HEED THIS WARNING, CHICKEN FUCKERS.

If ANYONE, repeat ANYONE, EVER gets me this for ANY occassion EVER (!) I will HUNT your ass down and I...will...CUT...YOU.

Thank you for your attention in these matters.

The Costs of Doing Business with The Foxxe.

Ok. We need to talk.

The Foxxe's reaction to my op-ed piece on his manse was, I think, misguided. Let me refresh your memories...

I wrote a delightful satirical piece on Dan's Mansion, and included some of his most fervent fans. Sure, I took the liberty of doing so in a light-hearted "Medieval" tongue, but what the heck? He wanted to keep the drawbridge up all the time!

his response?

"Oh, for shame! And oh how the mighty have fallen. Once the Bunny roamed the frozen wastes of the Greater Quincy area and neither rain nor sleet nor snow would keep him from his appointed rounds. Now he quivers in fear at the thought of a mere four inches of snow.The Land of Pleasant Living has made you soft and weak, oh fretful Bunny. You must be... corrected."

Soft and weak? SOFT AND WEAK?

Ahem.

My dear friend Dan, may I be the first to assure you I am neither soft nor weak. My reluctance to sojurn into the snowy day was not for want to do so, nor was it 'fear' of the snow. Unfortunately, you seem to forget the utter lack of quality snow response is here; they have none. Four inches to them shuts things down. (Case in point: it snowed two inches yesterday, and half the town closed mid-day.) They don't know how to deal with it. And DC, believe it or not, is actually worse. (TMS, Whisky, Josh, back me up here.)

As far as "correcting me", well my friend, the Rockstar sayeth...

...bring it on, bitch.

(See you next week! I am ALL sorts of fired up.)

(For those not in the know, The Foxxe is comin' to town next weekend. Word.)

A Commentary on "A Man's Home."

The Foxxe wishes a manse akin to this. Who can blame him? I would love it, and I don't really like large abodes. In this manner, I find my opinions commensurate with TSF.

From there out, we differ. Whereas Dan feels he would comport himself in a regal, medieval manner towards those who visited (denying all that refuse to address him in a particular lexicon), methinks the interactions would be more like this...


Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part I (...or, the Princess approaches)

Heather approaches the upraised drawbridge, scans it over for a moment, and calls to Dan.

Heather: Dan! I'm here. Open up.
Dan: Callst me Lord of the Manor, and I shalst lettith you in, fair maiden!
H: Ha ha. Open the fucking door.
D: Whoist thinketh thine isethed? Darest you speaketh to me in sucheth a manor(eth)?
H: No, me thinketh if you don'teth open thine friggin' doorst, thy will findeth my foot in thine ass.
D: A parlay it is then! Knave! Openth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part II (...or, rock you like a Bunnycane.)

I apporach the castle (all the while, learning how to spell "approach,") and call to Dan.

Adam: Dan-o! You magnificant bastard! Open up!
Dan: Hark! Doeth mine ears tell me truly? Is thateth the Bunnyethest?
A: Yep. Open up.
D: I can'st doeth thateth, my goodly friendst. Thine are awarest of the rules of thiseth fine castle?
A: (no response)
D: Speaketh, goodly sir!
A: (no response)

Dan looks over the edge of the wall, and sees me sitting on the ground drinking a High Life from the case I brought, flipping him the bird.

D: A parlay it is, then! Knave! Openeth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part III (...or, gee, I hope it doesn't stain!)

Snuggles drives up in his pickup truck. Parking out front, he unloads the portable meat smoker from the bed. Grabbing his porta-cooler, he calls to Dan.

Snuggles: Dan! Open up! I'm eatin' corn!
Dan: Willsteth keepeth thine voice downeth? Mine neighbors areth nosy!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Knave! Openeth the gate!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh, shit(eth)! Sorry, Dan, I got some
barbeque sauce on your door! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Cometh in, good sir, and leaveth some of the joy and pork ribs you bringst with you!
Snuggles: WHOOOP! WHOOOP! BOOBIES! Here, have a rib.
Dan: Methinks theseth are the finest ribs thou hast hadeth since morns goneth by!
Snuggles: Are you ok, Dan? Are you RETAHDED or somethin'? When's the game on?
Dan: Goodly friendeth, kindly useth mine "Bounty" brand paper towelseth, as thine are getting rib bits on myst coucheth.
Snuggles: You got the remote? The Sox are on.
Dan: Sigh(eth)(est).



Yeah, that seems much more like it. Good luck, Dan. And a bit of advice; put plastic over the really classy stuff...party at your house.

Into the breach once more...

Howdy, monkeys.

How you been?

Since I last wrote, many interesting thinks have crossed my stars. Many indeed. Of note...

1. I am amidst a 'career change' at the moment.
2. The Pats are returning to their 3rd Super Bowl in four years in a couple of weeks.
3. I haven't summoned up the courage to fight my non-existant heroin addiction.
4. I have a tête-à-tête over raw fish coming up with a most delightful unofficial singer.
5. I still have two (count 'em, two) testicles.
6. I'm catching a fair amount of flack over my lack of entries.

My apologies to all. It's been a VERY interesting 2005 thus far, and if these first few weeks are plotting any kind of a graph for the rest of the year, I submit the following odds for your considerations.

Odds & Event

10:1

Rampant, drunk jackaloupe holds me at gunpoint while humping
my leg and calling me "Tess."

77:1

Inexplicably, NASA calls me asking for advice on how to properly
perform a competent azimuth calibration while riding a train. Even
more inexplicably, I happen to know the answer.

4:1

One of you will receive a call from me seeing if you know the whereabouts of either my dignity, my kidneys, or my autographed picture of the cast from Gilligan's Island. These odds include the likelihood of their having run off together.

1,375,999:2

I trick a beautful woman into dating me, and she somehow overlooks my proclivity for being an utter jackass.

34,632,867,234:1

At some point she (willingly) gives it up for the home team (ooh! bet on this one! You'll win $34.6 billion dollars for each dollar you bet! Foxxe, this can pay for the bar we always wanted. Can you say "black and ham"?)

17:1

I will conquer the whole "light without heat" argument, and go on to win the Nobel Peace Prize for Pie Eating.

81:3

Hollywood digititizes my likeness and re-masters an episode of Knight Rider to include me driving next to Kit in the Trans-Am from Smokey and the Bandit. I would have a catch phrase like, "Hey, muffins, drop that hat!", or, "Smellin' fine, baby, what's your face?"

107:1

I survive to turn 35.

yep, sure is going to be interesting.

The Politics Of Dancing...

Sup, fools?

Having a good weekend, I hope. I am, of sorts anyway. I once again successfully drank the local out of High Life Light on Saturday night. Speaking of insane, we were all gettin' down Saturday night at the local to the docit tones of the housse band who was kickin' it old style. The door opens, and roughly 45 Santas come through the door on a pub crawl. Oh, and an Elvis impersonator from Vegas happened to be there as well. Crazy, crazy shite, folks.

Some updates for New Years;

a. Our confirmed list has cleared the sixty person mark. About 70 more responses to go.
b. My folks might attend (sweet. that is, until about 1130. eek. Sorry in advance, mom.)
c. We have a little somthin' somethin' for midnight that Chapman, the Foxxe, Jesse, Ronan, and Garrett will totally dig.
d. The soundtrack this year will be neat-o. Working on it as I type this.

We're getting closer.


As for the Foxxe's last entry. I agree with his selection. I will also add National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation for a few reasons. One, Beverly D'Angelo is tres hot. Two, Randy Quaid is hysterical. And three, it's one of Chevy Chase's swan songs. As far as accompanying activities, I don my authentic Chicago Blackhawks "Griswold" jersey, identical to the one he wore in the movie. Yes, kiddies, I was so enthralled with Clark W. Griswold when I was 19 that I spent $300 to have the Blackhawks make me that jersey. Well, the good news is that they thought it was such a cool idea, they made an additional jersey, had him sign it, and it is hanging in their corporate office. Hmmm.


Talk with ya soon!

Ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool
Down the street I'm the girl next door
I'm the fox you've been waiting for..."

Can I get a "what what"?

I mean it. Can somebody, anybody, give me a "what what"?

It's been that kind of day.

Why?

Damn good question. I can't even figure it out. Except for the following...

1. Christmas is almost here.
2. I'm not dead.
3. I got my live "Styx & REO Speedwagon: Arch Allies" CD today, and there isn't a damn thing that the Fox or Heather can do about it, even though they are likely writhing in agony as they read this.

(In fact, before I continue, I shall now publish the lyrics to Take It On The Run. Enjoy!)

"Take It On The Run" [Originally by REO Speedwagon]

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

They say you got a boy friend
You're out late every weekend
They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down
But I know the neighborhood
And talk is cheap when the story is good
And the tales grow taller on down the line

But I'm telling you, babe
That I don't think it's true, babe
And even if it is keep this in mind
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

You're thinking up your white lies
You're putting on your bedroom eyes
You say you're coming home but you won't say when
But I can feel it coming
If you leave tonight keep running
And you need never look back again

You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

Now, where was I? Oh, yes...

4. New Year's is not too dar away, and I have a wonderful collection of misfits coming down for Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!

Now, more than a few of you have been wondering what this "Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!" is all about, and I can't says I's blames ya! Oh well. I can say I am more than thrilled at the prospect of having everyone (especially my brother and sister; Team Centamore is ready to bring the shit and get it ON!!!

(And how do we like my fancy Trebuchet font?)

It's going to be hella good stuff, man. Remember!

1. If you're on the guest list, righteous!
2. If you're not on the guest list, ask yourself two questions.
a. am I a swank chick?
b. am I single?
If you can answer yes to those two questions, You're on the list!

I wish I could give you more details, but we want you to be surprised. I can tell you this, though.

-To make this party happen, we needed a chainsaw.
-When all is said and done, over ten pounds of metal will have been used.
-I will be extra, super charming that night, especially after nine or so. Be sure to stop by and say hi!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go try and find the fox in that song...

More later, all.

Ciao!

Five Reasons Why Barry Bonds* Can Go Fuck Himself.

5. His Babe Ruth comments.
4. "T could mean anything," Bonds* replied. "G could mean anything. And pee could probably mean anything."
3. Captain fucknuts (er, Mr. Bonds*) has the audacity to state he took steroids under the assumption they were flaxseed oil and arthritis medications.
2. When asked why he hadn't purchased a "mansion" for his personal pusher, oops I mean trainer, he responded thusly; ""One, I'm black, and I'm keeping my money. And there's not too many rich black people in this world. There's more wealthy Asian people and Caucasian and white. And I ain't giving my money up." Boy, oh boy, can he go fuck himself.
1. He has disgraced baseball and insulted the fans that supply his "black" money. Mr. Bonds*, kindly go fuck yourself.

(To all the ladies out there, my apologies for the harsh language. Mr. Bonds* has that effect on me. Not to fear, though, I am still the same old loveable Bunny I always was; I'm just faster and can jump higher now. Thank you.)

Back in the saddle.

Hey ho, monkeys.

Been a spell, I know. Thanks for bearing with me.

In the interim since my last entry, everything and nothing has been occuring. No major news, I suppose. I was supposed to return to Boston this weekend, and once again work took care of that. At some point, one must ask if the existing circumstances merit continuing...

On the up side, I resumed writing and guitar playing. Sometimes we forget how good things can make you feel. These are two hobbies of mine that do it for me. (Thanks, whiskypants, for reminding me of that.)

New Year's Eve is fast approaching, and our plans are cruising along. Be on the lookout for an invitation shortly...

The battles on the chick front are not going so well. Ack. All sorts of garbage going on, but I will forego writing, as it will incur the wrath of at least one person (a DC socialite in particular). Same old poop, I guess.

Still in euphoria over the Sox win. It's really funny, because I often encounter someone wearing a yankees cap, and they can't look me in the face. Good. Fuck 'em. They're probably child molesters anyway. Next up, the Patriots.

More to follow, I promise. just in a bit of a funk.

Mason, Heather, and K.K., can't wait to see you guys. Three weeks. Get the Belhaven ready.

World Fuckin' Serious.

On the day of the eve of what could be a historic night before tomorrow, I have a few thoughts and ramblings to share.

1. I still believe in Baseball Jesus. As much now as ever before. He has been my beacon of hope since game 1 of the yanks series when He showed me that it's about the team, and not just Schilling. (Schilling getting creamed game 1 was my fault; I was pulling for him, not the team. I have since corrected that, obviously.)

2. You can grow to love a new hat. No, she's not like my first, but she's 3-0, and she's mine.

3. I feel badly for St. Louis fans, especially Abbypilot and New Character. No, I am being smug at all; my statement has NOTHING to do with tonight. Rather, it's a display of sadness that Cardinals fans haven't to this point gotten what they deserve; you guys won 105 games, and went 6-0 in the postseason before the idiot bus stopped in your stadium. I really am sorry for you fans. I still hope you lose, but I feel for you.

4. Tonight, there is to be a lunar eclipse that is reportedly going to turn the moon red for a spell. We HAVE to win tonight; the world is with us, hell, even the moon is looking out for us.

5. It is 18 years ago today that the ball passed through the legs. Like we've said before, let's get all the friggin' shackles off in one year. And hopefully on the same day.

6. I love my friends, I love my life. But for tonight, there is nowhere on God's green earth I would rather be than at Abbotts, sitting with K, Rosco, The Silver FOx, Heather, Chuck, Magnum P.E.I., Chef Mike, Sonny, Siobhan, Snuggles, Cass, Jim, my Bro, Kirk, and countless Sox fans drinking the best beer $2.25 can buy, and waiting for that final pitch, that last moment, the ending SNAP of the ball hitting the glove (oh, by the way I am convinced the World Series this year will end with a K. Don't ask why or who, but I believe.) I miss you guys, never more so than now. But I hold my head high, and prepare to celebrate with Johnny, Proctor, SoCo, Lipstick Mike, the Bertrands, K-Swick, Abbypilot, the Euros, Josh the mosh, BDB, Ronan, Timmy, Heather, D&Z, and myriad people that are backing the Sox largely because I am. Thanks, guys.

7. Weird fact in case you missed it: The Celtics won their first championship against St. Louis (1957); the Bruins broke a 41-year Stanley Cup drought against St. Louis (1970); and the Patriots won their first Super Bowl against St. Louis (2002).

8. I hope they win it for my parents. My dad gets SO pissed at them for all their foibles. My mom gets pissed because the Sox take away from the Patriots news. Enjoy, Mom & Dad.

9. Fuck the Yankees.

10. I propose nicknaming A-Rod and Jeter "Slappy" and "Short-Rod." More fitting, I think.

11. God, I hope we re-sign Varitek.

12. No matter what happens tonight, the Red Sox have earned every one of my tears, laughs, vomit sprees, and clenched fists. Great season guys, thanks. Now go kick some ass.

13. I'm running out of reasons now to leave work early and get this party started....

You know what?

Bye.

(My predicition: Sox 7-Cardinals 3)

Only a few hours more...

Sigh.

There is a delicate balance of power, influence, karma, and luck floating out there. Sometimes you are fortunate enough to have one or more of these elements swing in your favor. Other times, not so much as they move away from you. Ultimately, I believe, you break pretty much even, like in chance. For the brave and stupid, there are times where you try to evoke an element, or even (gulp) several. Brave and stupid indeed.

So, here I go at it. As you may recall, my precious BoSox hat was stolen by a cute Serbian chick. She even convinced me she had lost it. While I sat there, mumbling and almost weeping (the damn hat and I go back 10 years), it was divulged to me the hat is fine, resting comfortably and in good spirits while this ordeal perserveres. My tears of suffering turned to tears of happiness as I envisioned the streets of Annapolis running red with her blood. As I lept into action, I halted; the Sox are 4-0 with the hat in her possession. I can't break that. So, I have remained quiet, in the hopes the hat will stay exactly where it is. But I can't NOT wear anything Sox. That's just wrong. And my jersey has some weird vibes coming off it.

So I did the unthinkable. I went on the element-evoking offensive.

I bought a new hat.

It's cool. It's fitted, dark blue with a blue and white "B" on the front, and blue and white socks on the back. It similar to my old one, but not exact. There can only ever be one favorite hat in one's life.

I know it is a ballsy move, but I'll have you know I consulted with another member of Red Sox Nation. Thanks, Silver Fox, for giving me the go-ahead.

I've also changed my regimen. You may recall it was Dokken pre-game, no hat, and Raspberry Wheat. Well, I figure I have no right expecting more than the greatest comeback in sports history from that combination, so I changed it. And I'm kicking it up a notch by going alta-schula.

D.L.R.-era Van Halen pre-game, new hat with dark, angry colors, and bourbon (to be relieved only after having a sufficient amount. And then, the only acceptable substitute is Sox Nation's most stalwart ally, High Life.

Yeah, it's going to be messy, and some may not survive. But I'm ready to do what it takes.

I am the ruler of these nether worlds
The underground
On every wall and place my fearsome name is heard
Look around, whoa yeah
Nobody rules these streets at night like me,
nobody

The atomic punk.

Let's kick ass, boys.

Foxxe, man your positions. It's on.

World Fuckin' Serious.

Baseball, Jesus!

The aftermath.

Sheesh, it's amazing. The World Series, for me, cannot possibly top what we've just been through. And yet, three days from now we enter the breach again.

Some random thoughts...

1. I can't decide who I would rather see in the WS. Houston has Clemens, St. Louis has 1946. Either way, f*ck the Yankees.

2. Some quotes from around the horn..

"They played better than us. That's basically it. You can come up with this or that, but the bottom line is that they beat us." - Short-Rod (Derek Jeter)

"Now they'll go back to the drawing board with next year in mind and a newfound hunger in their collective belly. Losing in the World Series to the best team in the other league is one thing -- failing four times in a row to dispatch their bitter rival is quite another. It will stick in their craw for the entire winter, even if they pretend that it doesn't matter. "
-www.newyorkyankees.com

"I said, 'Don't let us win Game 4.' If we win Game 4, that gets us to Pedro Martinez, and then that would get us to Curt Schilling." -Kevin Millar

3. Here's the secret: Josh had Smithwick's all night, didn't smoke, and ate H-to-da-arry Browne's buffalo wings only. Me, I had no Red Sox hat on, listened to Dokken, and drank Raspberry Wheat beer. What's your talisman?

4. I gotta figure out travel plans today or tomorrow. Boy, my mom's gonna be pissed when she finds out I can't come home for Thanksgiving because I'm coming home for the WS.

5. We the people (that is, the Annapolis chapter of Red Sox Nation), made a valiant effort to help break the c-word. At Harry Browne's there was an auction last night of Sox/Ball Lickers memorabilia. The only thing we could afford was a baseball signed by Don Zimmer.

Our plan was simple; bid on the ball, win it, take it out on the street during the seventh inning stretch, burn it, and urinate on it to put out the charred remains. (Boy, beer does that to you, huh?)

We made the bid, but at the last second a bastard outbid us (literally at the last second.) Well, we must of looked really upset, because the winner approached us looking bothered and said,

"You can have the ball if you want. I didn't realize how important it was to you. Why do you want it so bad?"

My compadre Josh began making some story up, but Captain Adam Beer Pants decided to give him the abridged version.

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

To which he replied,

"No, seriously. Why do you want it?"

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

He says,

"But, I'm from New York."

I say,

"Well, then. How about this. You can hold the ball while we're doing it."

Needless to say, we didn't get the ball.

Go Sox. Go.

69 and feelin' with my hands...

Ok, monkeys. I am all but freaking out here. The past five days have been draining, to say the least; but they have also been invigorating. Here are some lessons learned.


1. There IS a baseball Jesus. There is. You can doubt his existence, you can question him, you can even try to deny his mercy. But he exists. Just ask me. Or The Silver Fox. Or anyone at Castlebay.

2. Curt Schilling has launched himself into the pantheon of Boston sports legacies. Everyone knows about "das boot", but does anyone realize he wasn't wearing the friggin' thing last night??? It was applying too much pressure on his foot. He pitched seven innings with his fucking ankle tendon sutured to his bone. His BONE!!! Did you watch him between innings? He was in excrutiating pain. But he perservered. His name now resides (in my mind) right next to the names Larry, Bobby, Yaz, Teddy, and Bill. Thank you, Curt.

3. A new hymn.

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come, follow me
And I shall give you runs

I love you baseball Jesus. Please forgive those who may have doubted.

4. A cute Euro chick stole my Red Sox hat a few days ago. Yes, it is true I have had that had for approximately ten years. Yes, it is true that I value that hat as one of my most prized posessions. But it is also true the Sox are 3-0 when I don't wear the hat. At this point, she can almost keep it. I can get another one while I am buying an authentic Schilling jersey the nest time I'm home.

5. I noticed the CD in my car over the last few days is Dokken's Greatest Hits. Hmmmm. Three days listening to Dokken, three Sox victories. Could it be coincidence? Who gives a shit. I don't have my hat, I'm listening to Dokken tonight on the way home, and I plan on drinking my fair share of High Life while simulcasting the game with Red Sox Nation back at Bad Abbotts. After all, the Annapolis chapter of Sox Nation has important work to do.

Go Sox. F*ck the yanks. Listen to Dokken. Have kinky circus monkey sex with a loved one.

It's all good, baby.

And the rockstar sayeth,

Bring it on.


(b.t.w. the '69' reference is to the fact this is my 69th entry.)

I believe...and I cry

Tonight I was subject to one of the most disheartening experiences I've ever had. It's not abnormal, mind you. In fact, it's totally understandable. Tonight, the Silver Fox lost faith. Truth be known, we all did at one point or another. I mean, Schilling giving up 6 runs in 3 innings is enough to make any one soul weep. Hell, I cried a bit. But, if there's one immutable thing I've learned, it's that Baseball Jesus loves us, and will come through.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

Say it with me.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

I totally understand in a temporary lapse of faith. I can understand it. Totally.

Personally, i have suffered at the hands of baseball as much as anyone.

And tonight, when The Silver Fox weakened, I almost faltered with him.

but I have faith. Enough for two.

Go Sox, go.

Tomorrow night, Pedro.

And I FULLY expect The Silver Fox to march along side me.

He is my best friend, and I believe in him.

As much as Baseball Jesus.

We Don't Need No Education...

Ok, my little monkeys. I knew going into the whole rock and roll list thing would create a stir; and oh! what a stir! A few quick thoughts on the comments thus far...

Anonymous: To who I don't know; for your information, Morrisey came in at #42. Also, have the testicular fortitude to at least name your entry! Coward! A pox on thee! I had the canastas to stick my neck way out in voicing my opinion that Steve Perry is the greatest male rock vocalist. Kindly show me the same courtesy!

Mitch: Yeah, it was tough to put the Boss so far down, but I never really considered him a "rock" vocalist, at least not in the traditional sense of the others. Perhaps on a different list, both he and John Cougar would fare better...

Beth: My darling, big brown-eyed Beth. I at first was taken aback at the sheer vitriol your comment exuded. Feeling shamed by this, I decided to investigate this female who came at me so forcefully. So, I took a little ride on the check out Beth's profile and know thy enemy train.

Here's what I found...

Beth
Gender: female
Location: Massachusetts : United States

About Me
I've already written enough about myself on my three blogs. If you can take the self-absorption, I encourage you to visit any one of them.

Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle.
"I did not have sex with that woman."

Interests
Writing
Red Sox
New England Patriots
Nine Inch Nails
Chuck Palahniuk
Boston
books
Jhonen Vasquez
Invader Zim

Favorite Movies
American Beauty

Favorite Music
Nine Inch Nails
Metallica
Tori Amos
Johnny Cash
Beethoven
Dvorak
Rancid
Goodspeed! You Black Emperor
Telefon Tel Aviv
The Pixies
Ani Difranco

Favorite Books
Johnny the Homicidal Maniac


Now, in reading this information, I couldn't help but notice one thing...

(excuse me while I clear my throat....ahem...)



Where is Chris Cornell or Soundgarden on your list?

HMMMMMM??????

And with that, we get ready for a little second period action with the score

Thirsty Bunny 1, The Rest of you Chicken F*ckers 0

Rock and Roll will never die.

Hello, faithful little monkeys. I have returned from places near and far with many tales of debauchery and wackiness. But first, i submit for your consideration,

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

It dawned on me today that too little attention is paid to those who brought rock home. Those that made us want to be bad-ass, drink a lot of beer, and love porn; and yet, they could capture our emotions and crush them like a gentle drop of dew on a summer's leaf. (Hey, did anyone else's bullshit meter just go off? Mine is going nuts. huh.)

Anyway, as previously stated, I present to you my list of

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

The first 20 I am strong on, the rest are somewhat in order, but I gots stuff to do! And now, without further ado, i give you...

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

1. Steve Perry (Journey)
2. David Lee Roth (Van Halen)
3. Bonn Scott (AC/DC)
4. Rob Halford (Judas Priest)
5. Freddy Mercury (Queen)
6. Steven Tyler (Aerosmith)
7. Roger Daltrey (The Who)
8. Robert Plant (Led Zepplin)
9. Roger Waters (Pink Floyd)
10. Bono (U2)
11. Chris Cornell (Soundgarden)
12. Ozzy Ozbourne
13. Bruce Dickinson (Iron Maiden)
14. Brad Delp (Boston)
15. Mick Jagger (The Rolling Stones)
16. Sting (The Police)
17. Geddy Lee (Rush)
18. Axl Rose (Guns N Roses)
19. Billy Idol
20. Joe Elliot (Def Leppard)
21. Prince
22. George Thorogood
23. John Fogerty (CCR)
24. Joey Ramone (The Ramones)
25.David Bowie
26. Bob Seger
27. Joe Cocker
28. Ian Astbury (The Cult)
29. David Coverdale (Whitesnake)
30. Corey Glover (Living Color)
31. Neil Young
32. Brett Michaels (Poison)
33. Geoff Tate (Queensryche)
34. Alice Cooper
35. Paul McCartney (The Beatles)
36. Frank Zappa
37. James Hetfield (Metallica)
38. Bruce Springsteen
39. Peter Gabriel (Genesis)
40. Johnny Rotten (Sex Pistols)
41. Joe Strummer (The Clash)
42. Morissey (The Smiths)
43. Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top)
44. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
45. Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins)
46. Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)
47. Jim Morrison (The Doors)
48. Gregg Allman (Allman Brothers Band)
49. David Gilmour (Pink Floyd)
50. John Bon Jovi (Bon Jovi)
51. Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails)
52. Eric Burdon (Animals)
53. Warren Zevon
54. Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam)
55. Don Dokken (Dokken)
56. Steve Miller
57. Ronnie Van Zant (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
58. Robin Zander (Cheap Trick)
59. Lou Gramm (Foreigner)
60. David Byrne (Talking Heads)
61. Eric Clapton
62. Henry Rollins (Black Flag)
63. Edgar Winter
64. Joe Walsh (Eagles).
65. Stevie Ray Vaughan
66. Jimi Hendrix
67. Tom Petty
68. Jeff Keith (Tesla)
69. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
70. John Kay (Steppenwolf)

Do it !!!

LOOK AT THIS LINK RIGHT THE F*CK NOW!!!

I became a Yankees fan the first time my daddy f*cked me.


DO IT! DO IT!! DO IT!!

Now go tell your mother you love her, drink an icy cold beer ot three, and go make sweet love to some sort of barnyard animal (unless you are a Yankees fan, then you probably already are and should quit the livestock and go back to takin' it downtown from pops); the world is coming to an end...

The Sox might just do it.

I...uh...er...

Let's say, hypothetically (and I stress hypothetically) you check your email one morning as you try to do every day, and there is an email from an old school buddy living in California. Now let's say (again, hypothetically) that buddy has forwarded you a link under the guise of "ya gotta see this!!!" So, you click on it. After a few seconds the screen goes dark, and...

you see an old ex-girlfriend in a porn that cost about fifteen bucks to make, including buying coffee for the cast and crew when it's a wrap.

Yeesh.

(Well, Yeesh hypothetically)

Bad, bad math.

Ok, gather 'round, everyone. I'm going to impart a bit of wisdom you all would do well to heed. if you ever listen to anything I ever say to you, make it this; trust me.

NEVER have more shots than beers. NEVER, EVER, EVER. EVER.

I had the dubious honor of turning 34 yesterday. The plan, as presented to me, was for a few friends to help celebrate quietly. Why must my home consistently be turned in to a house of lies? "Few" turned into roughly 20, and "quiet" became "Tiki Night" at McGarveys'. I was deceived. And boy did I pay for it. I had more shots than beers. Never ever again. In fact, I think I'm abolishing all shots entirely. It's not worth feeling like I have part of Annapolis' sewer system running through me. Yuck.

Anyhoo, i still plan on posting stuff about the trip with the Foxxe, i lave lotsa lists to share, and so much more!

See ya!

Catchin' up.

Hello, my little monkeys. I must apologize for my absence as of late. Busy busy busy. Some important items, tho;

most importantly, a belated blogesque 'shout-out' to the lovely Heather Jean Shannon Thomas, who had a most delightful birthday scant days ago. Her blog, 'Shards,' is a wonderful amalgam of thoughts, beliefs, and cool sites where you can make a characature of yourself holding a fish. Good, good stuff.

And now, in honor of Mrs. Shannon's (tee hee hee "Mrs.") birthday, I shall compose seventeen anagrams from Heather Shannon's Birthday.

1. A HATBAND EH HERN HORNY SITS
2. A BARNHARD HES YEN HINTS HOT

Ok, there will only be two, because i suck at this (but I CAN do the 'floating thumb' thing pretty well.

Happy Birthday, Heather!

F*ck it again.

I created this entry to apologize to Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mientkiewicz, the two players the Sox ultimately got for Nomah. I referred to them as "two retards and a hand job."

I was harsh. I was abruptly unfair. I shoudn't have.

Then I looked at their stats.

Orlando Cabrera: .246, 4 HR, 31 RBI
Doug Mientkiewicz: .246, 5 HR, 25 RBI

I just can't do it. I can't.

As stated previously, the Red Sox today traded Nomah for two retards and a hand job.

At least Boston fans got fucked in the deal. That's better than a hand job, I guess. But it feels more like we got fisted.

Huh.