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Friday, November 12, 2004Victor Davis Hanson on the post-election analysis: Most Americans — in the movies they watch, the TV shows they view, the radio they hear, the abortions they receive, the sexual practices they choose, and the fashion and entertainment they enjoy — do not feel they are straight-jacketed by a Christian fundamentalist society. And yet we are told that the new jihadists are not Islamists, but our own Christians who are implementing a continental-wide red-state Jesusland. This article emphasizes the point. posted by Nate on 10:19 PM link Today is my birthday. Yay!!! I'm on Mtv!!! posted by Nate on 1:25 AM link Thursday, November 11, 2004Finally, a third party candidate that both Republicans and Democrats can despise. I hate Illinois Nazis. (Yes, that is the second Blues Brothers reference this week.) posted by Nate on 10:18 PM link The funniest thing ever. Indiana Pacers forward Ron Artest said Wednesday that he asked coach Rick Carlisle for time off because of a busy schedule that included promoting a soon-to-be released rap album, which led to his two-game benching. This is the sort of thing that would happen in a Budweiser "Leon" commercial if the writers decided to abandon all pretense of political correctness; maybe it would occur in a Christopher Guest film about the ridiculous excesses of the NBA. Marty DiBergi: Do you feel that playing basketball keeps you a child? That is, keeps you in a state of arrested development? Ron Artest: No. No. No. I feel it's like, it's more like going, going to a, a national park or something. And there's, you know, they preserve the moose. And that's, that's my childhood up there on the court. That moose, you know. Marty DiBergi: So when you're playing you feel like a preserved moose on stage? Ron Artest: Yeah. Gotta love that preserved moose. This reminds me of a long-ago college conversation with my housemate Jon about how we should go "ghetto hunting." We planned on buying big puffy orange FUBU jackets and black market Tek-Nines, then going into the forest and busting some caps-- with the sideways movie-style grip, of course-- into a couple deer. We would then call them derogatory names and sip fine cognac from diamond-studded chalises on the way back to the car, then get back to our bidness of keeping our prostitutes in line. Because we were hardcore pimps, and stuff. However, Jon and I never thought of releasing a rap album, though given the success of Eminem, Bubba Sparxxx, and other blatantly crackeresque white guys, it might have been a good career move. Who would have thought that "Krazy Cervus Canadensis Killaz" would be off the muhfuggin' chain, yo? Not I, fo shizzle.* * I have no idea what this means. posted by Nate on 11:01 AM link Tuesday, November 09, 2004Chalk one up to the "Who Knew?" Department. Walmart is merely a few blocks from my work, so I went there tonight to procure some poultry. (Like Jim Morrison, I eat more chicken than any man ever seen.) This is the Gigantor Super Walmart, which is slightly smaller than the first Death Star and includes a grocery store and auto-repair garage and stuff; acre upon acre of bargains just for you (tm). You can lost in such a place. <Circa 1994 Beavis and Butthead Hank Hill Prototype> Where the hell is the Spanish tile? Damn hippie clerk.</Mr. Anderson> Anyway, while I was at The Super Walmart-- which is exactly like the regular Walmart, except for Emperor Palpatine's Big Gay Boat Ride, thanks for asking-- I decided to hike the .45 miles to the back of the store for some soda. Something grabbed my attention. Just a few meters away loomed a strange and mystical aisle. I had never noticed it before, but it tormeted my ears like a Siren's song until I investigated further, and subsequently crashed on the treacherous rocks. (Now that's what I call a metaphor, beeyotch. Back to the narrative.) What is this aisle for? Why, it's liquor. In Walmart. Not only that, but (Pink Floyd's) The Wal has it's own ridiculously generic house brand. They call it "Caliber." Probably because you'll want to pump a couple rounds in your dome once a night of revelry with the stuff results in waking up with mysterious tattoos and a marriage-minded impregnated Sasquatch Lady. I digress. Anyway, I was intrigued, and took a glimpse. A few minutes later, I purchased The Cheapest Bottle of Tequila In Recorded History. (Ironically, it tastes like chicken.) And that's where we are now. I am thoroughly lubricated, as they say, spinning Tom Jones records and hoping that the Sasquatch Lady doesn't show up at my front door. In my current state, her overtly Simian whiles might not be a significant deterrent. Especially if she brings a bucket of KFC with her. Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!!! And so, to thoroughly disgust you and guarantee a top 10 Google search, those are my thoughts on the keywords "Bucket of Gratuitous Drunken Monkey Sex." Sort of like a barrel of monkeys, only not. By quite a bit, actually. posted by Nate on 10:21 PM link
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your stolen base are belong to Rickey Henderson. Questions or comments? Email nate@swankypimp.com |
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