thou shalt know that... (1) I look the way I look. If your daughter was attracted to me when I was wearing ratty cargo pants and a metal t-shirt, then you should be just as happy with me wearing the same. For all you know, she thinks that I look good wearing shades. And nothing else. (And your racist caveats are both sad and comical, but mostly sad.)
(2) Motherfucker, I’ve been voraciously reading damn-near everything I can get my hands on (including encyclopedias) since I was in grade school. Prove to me that you can carry on a moderately intelligent conversation without being an asshole and I’ll show you that I can do the same. And, besides, what’s the literary criteria? Are you gonna disavow me because I’ve never read an Ollie North tome?
(3) Serve? Serve who? I might love your daughter, but I’m not gonna be your indentured servant. I mean, what? Will shoveling horseshit on your Texas ranch prove that I’m the man to plow your daughter? So, as long as I do the meaningless chores that you command me to do, I’ll be worthy of you daughter’s affection?
Shit, the simple fact that your daughter came from a man like you might just turn me away. Or was that your evil plan all along?
But, seriously, this Giles guy is really hung up on homos, "girlie men," anyone who identifies with hip-hop culture (especially black men), and anyone who doesn’t fit the whitebread, Southern, rural idealization that he holds so dear.
So, if you’re a Southern-born, rodeo-riding, Hay-Zeus-loving, conservative/Republican-crony who loves Bush and hates fags, blacks, and Hippie-Eco-Liberals, then go ahead and date the daughters of men like Giles. The very worst they could do is bluster you to death.
Though, granted, this can’t be directed solely to Mr. Giles since, obviously, I have no idea who he or his daughters are.
But Mr. Giles serves as a perfect example of the typical, over-inflated, self-styled "uber-male" who will attempt to conquer every female he can get his hands on (or into) until he creates a female from his own sexual desires and, suddenly, turns into a hard-ass prude. And notice how, in his article, he refers to his daughters (and, presumably, his wife) as "my ladies." I shall reiterate; "my ladies." They're not individual, autonomous people with their own lives who happen to be related to him. They are his. Or so he says. One can only hope he's talking about young daughters and will relinquish his iron-clad domination over them once they become adults.
And, though I don’t have any kids (and, unless I meet the perfect girl, will never have any), I can understand the general protective stance that a father (or mother) takes in regards to a child. But, come on...
Mr. Giles seduced and defiled someone else's daughter. And if he's gonna tell me that he and Mrs. Giles have only had quick missionary-position sex in a dark room and have only done so for specifically reproductive purposes, I’m gonna call "Bullshit" on his whole schpiel.
And if his sex life with Mrs. Giles really does encompass the above description, I’m gonna call "Lame Bullshit."
So, here are my commandments to all the self-righteous jerk-offs who have daughters and want to control their lives because they think that someone, somewhere, might be attracted to them. And keep in mind that all of these "men," not just Doug Giles, have sexed-up other men's daughters.
1. Thou shalt understand that, unless you're a decent guy to begin with and attempt to endear yourself to me as would do to you (as your daughter would undoubtedly wish), you are, essentially, meaningless. We live in a day and age where people can choose their own lives and destinies outside of their family’s influence. If your daughter and I are in love (or getting our mutually-consensual groove on), it has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re lucky that she even told you about us.
2. Thou shalt keep your nose out of my business. I’ve got a life. I’m not a lawyer, doctor, politician, or (Apollo forbid) a conservative pundit on the Internets, but I make the loot, I've got some amazing friends, and I know how to show people a good time. And I make enough greenies to buy a lot of condoms.
3. Thou shalt get a fucking clue. If you think that your daughter and I have only discreetly held hands under the piercing gaze of a pre-approved chaperone, then you’re much more of a comedian than I wish I was. We weren’t in each other’s pants on the first date or anything, but we’ve done things. To each other. In your house. Probably while you were there.
4. Thou Shalt look me in the eye, shake my hand, and not give a flying fuck about my cell phone. (Cell phone? Is he an asshole? What if it’s an emergency? What if a friend or family member is sick? Is he gonna shit in my Cheerios because my brother got in an accident? Ass.) I can look you in the eye and shake all day long, but that ain’t gonna prove a thing. Charlie Manson could look you in the eye while he shakes your hand, will you let him date your daughter? And what the fuck does Snoop Dogg and MTV have to do with anything? I don’t listen to the former nor watch the latter. Are you gonna love me automatically because I prefer the History Channel over Comedy Central? Not all modern males below the age of 30 fall under your stereotypical designation of "modern males below the age of 30."
5. Thou shalt understand that the definition of a "man" is in the eyes of the beholder. Sure, you have a dick. So do I. You can grow facial hair. So can I. You can posture, and poke your chest out, and talk about how much of a fucking bad-ass you are. So can I. Your definition of "a man" is as meaningful to me as your definition of "hurklawdable." And, evidently, you are a neanderthal. At least, now, you know that we agree on something.
6. Thou shalt grow a fucking brain. I am neither liberal nor Democrat, neither conservative nor Republican. I was born and raised in the backwoods VA countryside by a "No Bullshit" father who could lift an engine block in each hand. And we ate meat, too. And (as if it matters) I was educated by brilliant college professors who would call you a "Pansy City Boy." And there’s nary a living soul on this planet who could even hope to program me. And you’re at the top of that list. You dig, "Pops?"
7. Thou shalt know that I don’t buy loyalty or affection. You talk a big game on everything else, but you’ll be cool with me when I buy you cigars? Damn, if I knew your daughter had a pimp, I would’ve never got involved with her...
8. Thou shalt know that "A joke is a joke." You've never told or heard a dirty joke? You don't get to drinking your Johnny Walker Blue with your golf or fishing buddies, or your old frat brothers, and tell a few? Fuck you, hypocrite; I bet you've got more than a few "nigger" or "faggot" jokes up your sleeve. And be careful of idle threats; your daughter might bring home an All-American linebacker or wrestler one day, one who's butt you couldn't even imagine kicking.
9. Thou shalt... Well... That one’s not so bad. I do keep my word and honor my promises, and I expect that of others. And I never welsh on bets. So, what’s your daughter’s number again?
10. Thou shalt know that... (1) I look the way I look. If your daughter was attracted to me when I was wearing ratty cargo pants and a metal t-shirt, then you should be just as happy with me wearing the same. For all you know, she thinks that I look good wearing shades. And nothing else. (And your racist caveats are both sad and comical, but mostly sad.)
(2) Motherfucker, I’ve been voraciously reading damn-near everything I can get my hands on (including encyclopedias) since I was in grade school. Prove to me that you can carry on a moderately intelligent conversation without being an asshole and I’ll show you that I can do the same. And, besides, what’s the literary criteria? Are you gonna disavow me because I’ve never read an Ollie North tome?
(3) Serve? Serve who? I might love your daughter, but I’m not gonna be your indentured servant. I mean, what? Will shoveling horseshit on your Texas ranch prove that I’m the man to plow your daughter? So, as long as I do the meaningless chores that you command me to do, I’ll be worthy of you daughter’s affection?
Shit, the simple fact that your daughter came from a man like you might just turn me away. Or was that your evil plan all along?
But, seriously, this Giles guy is really hung up on homos, "girlie men," anyone who identifies with hip-hop culture (especially black men), and anyone who doesn’t fit the whitebread, Southern, rural idealization that he holds so dear.
So, if you’re a Southern-born, rodeo-riding, Hay-Zeus-loving, conservative/Republican-crony who loves Bush and hates fags, blacks, and Hippie-Eco-Liberals, then go ahead and date the daughters of men like Giles. The very worst they could do is bluster you to death.
Monday, July 2, 2007
HOW THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN, PART II
MURRAY Abram (now known covertly as Abraham) has been waiting in his meager shack for over a week. He has again taken to writing his own personal journal and, again, speaks along with the words.)
MURRAY
So. Jonas. Said. To. Ari. “Of. Course. My. Daughter. Is. A. Virgin!”
Murray dips his feathered stylus into a bowl of ink.
MURRAY
And. Ari. Said. “Then. Why. Did. Saul. Hirschfelder. Say. That. He. Tapped. That?”
Murray dips his stylus again.
MURRAY
And. Jonas. Said. “Hey! That’s. My. Daughter. You. Son. Of. A...”
A bright light flicks on from above and Murray shields his eyes. This time he is able to speak...
MURRAY
Oh! Nice of you to show up!
The light dims a bit, so that Murray doesn’t have to squint. The voice of GOD still booms from everywhere.
GOD
What?
MURRAY
You told me to sit right here and wait for you to dictate your laws. You told me that you’d be back in an hour. Well, I’ve been waiting here for a week and a half, and...
God cuts him off...
GOD
Whoa! Whoa! You do remember that you’re talking to God, right?
MURRAY
I don’t care if I’m talking to my great-uncle Shlomo! You said an hour and you lied!
GOD
Lied? Lied? I am incapable of telling lies, my friend. Maybe... Maybe time is different on this side.
MURRAY
Well, what kind of consideration is that? I’ve got a family to feed! I’ve had to ask my brother to help with my work! That’s embarrassing! Now he thinks that I’m a cripple, or an idiot, and he’s been moving in on my wives!
GOD
Hey, I... I’ve been busy. I’ve got an entire creation to lord over, after all. Not just Murray Abraham’s house.
MURRAY
And another thing! My parents won’t speak to me! They’ve disowned me! And they bring up a good point! Abra-HAM? Ham? You do realize that we’re Jewish, don’t you?
GOD
See, that’s the thing...
MURRAY
What?
GOD
You’re Jewish now but... Well, I’ve got a plan.
MURRAY
What plan? I thought we were your chosen people. Wasn’t I chosen among the chosen?
GOD
Yeah... About that...
MURRAY
What?
GOD
See... There’s been a... Change of plan, so to speak.
MURRAY
Oh my God!
GOD
What?
MURRAY
I wasn’t asking you a question! I was venting!
GOD
Yeah, that’s gotta stop. Now. You can vent all you want, but don’t bring me into it.
MURRAY
But you’re the one who’s...
GOD
Ah! Ah! No! Curse your great-uncle Shlomo if you want, but I get a free pass. In fact, I might want you to write that down...
MURRAY
Jesus!
GOD
And don’t say that, either.
MURRAY
Why? Last time you decided to grace me with your presence, you said it!
GOD
Yeah, well... I’m saving that for later, too. Check this out. OK, you know how there’s all this evil all over the planet, right?
MURRAY
“Evil all over?” I don’t know about that. There are a few pricks here and there but...
GOD
Nothing but evil, everywhere I look. So, I figured, if people are so stupid that they aren’t gonna do good just for the sake of doing good, I’ve gotta give them a little push, right?
Murray stares up into the light, pauses, and gives the focal point of the light a critical look.
MURRAY
OK.
GOD
So, how about this? Perpetual torture.
God pauses, and Murray looks up into the light.
MURRAY
Though I don’t know why, I imagine you have a very smug look right now.
GOD
The smuggiest. Hear me out, now...
MURRAY
Why are you so smug? People are dying out here, horribly, and you're talking about "perpetual torture?"
GOD
If you’d shut the Hell up for a few seconds, maybe I’d tell you.
Murray sighs and waits.
GOD
Do you want to know?
Murray sighs again.
MURRAY
Yes.
GOD
OK. Here’s the score. You know how you believe in me, right?
MURRAY
Reluctantly.
GOD
Shut up. So, I was thinking, since I want everyone to believe in me anyway, I might as well put a fire under their collective asses. Literally.
MURRAY
I don’t follow.
GOD
I just created this... Place. There’s a Lake of Fire, right? Not a puddle, not a pond, but a lake. A Lake of Fire. A big Lake of Fire. And lots of other terrifying stuff, too, like spiders and snakes and shit. And if someone doesn’t believe in me, or chooses to rebel against me for whatever reason...
MURRAY
Like the fact that you’re crazy?
GOD
Shut up! Have you not listened? Have you not learned? And I’m not crazy. You just... You can’t even begin to comprehend the majesty and omnipotence that is my superior being! So, shut up and stay shutted up!
Murray raises his hands as if to say, “Fine! You win!”
GOD
So, if people don’t like me for whatever reason, they go into the Lake. Forever.
Murray looks up into the light.
MURRAY
Are you smiling?
GOD
Don’t be daft. I don’t even have a mouth.
MURRAY
So, what you’re saying is that... If someone doesn’t fall in line with exactly what you’re saying, then you’ll make sure that they’re thrown into a Lake of Fire for... Eternity?
GOD
Sounds about right, yes.
MURRAY
Well...
Murray trails off. God waits.
GOD
Now what’s the problem?
MURRAY
Well... You haven’t really said anything. Except “Live long and prosper.”
GOD
Ah! No!
MURRAY
Sorry! Sorry! “Be fruitful and multiply.”
GOD
Better.
MURRAY
So... What about those who follow whatever future laws you see fit to tell me?
GOD
What do you mean?
MURRAY
Well, you seem so hard-up to condemn those who defy you to a “Lake of Fire,” what’s in it for those who, I don’t know, actually agree with what you tell them?
GOD
But everyone will agree with me.
Murray pauses and puts his head in his hands.
MURRAY
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that most people need an... Incentive to do things beyond the fact that they’ll burn in a Lake of Fire if they don’t like you. So, if we follow all your laws and such, that you’ve yet to dictate I might add, what then?
GOD
Oh... Well... How about the opposite of a Lake of Fire?
MURRAY
A Lake of Water?
GOD
No, jackass! A... A place where you can do whatever you want and be happy forever.
Murray perks up.
MURRAY
Can we have sex?
GOD
Uh... Hm... I don’t know...
MURRAY
Oh, come on! That's one of the only things we have to look forward to! If we're not tilling the fields or hunting our food or singing fun songs, we want to... You know...
GOD
We’ll see. Until then, just push the Lake of Fire. Call it... Hell... Uh...
God trails off and pauses. Murray prompts him with...
MURRAY
Call it Hell?
GOD
Whatever. And I’ve got another idea on deck...
MURRAY
Oh, I can’t wait.
GOD
I’m gonna call it, “Original Sin.” It’s a doozy.
MURRAY
I don’t doubt it.
GOD
Give me a few days to work on it.
MURRAY
I should sit here for a few months, then?
GOD
Oh, ha. Just hang tight, Abraham. When I work out the details, I’ll summon you.
MURRAY
So... Can I actually leave the shack, or should I just sit here.
GOD
Ah, go ahead and leave. I can track you down if I need you.
MURRAY
Thanks, I guess.
GOD
You’re welcome. Peace.
The light blinks off. Murray growls...
MURRAY
Why does he keep saying that?
MURRAY
So. Jonas. Said. To. Ari. “Of. Course. My. Daughter. Is. A. Virgin!”
Murray dips his feathered stylus into a bowl of ink.
MURRAY
And. Ari. Said. “Then. Why. Did. Saul. Hirschfelder. Say. That. He. Tapped. That?”
Murray dips his stylus again.
MURRAY
And. Jonas. Said. “Hey! That’s. My. Daughter. You. Son. Of. A...”
A bright light flicks on from above and Murray shields his eyes. This time he is able to speak...
MURRAY
Oh! Nice of you to show up!
The light dims a bit, so that Murray doesn’t have to squint. The voice of GOD still booms from everywhere.
GOD
What?
MURRAY
You told me to sit right here and wait for you to dictate your laws. You told me that you’d be back in an hour. Well, I’ve been waiting here for a week and a half, and...
God cuts him off...
GOD
Whoa! Whoa! You do remember that you’re talking to God, right?
MURRAY
I don’t care if I’m talking to my great-uncle Shlomo! You said an hour and you lied!
GOD
Lied? Lied? I am incapable of telling lies, my friend. Maybe... Maybe time is different on this side.
MURRAY
Well, what kind of consideration is that? I’ve got a family to feed! I’ve had to ask my brother to help with my work! That’s embarrassing! Now he thinks that I’m a cripple, or an idiot, and he’s been moving in on my wives!
GOD
Hey, I... I’ve been busy. I’ve got an entire creation to lord over, after all. Not just Murray Abraham’s house.
MURRAY
And another thing! My parents won’t speak to me! They’ve disowned me! And they bring up a good point! Abra-HAM? Ham? You do realize that we’re Jewish, don’t you?
GOD
See, that’s the thing...
MURRAY
What?
GOD
You’re Jewish now but... Well, I’ve got a plan.
MURRAY
What plan? I thought we were your chosen people. Wasn’t I chosen among the chosen?
GOD
Yeah... About that...
MURRAY
What?
GOD
See... There’s been a... Change of plan, so to speak.
MURRAY
Oh my God!
GOD
What?
MURRAY
I wasn’t asking you a question! I was venting!
GOD
Yeah, that’s gotta stop. Now. You can vent all you want, but don’t bring me into it.
MURRAY
But you’re the one who’s...
GOD
Ah! Ah! No! Curse your great-uncle Shlomo if you want, but I get a free pass. In fact, I might want you to write that down...
MURRAY
Jesus!
GOD
And don’t say that, either.
MURRAY
Why? Last time you decided to grace me with your presence, you said it!
GOD
Yeah, well... I’m saving that for later, too. Check this out. OK, you know how there’s all this evil all over the planet, right?
MURRAY
“Evil all over?” I don’t know about that. There are a few pricks here and there but...
GOD
Nothing but evil, everywhere I look. So, I figured, if people are so stupid that they aren’t gonna do good just for the sake of doing good, I’ve gotta give them a little push, right?
Murray stares up into the light, pauses, and gives the focal point of the light a critical look.
MURRAY
OK.
GOD
So, how about this? Perpetual torture.
God pauses, and Murray looks up into the light.
MURRAY
Though I don’t know why, I imagine you have a very smug look right now.
GOD
The smuggiest. Hear me out, now...
MURRAY
Why are you so smug? People are dying out here, horribly, and you're talking about "perpetual torture?"
GOD
If you’d shut the Hell up for a few seconds, maybe I’d tell you.
Murray sighs and waits.
GOD
Do you want to know?
Murray sighs again.
MURRAY
Yes.
GOD
OK. Here’s the score. You know how you believe in me, right?
MURRAY
Reluctantly.
GOD
Shut up. So, I was thinking, since I want everyone to believe in me anyway, I might as well put a fire under their collective asses. Literally.
MURRAY
I don’t follow.
GOD
I just created this... Place. There’s a Lake of Fire, right? Not a puddle, not a pond, but a lake. A Lake of Fire. A big Lake of Fire. And lots of other terrifying stuff, too, like spiders and snakes and shit. And if someone doesn’t believe in me, or chooses to rebel against me for whatever reason...
MURRAY
Like the fact that you’re crazy?
GOD
Shut up! Have you not listened? Have you not learned? And I’m not crazy. You just... You can’t even begin to comprehend the majesty and omnipotence that is my superior being! So, shut up and stay shutted up!
Murray raises his hands as if to say, “Fine! You win!”
GOD
So, if people don’t like me for whatever reason, they go into the Lake. Forever.
Murray looks up into the light.
MURRAY
Are you smiling?
GOD
Don’t be daft. I don’t even have a mouth.
MURRAY
So, what you’re saying is that... If someone doesn’t fall in line with exactly what you’re saying, then you’ll make sure that they’re thrown into a Lake of Fire for... Eternity?
GOD
Sounds about right, yes.
MURRAY
Well...
Murray trails off. God waits.
GOD
Now what’s the problem?
MURRAY
Well... You haven’t really said anything. Except “Live long and prosper.”
GOD
Ah! No!
MURRAY
Sorry! Sorry! “Be fruitful and multiply.”
GOD
Better.
MURRAY
So... What about those who follow whatever future laws you see fit to tell me?
GOD
What do you mean?
MURRAY
Well, you seem so hard-up to condemn those who defy you to a “Lake of Fire,” what’s in it for those who, I don’t know, actually agree with what you tell them?
GOD
But everyone will agree with me.
Murray pauses and puts his head in his hands.
MURRAY
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that most people need an... Incentive to do things beyond the fact that they’ll burn in a Lake of Fire if they don’t like you. So, if we follow all your laws and such, that you’ve yet to dictate I might add, what then?
GOD
Oh... Well... How about the opposite of a Lake of Fire?
MURRAY
A Lake of Water?
GOD
No, jackass! A... A place where you can do whatever you want and be happy forever.
Murray perks up.
MURRAY
Can we have sex?
GOD
Uh... Hm... I don’t know...
MURRAY
Oh, come on! That's one of the only things we have to look forward to! If we're not tilling the fields or hunting our food or singing fun songs, we want to... You know...
GOD
We’ll see. Until then, just push the Lake of Fire. Call it... Hell... Uh...
God trails off and pauses. Murray prompts him with...
MURRAY
Call it Hell?
GOD
Whatever. And I’ve got another idea on deck...
MURRAY
Oh, I can’t wait.
GOD
I’m gonna call it, “Original Sin.” It’s a doozy.
MURRAY
I don’t doubt it.
GOD
Give me a few days to work on it.
MURRAY
I should sit here for a few months, then?
GOD
Oh, ha. Just hang tight, Abraham. When I work out the details, I’ll summon you.
MURRAY
So... Can I actually leave the shack, or should I just sit here.
GOD
Ah, go ahead and leave. I can track you down if I need you.
MURRAY
Thanks, I guess.
GOD
You’re welcome. Peace.
The light blinks off. Murray growls...
MURRAY
Why does he keep saying that?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
HOW THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN
An old man, MURRAY, sits in a tent. He is writing on a scroll of parchment and speaking along with the words.
MURRAY
And. Then. Gladys. Puked. On. My. Goat.
Murray dips his feathered stylus in a bowl of ink.
MURRAY
So. I. Said. "Gladys! Why. Did. You. Puke. On. My. Goat?"
Murray dips his stylus again.
MURRAY
And. She. Said...
Before he can continue, a light flashes on from above him. Murray glances up into the light, shields his eyes, and can’t speak.
A booming voice, the voice of GOD, comes from everywhere.
GOD
Are you Murray Abram?
Murray takes a second to answer.
MURRAY
Yes?
GOD
Good. My name is... Um... Well...
God trails off into mumbling.
MURRAY
I’m sorry? What was that?
GOD
Well, some people call me El Shaddai. But, then some call me Jehovah. And some call me Yahweh. Then, in the distant future, some will call me...
MURRAY
I’m sorry, again. I just... What are you?
GOD
I am your God.
MURRAY
Which God?
GOD
What?
MURRAY
See, we’ve got a few, so...
GOD
No! No you don’t! You only have one, and I’m Him!
MURRAY
Oh. Really?
GOD
Yes, really! Am I not speaking to you from a beam of light?
MURRAY
You are.
GOD
You’re damn skippy! Now, where was I...
MURRAY
You’re my God?
GOD
Yes. I am. I am that I am.
Murray starts to say something, then stops.
GOD
What was that?
MURRAY
I’m sorry, it’s just... What does that mean?
GOD
What does what mean?
MURRAY
"I am that I am?" It doesn’t make any sense. It’s like saying, "A tree is a tree."
GOD
Oh, don’t be stupid. I am that I am because I am. I’m, like, everything. I’m you, a little bit. Except not so questiony...
MURRAY
So, you created me?
GOD
In a roundabout way.
MURRAY
Why?
God pauses.
GOD
I’m sorry, what?
MURRAY
Why am I here? Why did you create me?
GOD
Oh, well, I... You know... I, uh, created you for a purpose.
MURRAY
What purpose?
GOD
To... Live long and prosper.
MURRAY
To live long and prosper? Hey, sounds good to me.
GOD
No, wait! How about, "be fruitful and increase in number." I’m gonna save the other line for later.
MURRAY
OK.
GOD
So, is there anything else?
MURRAY
Um... You’re the one who came to me.
GOD
Oh, I didn’t just come to you, I... I chose you.
MURRAY
For what?
GOD
To... To spread my word.
MURRAY
But all you’ve told me is that I’m chosen and you want humanity to, I’m guessing, have a bunch of sex.
GOD
I didn’t say that! When did I say that?
MURRAY
"Be fruitful and multiply?" Yeah, sounds like sex to me...
GOD
Fine, sex it up, then. Just, here’s the thing. I want you to...
God stops. Murray waits.
MURRAY
Yes? Um, Mr. God? Sir?
GOD
I’m sorry, I had to let my dog in. Look, don’t worry about what I said before. Oh yeah, and your name is Abraham now.
MURRAY
What? Why?
GOD
How about "Because I’m God."
MURRAY
But my mother will kill me!
GOD
You want I should bump her off for you?
MURRAY
No! She’s my mother!
GOD
Then deal with it. Look, just sit here and wait for me to contact you. I’m gonna be dictating my ultimate message of authority and whatnot and so forth.
MURRAY
But... But why do I have to write it down? Can’t you...
GOD
Stop. Just... Just stop. Let me reiterate. I... Listen carefully now. I am God. I am telling you to sit here and write things down for me because I am God. What am I?
MURRAY
God.
GOD
Who am I?
MURRAY
God.
GOD
Thank you.
Murray pauses. God does the same. When Murray speaks, God cuts him off directly...
MURRAY
But, why...
GOD
Because I don’t have freaking arms! OK? No arms means no hands which means no writing. Just do it, OK?
MURRAY
OK.
GOD
OK?
MURRAY
OK!
GOD
Is that all? If it’s not, make it quick, I’ve got a city about 40 kilometers north of here that needs to be destroyed, so...
MURRAY
Well, there is one thing...
GOD
Jesus! What?
MURRAY
Could you tell Gladys to stop getting drunk and puking on my goat?
GOD
So shall it be.
MURRAY
Thanks, God.
GOD
No problem. But, when you continue writing, you’ve gotta cut the part about puking on a goat.
MURRAY
If you say so.
GOD
Call it editorial oversight. Be here in an hour. I might want to dictate some laws or something.
MURRAY
Sure. Sure.
GOD
So... Hey, take it easy.
MURRAY
Same to you. God.
GOD
Peace.
The light blinks off. Murray looks up to his normal ceiling, then looks around. When he realizes he is alone again, he shakes his head...
MURRAY
Of all the gods in the world, I’ve gotta get the crazy one.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
GUESS WHAT?
(First saw this at Chez Bob.)
I am thusly rated...
I am thusly rated...
Mingle2 - Online Dating
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
fucking (14x)
shit (11x)
fuck (7x)
hurt (4x)
murder (3x)
pain (2x)
gay (1x)
The list is funny until it gets to the last item, then it gets asinine.
Holy fucking murder-pain-hurt shit! I said "Gay!"
Aaaah! I said it again!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
THE END IS PERPETUALLY NIGH
After a marathon "Guitar Hero" session the other night (in which I began to work my way up to tackling some of the more difficult tracks on "Hard") my fret hand finally cramped up and I switched off the Playstation. The console is set to channel 3 which, with my basic cable package, is the Headline News.
Not surprisingly, I was greeted with the vacuous Glenn "Fuckface" Beck and decided to see what sort of tripe he was prattling on about. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to see that his topic was "The End of Days?" and his guests were none other than Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, the professional doomsayers and amateur human beings who wrote the eschatological "Left Behind" series of Fundamentalist Christian novels.
As he is wont to do, Beck proceeded to verbally fellate LaHaye and Jenkins with credulity, treating their visions of flying Christians, a "one world government," and the Antichrist as if they were talking about something as concrete as the GDP of New Zealand. I didn’t get to watch the whole debacle because my brother finally interjected with, "If you don’t change the channel, I’m gonna put this liquor bottle upside your head."
The whole "End Times" thing has always fascinated me, not because I believe any of it, but because so many other people believed and still believe it. Back in my Christian days, I was lucky enough to belong to a church that never discussed such things, so I never gave any serious thought to the Rapture, the Antichrist, or any of that jive.
And, for further clarification, this rant isn’t directed at a majority of Christians, the ones who take a more progressive view of the Bible and eschew all this Apocalypse craziness. The religious folks I’m friends with laugh off the "End Times" as fantastical malarkey, and rightly so. This is solely directed at the assholes who believe that Revelation is a literal version of true future (or present) events.
What these literalist Christians don’t realize is that we’ve been living in the "End Times" ever since before the man called Hay-Zeus supposedly walked the Earth. Hay-Zeus was, if anything, an apocalyptic preacher (he believed he was living in the "End Times"), as were his followers, as were their followers, as were blah-blah-blah-yakkity-schmakkity right up to the present day. The problem with all this "The End is Nigh" talk is that, so far, it’s been all smoke and no fire and, if I may employ my own acute powers of prognostication, it will continue to be so.
The very concept of the "End Times" is like Fundie porn; or, more accurately, the "Grandpappy of All Snuff Films." Of course, the uber-faithful see it as the greatest possible thing that could ever happen; the good people fly up to Heaven, those "left behind" have to convert or die, Hay-Zeus comes out of the sky to slaughter everyone else, and this horrible, awful, sinful planet is turned into some kind of "Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy" paradise where, presumably, people just sit there and love God all day. Or something. Because, see, the psychotic, ultra-violent, fever-dream/acid-trip "prophecy" in Revelation is, like all other "prophecy," kind of vague and completely open to interpretation (unless you’re one of those literalist schmucks). In fact, the only specific prophecy I can think of is found in a book called "Good Omens," which is much more interesting (and better written) than the Book of Revelation.
Of course, LaHaye and Jenkins are convinced that we are living in the "End Times" because, I don’t know, the world is a crazy place and people are fighting wars. And "them damn gays" want to marry. And Richard Dawkins is a best-selling author. And whatever else they don’t particularly agree with is happening somewhere, maybe, possibly, and they sure as shit don’t like it. So they long for the day when a majority of the world’s population will perish in a horrific battle while they sit on a cloud in Heaven and look down on the damned with smug grins.
In keeping with his propensity for unmitigated insanity, LaHaye (who looks like a cross between a slimy used car salesman, Ron Popeil, and the Crypt Keeper) also believes in the Illuminati. Got that? The fucking Illuminati. He thinks it’s some kind of liberal conspiracy, which fits in perfectly with his "one world government" deal, so he can point to an invisible enemy and yell, "See! One World Government! They run the United Nations! If a Democrat is elected president, the Seventh Seal will be broken! Massachusetts is Megiddo!"
So, the moral of the story is this. LaHaye, Jenkins, and their ilk are amusing in some respects but... Anyone who actively seeks the abject destruction of our planet and cares little about the eternal torture of well over a billion people is someone you should always keep a very wary eye on. Oh, and Glenn Beck sucks, too.
And here's a little something for people who are constantly looking for the Number of the Beast.
Not surprisingly, I was greeted with the vacuous Glenn "Fuckface" Beck and decided to see what sort of tripe he was prattling on about. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to see that his topic was "The End of Days?" and his guests were none other than Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, the professional doomsayers and amateur human beings who wrote the eschatological "Left Behind" series of Fundamentalist Christian novels.
As he is wont to do, Beck proceeded to verbally fellate LaHaye and Jenkins with credulity, treating their visions of flying Christians, a "one world government," and the Antichrist as if they were talking about something as concrete as the GDP of New Zealand. I didn’t get to watch the whole debacle because my brother finally interjected with, "If you don’t change the channel, I’m gonna put this liquor bottle upside your head."
The whole "End Times" thing has always fascinated me, not because I believe any of it, but because so many other people believed and still believe it. Back in my Christian days, I was lucky enough to belong to a church that never discussed such things, so I never gave any serious thought to the Rapture, the Antichrist, or any of that jive.
And, for further clarification, this rant isn’t directed at a majority of Christians, the ones who take a more progressive view of the Bible and eschew all this Apocalypse craziness. The religious folks I’m friends with laugh off the "End Times" as fantastical malarkey, and rightly so. This is solely directed at the assholes who believe that Revelation is a literal version of true future (or present) events.
What these literalist Christians don’t realize is that we’ve been living in the "End Times" ever since before the man called Hay-Zeus supposedly walked the Earth. Hay-Zeus was, if anything, an apocalyptic preacher (he believed he was living in the "End Times"), as were his followers, as were their followers, as were blah-blah-blah-yakkity-schmakkity right up to the present day. The problem with all this "The End is Nigh" talk is that, so far, it’s been all smoke and no fire and, if I may employ my own acute powers of prognostication, it will continue to be so.
The very concept of the "End Times" is like Fundie porn; or, more accurately, the "Grandpappy of All Snuff Films." Of course, the uber-faithful see it as the greatest possible thing that could ever happen; the good people fly up to Heaven, those "left behind" have to convert or die, Hay-Zeus comes out of the sky to slaughter everyone else, and this horrible, awful, sinful planet is turned into some kind of "Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy" paradise where, presumably, people just sit there and love God all day. Or something. Because, see, the psychotic, ultra-violent, fever-dream/acid-trip "prophecy" in Revelation is, like all other "prophecy," kind of vague and completely open to interpretation (unless you’re one of those literalist schmucks). In fact, the only specific prophecy I can think of is found in a book called "Good Omens," which is much more interesting (and better written) than the Book of Revelation.
Of course, LaHaye and Jenkins are convinced that we are living in the "End Times" because, I don’t know, the world is a crazy place and people are fighting wars. And "them damn gays" want to marry. And Richard Dawkins is a best-selling author. And whatever else they don’t particularly agree with is happening somewhere, maybe, possibly, and they sure as shit don’t like it. So they long for the day when a majority of the world’s population will perish in a horrific battle while they sit on a cloud in Heaven and look down on the damned with smug grins.
In keeping with his propensity for unmitigated insanity, LaHaye (who looks like a cross between a slimy used car salesman, Ron Popeil, and the Crypt Keeper) also believes in the Illuminati. Got that? The fucking Illuminati. He thinks it’s some kind of liberal conspiracy, which fits in perfectly with his "one world government" deal, so he can point to an invisible enemy and yell, "See! One World Government! They run the United Nations! If a Democrat is elected president, the Seventh Seal will be broken! Massachusetts is Megiddo!"
So, the moral of the story is this. LaHaye, Jenkins, and their ilk are amusing in some respects but... Anyone who actively seeks the abject destruction of our planet and cares little about the eternal torture of well over a billion people is someone you should always keep a very wary eye on. Oh, and Glenn Beck sucks, too.
And here's a little something for people who are constantly looking for the Number of the Beast.
Friday, June 15, 2007
THE BEST THING TO COME OUT OF BELGIUM SINCE THOSE WAFFLES...
Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm a metalhead who talks a lot of smack about pop music in general, but there are some groups that I can't help but groove to, fawn over, and love unconditionally.
One of these is the Belgian act Hooverphonic, a trip-hop/pop group fronted by the sexy and sulty Geike Arnaert, who has, as far as this guy right here is concerned, one of the most beautiful voices in music today. They have a new album coming out this fall (Glee!), so, until then, here are a few select cuts...
Club Montelpuciano (From "Blue Wonder Power Milk")
Gorgeous! From the simple, ascending chimes to the James-Bond-Like guitar line, it's the kind of song that makes people involuntarily sway from side to side. As Ron Burgundy would say, "This is baby-making music."
One (From "Jackie Cane")
Another flowing, easy-going song that should serve as a template for all the other pop bands out there. A great beat, some more of that trademark "Spy Guitar," and, unlike a lot of other pop songs I've heard, amazing back-up vocals. How often do you listen to a song and sing the back-up vocals instead of the lead?
Vinegar and Salt (From "The Magnificent Tree")
This song is a bit slower, with a delicious piano, and it really lets Geike loose to show off her pipes. Lovin' that chorus...
One of these is the Belgian act Hooverphonic, a trip-hop/pop group fronted by the sexy and sulty Geike Arnaert, who has, as far as this guy right here is concerned, one of the most beautiful voices in music today. They have a new album coming out this fall (Glee!), so, until then, here are a few select cuts...
Club Montelpuciano (From "Blue Wonder Power Milk")
Gorgeous! From the simple, ascending chimes to the James-Bond-Like guitar line, it's the kind of song that makes people involuntarily sway from side to side. As Ron Burgundy would say, "This is baby-making music."
One (From "Jackie Cane")
Another flowing, easy-going song that should serve as a template for all the other pop bands out there. A great beat, some more of that trademark "Spy Guitar," and, unlike a lot of other pop songs I've heard, amazing back-up vocals. How often do you listen to a song and sing the back-up vocals instead of the lead?
Vinegar and Salt (From "The Magnificent Tree")
This song is a bit slower, with a delicious piano, and it really lets Geike loose to show off her pipes. Lovin' that chorus...
Thursday, June 14, 2007
GO JOE!
The Ultimate Fighter 5 semis shall be broadcast later tonight, 10 o'the clock, on Spike.
It's been an interesting season, albeit with lots of stupid Reality TV-type BS (which most people who watch the show could give half a shit about), and the most exciting, vicious, and enterprising fighter we've seen thus far has been 22 year old Joe Lauzon.
In his fight against Brian Geraghty, Joe put a little ground and pound on him and, when Brian managed to get out of it and stand up, Joe jumped on his back like a nimble and violent monkey and choked him out.
My man is a beast, a goddamn monster.
But Joe's also a hep cat. He's not a cocky fuck like a few other pricks who've been on the show and, outside of his fighting life, he's obviously an intelligent, stand-up guy. The kind of guy who would kick your ass only if you really fucked with him.
So, now you know that Joe Lauzon is going to be a fighter to watch. And knowing is half the battle.
UPDATE: Well, he lost, as did his teammate, Gray, both of whom I predicted to win their respective matches. C'est la vie, n'est pas? Oh, well. Look forward to seeing ya fight in the future, Joe.
It's been an interesting season, albeit with lots of stupid Reality TV-type BS (which most people who watch the show could give half a shit about), and the most exciting, vicious, and enterprising fighter we've seen thus far has been 22 year old Joe Lauzon.
In his fight against Brian Geraghty, Joe put a little ground and pound on him and, when Brian managed to get out of it and stand up, Joe jumped on his back like a nimble and violent monkey and choked him out.
My man is a beast, a goddamn monster.
But Joe's also a hep cat. He's not a cocky fuck like a few other pricks who've been on the show and, outside of his fighting life, he's obviously an intelligent, stand-up guy. The kind of guy who would kick your ass only if you really fucked with him.
So, now you know that Joe Lauzon is going to be a fighter to watch. And knowing is half the battle.
UPDATE: Well, he lost, as did his teammate, Gray, both of whom I predicted to win their respective matches. C'est la vie, n'est pas? Oh, well. Look forward to seeing ya fight in the future, Joe.
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