Speaking of children who don't have a prayer...

Michael Jackson's children, the kids magically brought to him by a winged unicorn during a full moon, will be raised by Jackson's mom, 79-year-old Katherine. What, was John Ramsey unavailable? Actually, the children's "mom", Debbie Rowe, reached a deal to avoid a custody battle, but some government entity had to sign off on this, right? You can't just give your children to old people, can you?

Oh, and there was no money involved with this deal, according to the people involved in the obvious exchange of money.

It's a stretch to expect any 79-year-old to raise two small children, but this is Katherine Jackson we're talking about. She's the parental Houdini who worked her evil magic on Michael, Latoya and the other six weirdos who fell out of her revolving-door 'giner, so obviously she can drop her schedule of Matlock reruns and early bird cafeteria specials to do right by these kids. And by "do right" I mean "ruin their lives".

This is one instance where we need one of those "activist judges" Sean Hannity is always warning us about. Someone needs to swoop in and save these kids from the elderly woman who raised Michael Jackson as a trained seal and the bogus mom who agreed to a sham marriage for cold hard cash.

I say give them to Jennifer Aniston.

The Orphanage Solution

I was out in public today and I'm convinced there aren't enough orphanages in America. Allow me to explain. There are too many kids who are walking around just filthy-ass dirty, like Gale and Eville Snoats in an all-midget remake of Raising Arizona (I pray they never make this movie, as I would surely laugh myself to death).

I understand not making any money, really I do; but if you can't afford to keep your children from looking like a Dickensian chimney sweep THEY NEED TO BE TAKEN FROM YOU. And before anyone complains, I can tell the difference between "mischievous childhood frolicking" dirt and "my parents are too meth-addled to bathe me" dirt. The kids with the "good" filth don't have threadbare clothing, vacant eyes, or the gout from eating potted meats twice a day since birth.

Also, since I'm all about creating jobs all of a sudden, more orphanages mean more orphanage workers! Someone has to clean up these smelly little bastards, fix them their very first vegetable, and prove that not all adults will burn you with a lit generic cigarette for making too much noise during The Bachelor.

Ways for Louisville to Improve

Except for my crappy job, I like living in Louisville. However, it's not like I have high standards or anything; give me a few good microbreweries and some cool restaurants and I'm happy. But if this city wants to attract the kind of hyper-educated overachieving ass who makes life miserable for people like me, it's going to have to step it up a bit. Here are some suggestions:

Light Rail

It makes sense to have light rail. First of all, you have to hire people to design it, build it, and operate it. Hello job creation! It will bring the easily self-satisfied to town in search of a slower, slightly less crime-riddled subway experience. Also, it will take several people off the road and make my commute easier.

Better Schools

Is it wrong that our school system's mascot is Ralph Wiggum saying "Me fail English? That's unpossible"?

Pro Sports

Once we sucker all of these successful people into moving here, we'll need to separate them from their cash; and nothing will achieve this more effectively than the money-grubbing tit-yank that is a professional sports franchise. Since we're already spending hundreds of millions of dollars for a downtown arena that so far is only guaranteed eighteen college basketball games and a handful of dreadful country music concerts a year, we might as well get an NBA team. Even if attendance is below league average, the strip clubs will do record business and some lucky realtor will sell twelve mansions.

Better City Services

Whenever it snows, it would be really cool if the city didn't shut down for weeks at a time. And you know what else would be awesome? If power lines didn't snap whenever there's a stiff wind.

And since I'll still be living here, here are two things I want:

Brazillian Churrascaria

No, I don't want someone to shave my taint. A Brazillian Churrascaria is a steakhouse. It wouldn't be a regular hangout, but two or three times a year a man wants to go to a place and eat enough meat to put his life in immediate jeopardy. If that's wrong, I don't wanna be right.

My Own Underground Moving Sidewalk

I'm not asking for a lot, just a high speed moving sidewalk from my place of residence to the Bardstown Road bar district. Oh, and a comfy chair so I don't have to stand the whole time. If you build it, I will drink.

My Twenty Favorite R.E.M. Songs

My friend Erin mentions a Top Twenty R.E.M. Song list on her latest blog, so I'm going to take the idea and run with it, but with a few changes.

I'm going to call my list "Favorites" rather than "Best"; and I'm going to cop out a little by listing them in alphabetical order instead of preference.

"Begin the Begin"-Life's Rich Pagent

"Cuyahoga"-Life's Rich Pagent

"(Don't Go Back to) Rockville"-Reckoning

"Driver 8"-Fables of the Reconstruction

"Exhuming McCarthy"-Document

"Feeling Gravity's Pull"-Fables of the Reconstruction

"Find the River"-Automatic for the People

"Gardening at Night"-Chronic Town EP

"Harborcoat"-Reckoning

"Maps and Legends"-Fables of the Reconstruction

"Nightswimming"-Automatic for the People

"Perfect Circle"-Murmur

"Pilgrimage"-Murmur

"Pretty Persuasion"-Reckoning

"Radio Free Europe" -original single available on the Eponymous reissue. Better than the version on Murmur, in my opinion.

"Seven Chinese Brothers"-Reckoning

"So. Central Rain"-Reckoning

"These Days"-Life's Rich Pagent

"Wendell Gee"-Fables of the Reconstruction

"You are the Everything"-Green

That wasn't easy for me.

How's the weather where you are?

This will almost certainly be the first July in recorded history where the high temperature in Louisville never reaches 90 degrees. It hasn't happened yet, and the extended forecast doesn't call for anything over 85 through the end of the week.

For those of us who've lived through a lot of schweaty Louisville summers, this is nothing short of miraculous. It makes me think August and the first half of September are going to be a hairy bitch, but I'll deal with that when it happens. How? By complaining. By complaining a lot.

So this disproves the whole global warming thing, right? Not so fast, Glenn Beck. My boss went to Vegas for her anniversary and said the high one day was 126. One. Twenty. Six. That's John-Wayne-Gacy-burning-in-hell kind of hot. And my brother says it's even been humid there this summer. Ouch.

Who blogs about the weather? Someone who almost forgot he has to blog every single day in July and it's after 11pm, that's who.

A solution to the abortion debate...

Are you a woman who's against abortion? Don't have one.

Are you a man who's against abortion? Find a way to grow a working uterus. Still against abortion? Don't have one.

The end.

Mom jeans on Obama?

Last week when President Obama threw out the "Ceremonial First Lob" at baseball's All Star Game, he received criticism, not for throwing like a girl, but for wearing "mom jeans".

Really? Obama is almost 48, which is young for a president but a little too old to be dressing in jeans like these, don't you think?

Does a middle-aged man really have to dress like a PBR-swilling hipster douchebag? Have we reached a point in society where a guy pushing fifty has to look like a 22-year-old who lives in Brooklyn and plays bongos for a "world music" band?

Where does this end for Obama? I, for one, am troubled by his lack of ironic facial hair. I'm going to need to see him sporting a 70s porn 'stache by autumn at the latest. And he's going to have to become a better bowler. What would Walter and the Dude think about the pathetic 31 he rolled on the campaign trail? I've never seen a score so low from an able-bodied adult.

Damn Kentucky fans, being nice to me and all...

A few months ago I wrote a little post about University of Kentucky fans and their bizarre love of Kentucky t-shirts. Much to my utter dismay, a Kentucky fan site linked to the post and was very complimentary. The guy thought it was funny. I didn't know how to react.

Don't these Kentucky fans know they're supposed to be utterly humorless when it comes to their basketball team? And where was the usual bile directed at all Louisville fans? Hell, the blog's author didn't even refer to me as a sideways-hat-wearin' hood rat or the gutter-nappin' son of a crack whore.

And to make matters worse, the blog is well-written and no more illogical than any other blog devoted to a single sports program (including the programs I like). Oh, the hatred for the University of Louisville is there, but it's a "They're insignificant peons to be mocked in a condesending tone" hatred rather than the "Please God let them all die like sinners in shit" hatred that dominates other Kentucky sites. It's a hatred that harkens back to a simpler time; like a package of Pepperidge Farm Milanos, only instead of cookies the package is full of hate. I can live with that.

In honor of the people at A Sea of Blue who begrudgingly tolerate the fact that I was even born, I offer this story of a Louisville-Kentucky basketball game played in late 1987.

I was watching the game in the home of my old friend Dan. He and his family were Kentucky fans, but I went straight into the belly of the beast because there was a huge spread of food, including Dan's mom's homemade chili. I would gladly endure the taunts of the UK faithful for some of that chili.

What I didn't count on was Dan's brother, by far my least favorite member of the family, wearing his ugly-ass Kentucky cowboy hat. It was an oversized novelty cowboy hat with a god damn white 'K' on it. What's worse than a city boy wearing a cowboy hat? A city boy wearing a giant University of Kentucky cowboy hat. No amount of chili was worth looking at such a visual terror-fuck.

As Kentucky's lead grew to 16 points, Dan's brother cheered loudly. And whenever he cheered and jumped around the brim of his insipid hat would flop downward and make what I believe was the sound of every soul that ever ended up in hell, all screaming in unison a cry of utter despair.

I could take no more. "God, I hate your fucking hat," I said to him, which was a mistake because it just made him get up and do some sort of victory dance in my personal space.

Out of deperation I said "Don't count Louisville out of this one. They're coming back." I didn't really believe it.

"You wanna bet?" was his brilliant retort.

I thought for a second. "If Kentucky wins I'll give you five dollars."

He agreed. After all, his team was up by a double-digit margin. But I had an addendum:

"IF LOUISVILLE WINS I GET TO SHIT IN YOUR HAT."

"What?"

"If Kentucky blows this lead on their home court I get to shit in your hat. I get to use your hat as a toilet." Not my finest moment, but this was college basketball, man. I wasn't thinking straight.

He wasn't going to agree to it at first, but peer pressure swayed him. His family convinced him it was easy money.

As the game went on, Louisville cut into the margin. I reacted by stuffing my face with chili, chili dogs, and chili nachos. I was building up to take an epic dump in that dreadful hat. Finally, with mere seconds left, Louisville took a one-point lead. I was fully prepared to drop the deadliest of dueces inside that headwear abomination.

"Does anyone have an auxilary UK hat in case I fill that one up?" I asked no one in particular.

Unfortunately, Kentucky had the ball and one last chance. They missed a shot, but some guy named Cedric Jenkins, who was scoreless up to that point, tipped the ball in at the buzzer for a Kentucky victory. I forlornly handed over the five dollars and headed to the restroom to relieve myself like an actual human being, sitting on an actual toilet.

For those of you who are judging me for wanting to defecate in a hat...really, you didn't see this hat.

My Top Ten Favorite Simpsons Episodes Part Two

And now the not-at-all-anticipated part two.


Itchy and Scratchy Land -The family goes to "the violentest place on Earth". Hilarity ensues.

"When you get to hell, tell 'em Itchy sent you."


Sideshow Bob Roberts - Sideshow Bob runs for Mayor of Springfield on the Republican ticket.

TV AD: "Mayor Quimby supports revolving door prisons. Mayor Quimby even released Sideshow Bob -- a man twice convicted of attempted murder. Can you trust a man like Mayor Quimby? Vote Sideshow Bob for mayor."


King-Size Homer - Homer gains a dangerous amount of weight so he can get partial disability and work at home.

"Shame on all of you. Give me my dignity! I just came here to see 'Honk If You're Horny' in peace."


Two Bad Neighbors - Former President Bush (the first one) moves into the mansion (never seen before or since) across the street from the Simpsons.

"Big deal! When I was a pup, we got spanked by Presidents till the cows came home. Grover Cleveland spanked me on two nonconsecutive occasions."


A Fish Called Selma - Actor Troy McClure marries Aunt Selma to hide his bizarre fish fetish from the world.

NEWSCAST: "70s leading man Troy McClure has finally met the woman of his dreams. We may rememb... woman? Huh, okay! We may remember Troy from such films as 'The Verdict Was Mail Fraud', and 'Leper in the Backfield'."

My Top Ten Favorite Simpsons Episodes Part One

I'm going to name my favorite Simpsons episodes and after a brief plot summary I'll add a random quote that perhaps only I'll find amusing. Really, why should this post be any different than all the others?



In no particular order:


Homer's Enemy - The power plant's new employee takes an immediate disliking to Homer.

"He had three beers at lunch. That would make anybody sleepy."


"Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" - Homer discovers a long-lost half brother.

"Hang up, call me back, and say the exact opposite of everything you just said!"

"Uhhh, Homer Simpson is a...brilliant man who has come up with many...well-thought-out, practical ideas, and is insuring the financial future of this company. Oh, and his personal hygiene is beyond reproach."


Kamp Krusty - Bart and Lisa go to Krusty's rip-off summer camp.

"Dear Mom and Dad: I no longer fear Hell because I've been to Kamp Krusty. Our nature hikes have become grim death marches. Our arts and crafts centre is, in actuality, a Dickensian work house.''


Homer the Heretic - Homer stops going to church and starts his own religion.

"And what if we picked the wrong religion? Every week, we're just making God madder and madder!"


I Love Lisa - Lisa gives Ralph Wiggum a sympathy Valetine's card and he falls for her.

"What do you say to a boy to let him know you're not interested?"

"Let me handle this, Marge, I've heard 'em all. 'I like you as a friend,' 'I think we should see other people,' 'I don't speak English'."

"I get the idea."

"'I'm married to the sea,' 'I don't wanna kill you but I will'..."


The other five tomorrow.

A quick statement about fashion...

The Simpsons

This past week there was a little bit of controversy when Family Guy was nominated for a "Best Comedy" Emmy. Why? Because The Simpsons, in all of its history, has only been nominated for "Best Animated Series".

For the record, I think Family Guy is funny, although I'm starting to get burned out on the endless repeats in syndication. My blogger avatar is Stewie, but even I will admit it's so 2005.

I'd also agree that right now, at this very moment, Family Guy is good for more laughs than The Simpsons. But better all time? No way. If The Simpsons didn't get nominated for "Best Comedy" during seasons 2-8, easily the best run of any television series ever, then no animated show deserves the honor.

If you're a youngster and all you know of The Simpsons is what you currently see at 8 0'clock on Sunday, go out and buy or rent a season from their "golden age". I was going to name my Top Ten Simpsons episodes, but since I have to blog every day this month I'll save it for another day.

The internet has gone too far...

ESPN sideline reporter Erin Andrews has been an internet sensation for several years. She's put up with a lot of leering, and was even lustily embraced by Tennessee basketball coach Bruce Pearl, the sweatiest man in sports. Since she puts herself in the public eye and presumably makes a nice salary, a lot of this is just part of the natural price of being a celebrity.

But now it's gone too far. Last week, someone took videotape of Erin completely naked and posted it on the internet. Was this an act of betrayal from some ex-boyfriend? No, it seems a stranger took the video through a keyhole on her hotel room door!

Erin Andrews is a juicy little tomato, but this was a criminal and immoral invasion of her privacy. She can't even undress in her hotel room without worrying about someone filming her? That's just really sad.

I rarely take the high ground when it comes to female nudity, but in this case I definitely will. Although lawyers have made sure the video is off of the site that "broke" the news, it's most likely still out there; but I'm not looking at it. There are plenty of willingly nude ladies on the internet, some so willing it's almost tragic.

No surprise here

Hey, remember the infamous "shirtless father and son duo" who attacked a coach at a White Sox game a few years ago? They rushed onto the field and beat him like he was some sort of disco record!

Well, the "son" of the duo is now a 22-year-old white trash wannabe gangsta. How do I know? I checked out his myspace page via Deadspin. If you don't want to make yourself retarded just looking at that, I'll summarize: He lists his mood as "servin" (which I don't believe is an actual mood but whatever), he refers to Chicago as "Chi Town", his occupation is noted as HUSTLA (white trash for "unemployed") and - brace yourselves - he is "Anticipatin the birth of my shorty."

But of course someone is breeding with this dude. "Oh, you're the guy who attacked a defenseless man when you were 15? I must have your children. I want the world to be as heartless and stupid as possible."

Why, girl who fucked "son", why? Was Robert John Bardo unavailable for conjugal visits? Did your letters to Monica Seles-stabber Gunter Parche go unanswered? Did freeway sniper John Lee Malvo play hard to get?


They're expecting a girl, so who knows what the future holds. Will she grow up to attack an aging Mia Hamm at a Legends of Soccer event? Will the "shirtless father and daughter duo" be charged with aggravated assault AND public indecency? Will the government finally call for the mass slaughter of people who wear tilted, non-cootered hats? I demand answers!

Your Pill Is Like Bad Medicine

A few of the side effects of the anti-depressant Paxil are "thoughts of suicide" and "potential suicidal behavior." In other words, a pill that is supposed to keep you from being depressed could very well make you want to off yourself. Wow.

This reminds me of the social anxiety pill that causes impotence. Seriously, I'm not making it up. Poor son of a bitch finally gets the nerve to ask out a girl and he ends up praying she's not the type to give it up on a first date. That's just wrong.

Admission: A few years ago I took some recreational Viagra. I was worried about having a blue tint to my vision, which was a documented side effect. That never happened, but to this very day I get a raging boner every time I see Smurfette. Strange, huh? You just never know with pills.

Even though I think the country is WAY overmedicated, this isn't some sort of crazy-ass Tom Cruise Scientology anti-prescription drug rant. Controlled drugs save lives on a daily basis and have increased life expectancy to the point that I won't go to Kroger during Senior Citizen Discount Days. Really, you don't want to get between an old man and his chance to save a nickel.

So lets take our pills so we don't croak, but make sure the side effects aren't worse than the disease you're trying to cure.

Thank God for Kentucky Bison Company

America (and by "America" I mean "a handful of random people"), Bison meat is a fucking miracle. It tastes like the richest beef you'll ever eat and has less fat than poultry. Thanks to the Kentucky Bison Company, located in nearby Goshen, KY, fresh Bison is available in restaurants and markets throughout the Louisville area.

A few months ago I was at the brewpub with a friend and naturally ordered a Bison burger. My friend made a face like I just ordered rat cunt on burnt toast. This woman eats beef, the flesh of cows raised god knows where, fed artificial hormones, and probably frozen, thawed, frozen and thawed again before it reaches her plate. But she won't eat Bison raised additive-free about twenty miles from where we sat. Her loss.

This post really has no point other than "Bison is delicious."

Really, Facebook?

Yesterday I was quite horrified to see a Facebook Poll entitled Should Michael Jackson Get His Own National Holiday? This is the only time I want to be rich; when it would be therapeutic to smash my computer into a million pieces and just go out and buy another one.

How did this poll come to be? Someone please explain. Is there a Facebook Committee that chooses polls or can anyone create one out of thin air? I don't understand why someone not affiliated with a political candidate would ever create a poll; and there are far too many polls on Facebook. I don't need to know the opinion of every random dickwit on the internet. Did asparagus achieve a plurality over broccoli in the Which Vegetable Gives You Gas That Would Kill a Midget poll? Shemp or Larry for Gayest Stooge? It's all a click away on Facebook.

Let's get back to the ridiculous question at hand regarding a national holiday for Michael Jackson. Most national holidays are for groups (martyred vets, laborers) or ideas (giving thanks, celebrating freedom). Only three individuals have national holidays: Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King, and the Easter Bunny. Does Michael Jackson deserve to be the fourth?

Let's pretend for a second that all of the molestation charges against MJ were 100% false, that he paid his accusers tens of millions of dollars because he was so god damn charitable. Let's also assume he never dangled his baby over a balcony, even though the incident was filmed.

Here is Michael Jackson's resume for national holiday status:

-As a child he made bubblegum music with his family.

-In the late seventies he released Off the Wall, a fairly solid disco record. No one has listened to a disco record outside of a retro nightclub since at least 1980.

-Then there's Thriller, in my opinion the most overrated album of all time. Someone about ten years my junior dismissed my anti-Thriller sentiment with "You're too old to understand." Horseshit. I was in high school when Thriller came out. I lived through the musical deification of MJ's disposable dance-pop. If anything, my friend was too young.

When I cast my vote (hey, just because I think something's stupid doesn't mean I can't participate) 90% agreed with me that MJ doesn't deserve a national holiday, so my faith in mankind... Ah, who am I kidding? My faith in mankind was irreparably destroyed years ago.

Is it wrong that I think this cover is hot?

I've never seen Gossip Girl and have no immediate plans to start watching it, but Blake Lively and Leighton Meester can lick the fuck out of an ice cream cone.

This cover was designed to appeal to man's basest instincts and I must say....Mission accomplished! When I see this photo I frankly couldn't care less about the hopes and dreams of these two unobtainable twentyish women. And I'm not usually like that, even when I want to be! I'm the moron who ends up talking to strippers about their personal problems, for crying out loud.

Don't worry, I never bring up my fondness for this cover in everyday life. For example, none of my recent disasterous dates fell apart because of a conversation like this:

Date, already hating me: "So I've been there almost three years. It could pay more, but I really like my job."

Me, looking at the menu: "Yeah, good for you...Hey, have you seen that fucking hot Rolling Stone cover with those Gossip Girl chicks getting ready to deep-throat an ice cream cone?"

Date, completely hating me: "Uh...no."

Me, oblivious to her contempt: "If you could get it on with either girl, who would you pick? I'm a Leighton Meester guy myself. I'll bet she's a t-i-g-e-r."

Yeah, I have enough problems without being THAT GUY.

Now, to turn attention away from my blatant sexism, I present this widely circulated picture of Obama.

That's the President in France, checking out the hind quarters of a young lady. ABC News claims if you watch the video he isn't really looking at her ass, but come on. French President Pepe LePew knows what's going on.

Just as Bill Clinton made it acceptable for liberals to be blatant womanizers, Barack Obama is giving leering a new respectability. I love the Democratic Party!

The "Disco Sucks" Anniversary (one day late)

July 12, 1979 lives in sport and cultural infamy as "Disco Sucks" night at the original Comiskey Park in Chicago. Yes, they actually called an official promotion at a Major League venue "Disco Sucks" night. You gotta love the seventies, even if you don't remember them.

A Chicago rock radio station sponsored the event, in which admission to the game was 98 cents and a disco record. Between games of a scheduled doubleheader, the collected albums were blown up on the field.

So their plan was to gather a fuckload of people who'd probably never been to a baseball game, get them stinkin' drunk, and then blow shit up. Brilliant! And the crowd DID NOT disappoint. I've seen video of the event, and it held the record for Most White Trash in One Place until Larry the Cable Guy played Tuscaloosa's Bryant-Denny stadium in 2005. Thanks for taking some of the heat off of the South, Chicago.

After the first game, some local DJ (which falls somewhere between mime and balloon-animal artist on the entertainment scale) gathered the records in the middle of the outfield and dynamited them. A few minutes later the stadium of drunk-ass unemployables drawn to the game by cheap admission decided - as one - to run onto the field. They set bonfires, they ripped up the playing surface, they stole the bases. No, literally. Stole. The. Bases.

Forty minutes passed before every police officer in Chicago came along to break up the party. Out of tens of thousands of rioters there were 39 arrests, so great job there by the cops. Way to restore order, fellas.

In closing, the "Disco Sucks" promotion was an embarrassment to baseball, the White Sox, and the South Side of Chicago. However, in the immediate aftermath of the event, radio station owners stopped playing disco records in fear of angry mobs of shirtless, mulleted Nugent fans burning their businesses to the ground. The Bee Gees went so far as to blame "Disco Sucks" for effectively killing the genre in the United States.

So in other words it was a complete success.

Another year, another Lebowski Fest

This picture proves two things: 1- My camera phone takes really shitty pictures. 2- The costumes were very creative at this year's Lebowski Fest. Since you really can't see their shirts, I'll tell you they read "Quintana Child Care". These guys (and a couple of their friends not pictured) were walking around extolling the virtues of a presumably fictional child care center named after a minor character in the film, convicted pederast Jesus Quintana ("Eight year olds, Dude.") The center's slogan, "We Love Your Kids Like You Never Will," kind of gives you a clue as to the depths of their depravity.

I wish I could find a way to download the hilarious and deeply offensive informative brochure they were handing out. They really went all out for this little joke, although their listed website doesn't actually exist.

By the way, the middle guy in the picture was inviting people to reach into his fanny pack for a piece of candy. Most declined.

I know this could be considered offensive to some, but if you can't laugh at child molestation, what can you laugh at?

My lawyer wants me to state for the record my general opposition to molestation of any kind as well as my specific opposition to naming a child care center after a convicted pederast. Thank you.

Quick Post

Hungover.

Ad men

They're still showing Billy Mays commercials on TV. Who made that decision? No wonder so many companies are going bankrupt.

"Sir, should we pull the Billy Mays ad?"

"No, I want our product associated with early death."

"Sound thinking, chief."

If I owned a company I would have Tina Yothers as our official spokesperson; and I'd make a big deal about it. I'd schedule a press conference with promises of a major announcement. There would be a brass band and an open bar and women in bikinis serving hor d'oeuvres. Then Tina Yothers would walk out and suck all the energy out of the building.

It's probably a good thing I don't own a company, huh?

The Blogger Graveyard

There are a lot of blogs I used to read that aren't around anymore. Here is an incomplete list of the ones that are still online, but haven't been updated in some time.



The Babbling Brooke/Wild Rose Hip
June 6, 2005-December 28, 2008


Trust Me, I'm a Blonde
2005-December 31, 2008

Don't know the exact date of birth for this blog because the earlier archives have been deleted.


One Way Banter
September 11, 2005-September 24, 2006
Reborn May 15, 2008-Redied July 3, 2008


You Are in My Sysm
September 16, 2005-February 1, 2009


Golden State
June 29, 2005-June 26, 2008


Purgatorian
May 25, 2005-December 8, 2006


The Delta House
December 20, 2005-July 9, 2008


Tits List
September 18, 2005-April 25, 2009


And that's just what I thought of off the top of my head in a few minutes. If I left you out, well what the fuck do you care...you don't even blog any more!


Also, there are countless others who decided to take their blog down for whatever reason. When it comes time for me to bury this near-dead thing, I'll most likely leave it up, just for laughs as I grow older. I already cringe at some of the things I wrote only four years ago.

Oh...casinos are so frightening!

The other day I commented on a local blog that Louisville should try to find a way to enact casino gambling without the help of the state of Kentucky. I further opined that a good location for a casino would be downtown near the basketball arena scheduled to open next year.

This opinion prompted some local do-gooder to comment "Well, I guess you don't live near downtown if you want a casino there."

My first thought was to say: Fuck off, you ignorant pissant.

The Green Valley Ranch Casino in Henderson, NV and the Red Rock Casino in Las Vegas are both situated in very affluent neighborhoods. The people in the area don't have a problem with these operations because they're well-run and safe. You see, casinos that aren't shitholes don't want problems in their places of business. They aren't going to let criminal activity happen in their building or on their grounds. The only ones doing the stealing are the casinos themselves.

However, in all fairness to the guy who made the comment, he probably is all too aware of city government's tendency to HALF-ASS everything it touches. He assumes our increasingly corrupt mayor will let those Cordish Corporation fucks build some amateurish pile of bricks; who in turn will save money by hiring dead-limbed milksops to work security.

I'm honestly conflicted now.

Smoke cigars? Fuck you!

It's time once again for an infamous Death Wore a Feathered Mullet Sweeping Generalization: If you regularly smoke cigars, you're almost certainly a douchebag. I'm sure someone out there in internetland knows a cigar smoker who takes orphans to the zoo and donates bone marrow to the homeless, but kindly keep that information to yourself. I take a certain comfort in knowing that anyone who emerges from the giant walk-in humidor at work is not only carrying several stinky cancer logs but also a suffocating sense of self-importance.

I'll give a pass to those who smoke a cigar at a drunken bachelor party or to celebrate the birth of a child. And when you receive your first back-alley blowjob from someone who may or may not be an escapee from a traveling freak show, light 'em up Potsie!

But if you subscribe to Cigar Aficionado, which was this close to being called Mancunt Monthly, you're simply Rush Limbaugh without the radio talk show. Society should use you as an ashtray.

Indiana

Sunday I was driving down a local boulevard behind a car with an Indiana license plate. Naturally, he was driving a good fifteen miles under the posted speed limit and suddenly turned without signaling.

He turned into an Applebee's. What, they don't have an Applebee's in Southern Indiana? You had to cross the bridge and ruin my Sunday? Do the riblets at a Louisville Applebee's taste more "southern" to you, dipshit?

Ok, I'm laying down the law: Stay in Indiana unless you plan on supporting a locally owned business while you're over here. And stop coming over and taking our jobs, you Hoosier job takers!

From now on, only the following groups of Southern Indiana residents are allowed to work in Louisville:

-Heart Surgeon
If you can fiddle with a ticker, we'll take you.

-Stripper
If you're a female who wants to take her clothes off in front of us, we'll allow that.

-Bartender who really pours a strong drink
Bartenders who pour weak ass drinks can stay on the other side of the river.

That's about it. Get lost, the rest of you!

An open letter to the smelly guy at the Vernon Club last night

Dear Stinky McPoopypants:

Hey, I understand that you're way too cool to conform to the rigid standards of polite society. Really, I get it. But you went out in PUBLIC, to a crowded, confined space, smelling like a mohel's burlap sack of discarded foreskins. THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE, SIR!

I realize that the economy's tight and times are hard, but no one expected you to drive up in a Rolls Royce sporting an Armani suit; we just wanted to be able to enjoy a great live band without getting a metaphorical dirty sanchez from your subhuman musk. Cover to see the band was five dollars, and those beers you were drinking were three or four dollars apiece, depending on whether it was shitty or good beer. If you have the money to go out, you have the money to introduce soap and water to your god-forsaken pits and groins. Have you ever considered for a fucking second that the rest of civilization doesn't want to bask in your funk, you self-centered hipster piece of shit?

In closing, taking a shower will not turn you into a soulless cog in the military-industrial complex. It will just make you smell less like a rotting pile of fetid refuse. Bathe or die, motherfucker.

Sincerely,

The rest of the world

Top Ten Reasons Sarah Palin Resigned as Alaska's Governor

10. New permanent guest host on Letterman's show.

9. Reading "every magazine, all of 'em" is god damn time consuming!

8. Nothing says "Presidential Frontrunner" more than not being able to finish one term as the leader of a sparsely populated icebox.

7. Has already killed all of the moose in Alaska, so watch out Montana.

6. Needs time to cover up Bristol's torrid affair with Alex Rodriguez.

5. Sarah's special brand of wilful ignorance too powerful to be contained by a single state.

4. Her self-help book, "How to Exploit Your Children for Personal, Financial, and Political Gains" isn't going to write itself.

3. Needs to move somewhere else to expand repertoire of folksy colloquialisms.

2. Her husband wants to move to a place more likely to secede from the United States.

1. Hey, governorin's hard.

Never dating again

A few weeks ago I went on a match.com date to see The Hangover, the funniest movie I've seen in recent years. My date had an annoying laugh. Yeah. Uproarious Comedy + Annoying Laugh = Me Contemplating Suicide.

And it wasn't just a little annoying. Imagine the laugh of Amy Pohler as Hillary Clinton, mixed with an air raid siren and the braying of a diseased jackass. Hell's soundtrack now has its first single, folks.

Did I pull a Jerry Seinfeld and stop dating this woman because of her terrible laugh? Of course not. We really didn't like each other that much. If we had clicked, I just would have avoided taking her to comedies. Or ever saying anything even remotely amusing, ever.

Her: "Let's see a movie. How about the new Will Farrell film?"

Me: "Not in the mood for that...Hey, there's a midnight showing of Schindler's List."

I'm done with internet dating. In fact, I can't imagine myself ever planning another date of any kind. I no longer have the patience to try to break through the impenetrable shield put up by the women who'll agree to go out with me. And I'm getting really really old, so pretty soon I'll have to start dating ladies who wear applique sweatshirts, the Murder, She Wrote of garments; and I'm way too immature to handle that.

Swearing to the Oldies

We listen to an "oldies" station at work. "Oldies" is a relative term, but in this case refers to music from the late 50s and early 60s. The reason given by management for choosing this aural atrocity? "They play the Beatles and the Rolling Stones."

Yeah, during an eight hour shift I'll hear two Beatles and two Rolling Stones songs. That's about fifteen minutes of decent music versus seven hours and forty-five minutes of complete shit. Does that sound like a fair trade off?

God in heaven, I hate 50s sock hop crap and old soul songs "honkified" for the post-war caucasian audience. It's all a bunch of creepy Eisenhower-era grown men singing about high school. One song they play contains the less-than-immortal line "She was way too cute to be a minute over seventeen."

Seriously, you can't even SAY that in polite society, let alone record it and release it to public radio.

The worst thing about the oldies station, though: Frankie Vali and the Four Seasons. Their music is PURE TORTURE. I'd rather be waterboarded by a boner-sporting Dick Cheney than listen to the fuck-awful caterwauling of Frankie fucking Vali and the Four fucking Seasons. For every Rolling Stones song, Frankie and company get five or six plays, so several times a day I contemplate destroying my own eardrums with a dry toothpick.

Let me be clear, I wish no specific harm to the now-elderly Frankie Vali (we've had way too many celebrity deaths lately, and I don't need that on my conscience), but a few years ago when he guest starred on The Sopranos as a low-level gangster, I got quite a kick out of watching him get shot in the face.

I'm blogging every day in July for no real reason

At work on Tuesday I had an idea for a blog post, but by the time I got home it was gone. The idea was a ghost. So why am I going to try to blog every day for the entire month of July? Why the fuck not? It will force me to write, because I'm obviously not doing anything voluntarily.

I wasn't going to mention the most annoying customer of the day, but since I forgot what I wanted to write about I'll go ahead and give a quick account:

My morning cashier has some kind of hood-rat personal drama and has to leave work for over an hour in the middle of her shift, so I'm forced to take her place at the register. It's pretty slow at the time, so instead of standing directly behind the register I stand about three feet away from it, talking to a coworker who is getting ready to clock in.

Please note that my register light is the only light currently alluminated. I see a woman walking around aimlessly but since she's headed toward the pints of liquor I assume she's just another functioning alcoholic looking for something to stash in her purse during the work day.

She suddenly starts screaming "IS THERE ANYONE HERE TO CHECK ME OUT? ANYONE? ANYONE?" Also kindly note that I'm 6'6", very large, and am wearing a polo shirt indicating my affiliation with the liquor store; AND I'M THREE FEET FROM THE ONLY REGISTER WITH A LIGHT ON!

"I'm right here, ma'am."

Then she says "Well, how was I supposed to know? You were over there talking."

I wanted to reply "Was I supposed to stand at silent attention just waiting to serve you, you shrill, vacant, self-involved, willfully unpleasant redneck trail of taint run-off?"

I remain silent, but damn it's hard to do. I can feel my blood pressure rising. There is nothing worse than being corrected by a fucking moron.

Then she can't find her credit card, and her demeanor changes. "Oh, I'm so sorry, it's in here somewhere...I just used it at (some vague white trash provider of goods and services) so I know I still have it. I'm so sorry."

She finally finds her card and swipes it, then goes into the most mind-numbing rant since The Gazebo Blend Soliloquy of 2005. "I want to run this as a credit card, because when I use debit my bank charges me a quarter. Can you believe that? Every time I use my card as a debit, my bank charges me a quarter, and that's bullshit!"

She then looks over and realizes she just cursed in front of young lady and her small child, so she offers THE DUMBEST APOLOGY EVER.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I shouldn't have said 'bullshit' in front of the kid."

Let me repeat for those of you in utter disbelief. "I shouldn't have said 'bullshit' in front of the kid." She says it louder than the first time.

Then for good measure she mentions two or three more times that her bank charges 25 cents if she uses her bank card as a debit. Oh, and she smells of stale cigarettes and dollar store lotions.

At least when she finally leaves, the next customer agrees that she is probably the most appalling piece of garbage ever to escape the trailer park. So it isn't just me.

It's gonna be a long month.