Saturday, October 25, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Heineken Keg Uses
I bought one of those Heineken mini-kegs over the weekend, and I've been trying to figure out a use for the empty mass of metal ever since. I think I may have found it..
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Drunken Midget Cusses Out Her Family
She's obviously as bewildered as I am about Palin being nominated as a potential VP.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Monday, September 08, 2008
The Ballad of Chris McCandless
lyrics/song by Ellis Paul
He was out on the highway smiling
A mystic in torn blue jeans
The kid left his trust fund to come out walking.
He hitched across this country
backpack and a head full of dreams
Could’ve sworn he heard the earth a talking….talking
Sometimes, he said, don’t it feel like the concrete’s closing in?
We’re putting bricks on the horizon
Was he chasing fool’s gold…or a holy man walking a dirt road to the end?
I hitched a ride with Chris McCandless
Stepped in the wild of a dream
The horizon in South Dakota
Is an ocean of harvest grain
In a dusty silo we found work for the taking
We’d hitched up from California
But he never told me his real name
Never told me what past he was out here shaking
We're all shaking something...
Sometimes, he said, don’t it feel like technology’s closing in?
We’re raising towers on the horizon
Was he chasing fool’s gold…or a holy man walking a dirt road to the end?
I hitched a ride with Chris McCandless
Stepped in the wild of a dream
A stone….a path…a river of glass
The night sky…can you see stars from wherever you are?....wherever you are....
In a broken school bus they found him
In the heart of the Alaska range
The journey ends when the heart stops beating…time is fleeting
Was he chasing fool’s gold,
Or a holy man walking a dirt road to the end?
I hitched a ride with Chris McCandless
Stepped in the wild with Chris McCandless
And I felt alive with Chris McCandless
I was wide awake in the dream…dream.
DNC vs. RNC, not down with OPP
I've made a decision. I have decided that if McCain and Palin are elected into office, I am going to rescind my American citizenship and move to Ireland. What brought this about, you ask? Well, let me tell you. You see, I made the mistake of viewing the Republican National Convention on television recently. Every single politician that spoke was embarrassingly snide. Instead of coming out and saying "I'll do this," or "we'll fix that," the tone of the speeches took on that of a bad high school debate. "He thinks this and he's stupid for it," or "he can't even do that," or "he's a big fat stupid-head," were not said exactly, but that is what their words boiled down to. The worst offender was Palin. Her wry smile and arrogance (transparently disguised as poise and confidence) shone through her entire time at the podium. After nearly every sentence, she would pause, wait for the crowd to realize that they were being prompted to cheer and hold up their handcrafted posterboard signs. As soon as she would finish one of her immature and insolent verbal attacks, the camera would cut to her unwed pregnant daughter holding the most recent Palin hellspawn in her lap. Yes sir, the GOP thrives on putting it's best feet forward and putting up a conservatively wholesome image. However, they seem to have lost sight of the fact that the people they seek to rule will eventually get fed up enough to overtake them and toss their political careers into the gutter. If America decides that this combination of Old Man River and Lil' Miss Hypocrite are the best candidates for the job, I will officially lose all faith in this "great" nation of ours. If America again shows the world that they fear change by electing the conservative dickholes of the republican party, I'm leaving. I'm going to pack a bag, sell all of my shit and get the hell out. No thanks, I don't need a hand stamp for re-entry; I'm tossing my ticket stub in the trash and not turning back.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Allen Ginsberg - America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good
looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial
for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came
over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious.
Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that jetplanes 1400 miles an hour
and twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live
in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automo-
biles more so they're all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings
they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and
the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about
the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing
the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real
mensch Mother Bloor the Silk-strikers' Ewig-Weibliche made me cry
I once saw the Yiddish orator Israel Amter plain. Everybody must
have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. Her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black
niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Labels: Poetry
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Angry German Kid vs Lasse Gjertsen
remember the Angry German Kid yelling at his computer? Some dude posted a new vid of him with Lasse Gjertsen's human beatbox fantastical nightmare. Enjoy. Really. It's neat.
via
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Jesus Christ Sold Me Cigarettes
Jesus H. Christ sold me cigarettes last night. He was working at the BP station I randomly chose to stop at for the pack. He was reading a bible. I noticed the irony of the situation and asked, "Taking a look at your biography?" He didn't make the connection or even allude the fact that he knew what the hell I was talking about.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Good hip-hop vs. whack hip-hop?
apparently, there will be ramifications
Labels: Video