Korea
12.1.2k3
Thursday, 14 December 2003
I'm not sure if I told you about the exchange student I've been hosting. Cute kid. Nice, bright and doesn't drink all my booze while I'm away to exotic ports-of-call, like when I went to Lubbock last weekend. His name is Zadeh and he's from one them former Soviet Republics with -istan in the name that ya never hear about 'cept come the Olympics and even then only if yr paying close attention to the "fringe events." Bezuckistan - or whatever - runs the table in the Standing Broad Jump. Zadeh's older brother took Silver at Barcelona in '92 and Gold at Atlanta in '96. Zadeh proudly displays a wonderful photo that graced the cover of Sports Illustrated of his brother jumping some broad in what would be his Gold performance. Zadeh's father and his father's father before him have been jumping broads to national glory since the '30's. I asked him why he wasn't a world-class broad jumper and he said it was because of a Nintendo-related injury he suffered as a child. I asked if it was repetitive-stress or a Tetris-stupor and he said no, that his injury was sustained while stealing a Nintendo off the back of a truck in some frozen boder outpost. He tumbled almost 100 meters (his words) down a rocky hill and had to be rescued by a yak. The little rascal!
Tonight: The Il Pirata
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
If ya got a thing for UPS drivers or their brown uniforms or both, or if you got a package ya need to send out or pick up, yr in luck as the UPS complex is right across the street from the Pirata. But y'all know this already as we've been here before. I know I have. Rocky Raccoon knows too, if you catch my meaning.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Sunday, December 14, 2003
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Balderdash!
11.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 November 2003
So I had to submit to a urine test the other day. I'd been accused or using performance-enhancing drugs during the last Scrabble tournament I'd won and I had to clear my name. Boy is it a cutthroat world! Anyway, I don't know if you ever had to pee in a cup for anything other than normal reasons (?), but when you're a suspect, they treat you a lot different at the clinic. They're not nice. They're cold, they're quite rude and their stares burn a hole right through you. The clinician I was lucky enough to get was as big as a house and scary looking. He breathed through one nostril and squished his face into a scowl worthy of a Halloween mask. He ordered me to empty my pockets into a clear, lucite box. When I'd finished, he spun me around and fuckin'-A FRISKED me. "Jesus, buddy, watch yr hands," I said. He grunted a shutthefuckup. When his full-cavity search turned up nothing, he slapped a padlock on the lucite box and then handed me the box and thrust a piss cup in my hand. "Go in dere," he said, motioning to a room with a unisex symbol on the door, "and you gots fifteen seconds only. And yr being watched through the cameras and such. Don't do nothin' funny or I'm comin' in." Jesus, I thought, going into the room, no pressure or nothing.
I managed to fill the specimen cup in the alloted time and capped it. I opened the door and handed it over to the Neanderthal. "Here ya go, Piss Man," I said, "now unlock my shit, yo." I thought it was funny to call him Piss Man. And I aced the test. My pee was squeaky clean, yo. Don't need dope to throw my BCHSXYZ into _EN_O___AMP_OR_ to spell BENZOXYCAMPHORS and score 1830 points, yo.
Tonight: Annies
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Enjoy the Annie's without Robot tonight, as Robot is winging-it into the desert South West to view best friend Phil's new baby name of Ezzard.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 November 2003
So I had to submit to a urine test the other day. I'd been accused or using performance-enhancing drugs during the last Scrabble tournament I'd won and I had to clear my name. Boy is it a cutthroat world! Anyway, I don't know if you ever had to pee in a cup for anything other than normal reasons (?), but when you're a suspect, they treat you a lot different at the clinic. They're not nice. They're cold, they're quite rude and their stares burn a hole right through you. The clinician I was lucky enough to get was as big as a house and scary looking. He breathed through one nostril and squished his face into a scowl worthy of a Halloween mask. He ordered me to empty my pockets into a clear, lucite box. When I'd finished, he spun me around and fuckin'-A FRISKED me. "Jesus, buddy, watch yr hands," I said. He grunted a shutthefuckup. When his full-cavity search turned up nothing, he slapped a padlock on the lucite box and then handed me the box and thrust a piss cup in my hand. "Go in dere," he said, motioning to a room with a unisex symbol on the door, "and you gots fifteen seconds only. And yr being watched through the cameras and such. Don't do nothin' funny or I'm comin' in." Jesus, I thought, going into the room, no pressure or nothing.
I managed to fill the specimen cup in the alloted time and capped it. I opened the door and handed it over to the Neanderthal. "Here ya go, Piss Man," I said, "now unlock my shit, yo." I thought it was funny to call him Piss Man. And I aced the test. My pee was squeaky clean, yo. Don't need dope to throw my BCHSXYZ into _EN_O___AMP_OR_ to spell BENZOXYCAMPHORS and score 1830 points, yo.
Tonight: Annies
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Enjoy the Annie's without Robot tonight, as Robot is winging-it into the desert South West to view best friend Phil's new baby name of Ezzard.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Icy London.
11.1.2k3
Thursday, 06 November 2003
I recently redefined my "Leave of Absence" to a cooler, sexier term: "Special Assignment." You know, a pal asks how work is going and you say, "I'm on Leave of Absence," and yr pal thinks yr a dork but not if you say, "I'm on 'Special Assignment.'" They'll start thinking about the cool, sexy adventures you'll be having on "Special Assignment:" Jetting off to exotic cities, deep-sea fishing, smearin' cocoa butter on some hottie's shoulders and whatnot. In reality, though, "Special Assignment" has afforded me time to fill my apartment with smoke from my fireplace, pick up cat poop and buy foods that rot in my fridge. Yeh, baby ... SEXY!
Tonight: Dalva
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Dalva sounds like the boss of me. I gotta go in that case. You better too. See you there.
whrr ... clik!
11.1.2k3
Thursday, 06 November 2003
I recently redefined my "Leave of Absence" to a cooler, sexier term: "Special Assignment." You know, a pal asks how work is going and you say, "I'm on Leave of Absence," and yr pal thinks yr a dork but not if you say, "I'm on 'Special Assignment.'" They'll start thinking about the cool, sexy adventures you'll be having on "Special Assignment:" Jetting off to exotic cities, deep-sea fishing, smearin' cocoa butter on some hottie's shoulders and whatnot. In reality, though, "Special Assignment" has afforded me time to fill my apartment with smoke from my fireplace, pick up cat poop and buy foods that rot in my fridge. Yeh, baby ... SEXY!
Tonight: Dalva
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Dalva sounds like the boss of me. I gotta go in that case. You better too. See you there.
whrr ... clik!
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Say what? Ten A. Oh.
10.5.2k3
Thursday, 30 October 2003
Well ya can't bark at a return to normalcy. What I mean to say is that things are back to the straight and narrow. Yep. Forward, ever forward. Got some time to do shit now, so's I'm a-doin' it. How 'bout the rest ya? One pal checked in and they're enjoying nice walks along beaches. Others have been gathering fruits and veggies at local markets and cookin' up some feasts. Others still go regularly to bars and get themselves shit-housed. Boy, sure sounds like fun.
Tonight: Sadie's Flying Elephant
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
C'mon out to the 'derm and wave hello to some and buh-bye to others. Don't miss this on you know what's good for you.
Oh and hey! Radium's Halloween party was one year ago today. Know what that means? I know I do.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
10.5.2k3
Thursday, 30 October 2003
Well ya can't bark at a return to normalcy. What I mean to say is that things are back to the straight and narrow. Yep. Forward, ever forward. Got some time to do shit now, so's I'm a-doin' it. How 'bout the rest ya? One pal checked in and they're enjoying nice walks along beaches. Others have been gathering fruits and veggies at local markets and cookin' up some feasts. Others still go regularly to bars and get themselves shit-housed. Boy, sure sounds like fun.
Tonight: Sadie's Flying Elephant
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
C'mon out to the 'derm and wave hello to some and buh-bye to others. Don't miss this on you know what's good for you.
Oh and hey! Radium's Halloween party was one year ago today. Know what that means? I know I do.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Sam. Yosimite Sam.
10.4.2k3
Thursday, 23 October 2003
I wrote a while back about theme songs and what ... say ... Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti's theme song would be. Right about now it would be "Aloha Oy, Pass the Maki Maki and make me a drinkey ... " but that ain't my point for writing today. Today I'd like to speculate about and explore what custom mudflaps several of you would have if you drove around in a dualie. Why? Who the fuck cares! Don't tell me for a minute that y'all haven't put yr minds to this very question from time to time.
Mathias: My Car Speaks German
Moss: I Speak German
MB: Don't Fuck With Me
Christi: I Parked My Ass At The Shaver Lake Saloon
Jeremy: Cornholed By The Lord Again
Robot: I Didn't Cut You Off, I Flipped You Off
Chef: Got A Wood-Burnin' Stove ... If You Catch My Meaning
Smith: I Break For Peroxide Trucks
Mark Bobek: My Other Car is a Car
Mr. Metsker: Not Now ... I'm Studying
Kyra: I'd Rather Be At Argus
Dani: 57 Inches On Board
Julie: God Damn Fuck Piss Shit ... hee hee
Tonight: Annie's
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Return with us to TNSC's official HQ. Bring yr pals. I know I will.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
10.4.2k3
Thursday, 23 October 2003
I wrote a while back about theme songs and what ... say ... Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti's theme song would be. Right about now it would be "Aloha Oy, Pass the Maki Maki and make me a drinkey ... " but that ain't my point for writing today. Today I'd like to speculate about and explore what custom mudflaps several of you would have if you drove around in a dualie. Why? Who the fuck cares! Don't tell me for a minute that y'all haven't put yr minds to this very question from time to time.
Mathias: My Car Speaks German
Moss: I Speak German
MB: Don't Fuck With Me
Christi: I Parked My Ass At The Shaver Lake Saloon
Jeremy: Cornholed By The Lord Again
Robot: I Didn't Cut You Off, I Flipped You Off
Chef: Got A Wood-Burnin' Stove ... If You Catch My Meaning
Smith: I Break For Peroxide Trucks
Mark Bobek: My Other Car is a Car
Mr. Metsker: Not Now ... I'm Studying
Kyra: I'd Rather Be At Argus
Dani: 57 Inches On Board
Julie: God Damn Fuck Piss Shit ... hee hee
Tonight: Annie's
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Return with us to TNSC's official HQ. Bring yr pals. I know I will.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 09, 2003
...Linkey-Loo Robot steps to the plate to pinch hit for the ususal TNSC Robot.
Now that all of those ESC folks are done with their movie, Alan is safely out of LA, our
governor has been recalled, and Fleet Week is amongst us (those frikkin' F14s (or
18s...whatever they are) are freaking me out on many levels. I need a cocktail to calm
my nerves! Anyway, to avoid all of the seamen around North Beach, we've decided to
head tonight to:
http://zeitgeist.citysearch.com/
Corner of Valencia and Duboce, in the lovely Mission/SOMA/Castro triangle. Bring your
cycle, have a burger, play some pool.
See you in the patio.
Linkey-Loo Coordinator,
Alan
By the way, did you see the "Porn Title of the Week" this week. Porno Robot uploading
covers now!!! She RULES!!! Check it out at:
http://www.therein-lies.com/tnsc/html/index.html
Oh, and don't miss the Linkey-Loo!
Now that all of those ESC folks are done with their movie, Alan is safely out of LA, our
governor has been recalled, and Fleet Week is amongst us (those frikkin' F14s (or
18s...whatever they are) are freaking me out on many levels. I need a cocktail to calm
my nerves! Anyway, to avoid all of the seamen around North Beach, we've decided to
head tonight to:
http://zeitgeist.citysearch.com/
Corner of Valencia and Duboce, in the lovely Mission/SOMA/Castro triangle. Bring your
cycle, have a burger, play some pool.
See you in the patio.
Linkey-Loo Coordinator,
Alan
By the way, did you see the "Porn Title of the Week" this week. Porno Robot uploading
covers now!!! She RULES!!! Check it out at:
http://www.therein-lies.com/tnsc/html/index.html
Oh, and don't miss the Linkey-Loo!
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Chez Jay fave
10.1.2k3
Thursday, 02 October 2003
Ya hear the one about the 12-year-old left home alone by some slacker parent? Survived on cocktail olives for three weeks? I heard about it. Read it in the paper not two days ago. I don't know what all the fuss is about. When me and my brother and sister were kids and got left alone we didn't have olives. We had to drink our martinis with twists. bleah!
Tonight: Doc's Clock
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Behave.
See ya next week.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
10.1.2k3
Thursday, 02 October 2003
Ya hear the one about the 12-year-old left home alone by some slacker parent? Survived on cocktail olives for three weeks? I heard about it. Read it in the paper not two days ago. I don't know what all the fuss is about. When me and my brother and sister were kids and got left alone we didn't have olives. We had to drink our martinis with twists. bleah!
Tonight: Doc's Clock
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Behave.
See ya next week.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Thursday, August 14, 2003
Lemon wedge.
8.2.2k3
Thursday, 14 August 2003
When I die I hope I get reincarnated as a calamari and go back in time so I can piss off this guy at work that hates calamari 'cause he's a weirdo and he thinks god hates calamari and by him hating calamari too it makes him more godlike than the rest of us who like calamari and don't believe in god anyway. I like the tentacles and the rubberbands too, since we're talkin' about calamari here and I think believing in god is a little weird 'cause lots of people do and lots of people also like Cher as a singer and I think she sux. If yr wondering if I wonder if Cher likes calamari well stop because I don't give a shit. I prefer the little suckers deep fried w/ some cocktail sauce and mebbe a little tartar but a dredge through some Tabasco dipping pond is right good too.
Tonight: Doc's Clock
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Also: Some delightful folks I work with are runnin' a frikkin' Marathon and are having a fund-raising party tonight at 111 Minna. DJs, dancers and prizes. Don't be a jerk and stop over. (End Shameless Promotion)
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
8.2.2k3
Thursday, 14 August 2003
When I die I hope I get reincarnated as a calamari and go back in time so I can piss off this guy at work that hates calamari 'cause he's a weirdo and he thinks god hates calamari and by him hating calamari too it makes him more godlike than the rest of us who like calamari and don't believe in god anyway. I like the tentacles and the rubberbands too, since we're talkin' about calamari here and I think believing in god is a little weird 'cause lots of people do and lots of people also like Cher as a singer and I think she sux. If yr wondering if I wonder if Cher likes calamari well stop because I don't give a shit. I prefer the little suckers deep fried w/ some cocktail sauce and mebbe a little tartar but a dredge through some Tabasco dipping pond is right good too.
Tonight: Doc's Clock
Oh hey and: Find the Reference!
Also: Some delightful folks I work with are runnin' a frikkin' Marathon and are having a fund-raising party tonight at 111 Minna. DJs, dancers and prizes. Don't be a jerk and stop over. (End Shameless Promotion)
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 07, 2003
I called.
8.1.2k3
Thursday, 07 August 2003
I want to wish a happy birthday to a Bob ... or Barb Murphy. I don't know how old he or she is, but whatever. SOmetimes it's just like that. Sometimes folks have birthdays. Some folks have theme songs. You know anyone like that? I think Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti has a theme song. I think it's by Parliament. One them groovy ones. My theme song is "I Left My Wallet In El Segundo." I ain't proud of it, but w/ all the things I've lost lately I suppose it's fitting. Fuck all. Four in a row. Tonight: Latin American Club
Party this: Find the Reference!
You got a job? Want a better one? Look in the TNSC News sectio (Hit the button) and check it out! Look fwd to lots more shameless promotions coming soon.
Bring yr pals.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
8.1.2k3
Thursday, 07 August 2003
I want to wish a happy birthday to a Bob ... or Barb Murphy. I don't know how old he or she is, but whatever. SOmetimes it's just like that. Sometimes folks have birthdays. Some folks have theme songs. You know anyone like that? I think Founding Member and Linkey-Loo Coordinator Alan J. Chimenti has a theme song. I think it's by Parliament. One them groovy ones. My theme song is "I Left My Wallet In El Segundo." I ain't proud of it, but w/ all the things I've lost lately I suppose it's fitting. Fuck all. Four in a row. Tonight: Latin American Club
Party this: Find the Reference!
You got a job? Want a better one? Look in the TNSC News sectio (Hit the button) and check it out! Look fwd to lots more shameless promotions coming soon.
Bring yr pals.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Balls! Missed a "v!"
7.4.2k3
Thursday, 24 July 2003
There's partyin' and then there's partyin'! Like the beaver that spent the day in my garbage can. That lil' fucker knows how to party! Or the baby bird hoppin' all over the yard. Party! Oh yeh ... the neighbor that yells "Fuck" alla time. Or the street fulla cops. They bring the party. Oh yeh ... That tomato stand? With the heirlooms? P. Big P. Those dicks buildin' speedbumps and them toll-takers? Party. I know what it's like. I party. I party as often as I can. Which, my little woven baskets, is a-fuck-lot. You ever have a really good grrrrld cheese sandy? Odds are the dude or gal who made it is a world-class partyist. You e er get meat in the mail? Sender = partyier. Fuck yeh! I seen an old pal at the bar the other day and some stranger-drunk was talkin' about party. I said, "hell yeh, bud, I party." The fuckin' no-good jerks at this place know how to party: Mr. Bings.
Party this: Find the Reference!
I hate Moby and alla jerks who look like 'em 'cept fr my bald peeps oh yeah party. I'm also givin' a prize to the jerk who coughs up the song title and artist of this week's rock lyric.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.4.2k3
Thursday, 24 July 2003
There's partyin' and then there's partyin'! Like the beaver that spent the day in my garbage can. That lil' fucker knows how to party! Or the baby bird hoppin' all over the yard. Party! Oh yeh ... the neighbor that yells "Fuck" alla time. Or the street fulla cops. They bring the party. Oh yeh ... That tomato stand? With the heirlooms? P. Big P. Those dicks buildin' speedbumps and them toll-takers? Party. I know what it's like. I party. I party as often as I can. Which, my little woven baskets, is a-fuck-lot. You ever have a really good grrrrld cheese sandy? Odds are the dude or gal who made it is a world-class partyist. You e er get meat in the mail? Sender = partyier. Fuck yeh! I seen an old pal at the bar the other day and some stranger-drunk was talkin' about party. I said, "hell yeh, bud, I party." The fuckin' no-good jerks at this place know how to party: Mr. Bings.
Party this: Find the Reference!
I hate Moby and alla jerks who look like 'em 'cept fr my bald peeps oh yeah party. I'm also givin' a prize to the jerk who coughs up the song title and artist of this week's rock lyric.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Now Milton ...
7.3.2k3
Thursday, 17 July 2003
I got busted by my girl when I showed her what I bought.
"eBay item"
I think it's practical and hilarious.
She thinks it's practical and stupid.
Therein lies the fundamental difference btw men and women.
Funny how it sometimes takes a stapler to point these things out.
Tonight: 500 Club
Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.3.2k3
Thursday, 17 July 2003
I got busted by my girl when I showed her what I bought.
"eBay item"
I think it's practical and hilarious.
She thinks it's practical and stupid.
Therein lies the fundamental difference btw men and women.
Funny how it sometimes takes a stapler to point these things out.
Tonight: 500 Club
Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Hook and blank.
6.4.2k3
Thursday, 26 June 2003
So I got two water taps on the outside of the house. One in front and the other around back. I kept clothes-lining some of the flowers in the front with the hose as I dragged it around back to water the flowers and bushes and shit back there, so I bought a hose for the back. I got a short 25' hose that had a de-lux multi-headed nozzle included. I ... well ... hosed up the hose to the tap and commenced watering. I tried out the various sprays the new nozzle emitted. There were a couple good ones, some that I'd not soon use and lastly, a mist setting. That one was nice as it sprayed out a really fine, gentle mist. Good for misting the roses and the spiderwebs in the ivy. I noticed a really curious thing, though: While the sunshine through the mist should have created your classic rainbow, the rainbow through this mist was purple only. I thought what the fuck is up with this? I switched back to a normal sprayer and there's the classic ROYGBIV rainbow. Nope, I thought, I wasn't suddenly colorblind. Musta been some fluke or something. I switched back to mist and there's the purple-only rainbow again. WTF? I was really confused. Back to normal sprayer: ROYGBIV. Mist sprayer: Purple. Oh shit, something's is fucking wrong! I turned to look at the sun and there was my best friend Phil on a 12' ladder holding a big 'ol magnifying glass up to the sun. He blasted me right in the fucking eye with the concentrated sunlight and fucked up my vision but good. I heard, but didn't see, Phil laughing so hard he fell off the ladder and landed on the rosebush. Then we both laughed at each other, the unmistakable stench of roasted cornea still strong in the air.
Tonight go to this dump: Doc's Clock
Also: Find the Reference!
"Hey Okie!" Have a look at TNSC News for a v. strange email I got. It gets the mind wondering what sortsa things go on in the real world.
Oh yeh: I've restored the Archive Sectio to working status, but it's got some problems. I'll iron them out and let ya know when it's up and good.
Bring yr pals to the 'Clock and have a pop and set yr watch. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
6.4.2k3
Thursday, 26 June 2003
So I got two water taps on the outside of the house. One in front and the other around back. I kept clothes-lining some of the flowers in the front with the hose as I dragged it around back to water the flowers and bushes and shit back there, so I bought a hose for the back. I got a short 25' hose that had a de-lux multi-headed nozzle included. I ... well ... hosed up the hose to the tap and commenced watering. I tried out the various sprays the new nozzle emitted. There were a couple good ones, some that I'd not soon use and lastly, a mist setting. That one was nice as it sprayed out a really fine, gentle mist. Good for misting the roses and the spiderwebs in the ivy. I noticed a really curious thing, though: While the sunshine through the mist should have created your classic rainbow, the rainbow through this mist was purple only. I thought what the fuck is up with this? I switched back to a normal sprayer and there's the classic ROYGBIV rainbow. Nope, I thought, I wasn't suddenly colorblind. Musta been some fluke or something. I switched back to mist and there's the purple-only rainbow again. WTF? I was really confused. Back to normal sprayer: ROYGBIV. Mist sprayer: Purple. Oh shit, something's is fucking wrong! I turned to look at the sun and there was my best friend Phil on a 12' ladder holding a big 'ol magnifying glass up to the sun. He blasted me right in the fucking eye with the concentrated sunlight and fucked up my vision but good. I heard, but didn't see, Phil laughing so hard he fell off the ladder and landed on the rosebush. Then we both laughed at each other, the unmistakable stench of roasted cornea still strong in the air.
Tonight go to this dump: Doc's Clock
Also: Find the Reference!
"Hey Okie!" Have a look at TNSC News for a v. strange email I got. It gets the mind wondering what sortsa things go on in the real world.
Oh yeh: I've restored the Archive Sectio to working status, but it's got some problems. I'll iron them out and let ya know when it's up and good.
Bring yr pals to the 'Clock and have a pop and set yr watch. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Thursday, June 12, 2003
Jambalaya!
6.2.2k3
Thursday, 12 June 2003
I have intended to write a "life update" and email it to my peeps for a while now. There are some news items. There's the new address, phone number; the new job; the predictable cat update (Porkchop is getting skinny and Fatty is getting ... uh ... fatter); the girlfriend update; the "how's the car" update; what book I'm reading; have you seen the movie yet and the like. It's a big piece of writing that I've put off because I suddenly feel lazy when I sit down to write it. Oh! and that I've been off the grid since I moved. Until last night.
I usually bore the recipients of the "life update" with totally meaningless bullshit like:
I missed the bottled-water man this morning. I didn't put out the empty but got a freshy. So on the way to work I dragged along my emptys and cruised through the city and roamed the streets looking for the truck. I found him and turned in my bottles. This brought me great joy as I didn't want the bottles hanging around for who knows how long.
I've gotten into eating chickenpotpies. They are so fucking good! I can't get enough of them. You try them "Hungryman" size chickenpotpies from the Swanson? Holy shit! Do yrself a favor and get one and 400 degrees/35 minutes it ASAP. You'll dance yr so happy.
I don't think Sammy cheated using the corked bat. I just think he made a mistake. I have made a mistake before. Actually I've made two.
The intruder cat hasn't been back for a while. Have I told you about the intruder cat? He's a grey and white little devil with yellow eyes and an offset Hitler moustache. He's really cute and quite ballsy: He sat on the top step of the front door steps while Fats and Porkchop sat on the inside looking out the "French-style" (Freedom) glass-panel door. My guy and girl were making that "I'm interested" meow and Intruder was staring them down. "Who are you two jerks" was the look on Intruder's face. I got a snap of it. I'll email it to ya.
Then I cut and paste a bunch of shitty fwded email jokes to lighten the mood. Then I sign off with a random meaningless quote. I google "meaningless quotation" and chuck that in. It's rather a "Fuck you quotation user" than anything meaningful. Unless Gomez Addams said it (in the series, not them idiot movies).
Tonight: Fish Bowl
Also: Find the Reference! NFG's: This returning TNSC activity is easy enough to participate in. One merely notices the title of the Rant (in this case "Jambalaya!"), then succinctly identifies what the title refers to in the body of the Rant. Click the link, send the email. Easy peasy.
Brother of Robot will be in attendance tonight. If he owes you drinks or money, now would be a great time to settle up.
Volny got smashed and kicked a wall last time we were here. Ha.
Bring yr pals. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
6.2.2k3
Thursday, 12 June 2003
I have intended to write a "life update" and email it to my peeps for a while now. There are some news items. There's the new address, phone number; the new job; the predictable cat update (Porkchop is getting skinny and Fatty is getting ... uh ... fatter); the girlfriend update; the "how's the car" update; what book I'm reading; have you seen the movie yet and the like. It's a big piece of writing that I've put off because I suddenly feel lazy when I sit down to write it. Oh! and that I've been off the grid since I moved. Until last night.
I usually bore the recipients of the "life update" with totally meaningless bullshit like:
I missed the bottled-water man this morning. I didn't put out the empty but got a freshy. So on the way to work I dragged along my emptys and cruised through the city and roamed the streets looking for the truck. I found him and turned in my bottles. This brought me great joy as I didn't want the bottles hanging around for who knows how long.
I've gotten into eating chickenpotpies. They are so fucking good! I can't get enough of them. You try them "Hungryman" size chickenpotpies from the Swanson? Holy shit! Do yrself a favor and get one and 400 degrees/35 minutes it ASAP. You'll dance yr so happy.
I don't think Sammy cheated using the corked bat. I just think he made a mistake. I have made a mistake before. Actually I've made two.
The intruder cat hasn't been back for a while. Have I told you about the intruder cat? He's a grey and white little devil with yellow eyes and an offset Hitler moustache. He's really cute and quite ballsy: He sat on the top step of the front door steps while Fats and Porkchop sat on the inside looking out the "French-style" (Freedom) glass-panel door. My guy and girl were making that "I'm interested" meow and Intruder was staring them down. "Who are you two jerks" was the look on Intruder's face. I got a snap of it. I'll email it to ya.
Then I cut and paste a bunch of shitty fwded email jokes to lighten the mood. Then I sign off with a random meaningless quote. I google "meaningless quotation" and chuck that in. It's rather a "Fuck you quotation user" than anything meaningful. Unless Gomez Addams said it (in the series, not them idiot movies).
Tonight: Fish Bowl
Also: Find the Reference! NFG's: This returning TNSC activity is easy enough to participate in. One merely notices the title of the Rant (in this case "Jambalaya!"), then succinctly identifies what the title refers to in the body of the Rant. Click the link, send the email. Easy peasy.
Brother of Robot will be in attendance tonight. If he owes you drinks or money, now would be a great time to settle up.
Volny got smashed and kicked a wall last time we were here. Ha.
Bring yr pals. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 05, 2003
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Look it up.
5.3.2k3
Thursday, 22 May, 2003
This one is dedicated to my sister, Bishop, who was married this past Saturday.
It was back in '74 or '75 ...
My sister claimed that she made up a new word to call my brother and me.
The word was "Oaf."
I told my mother of this claim and she suggested I look the word up in the dictionary.
The dictionary definition, and I quote: "A simpleton; dunce; moron. A clumsy stupid person."
I was four.
Or five.
Now get the rub:
My sister did not, in fact, make up the word, "oaf."
But she did call us dunces.
Kinda pyrrhic victory for her, I guess.
Tonight: POW!
See you there!
bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.3.2k3
Thursday, 22 May, 2003
This one is dedicated to my sister, Bishop, who was married this past Saturday.
It was back in '74 or '75 ...
My sister claimed that she made up a new word to call my brother and me.
The word was "Oaf."
I told my mother of this claim and she suggested I look the word up in the dictionary.
The dictionary definition, and I quote: "A simpleton; dunce; moron. A clumsy stupid person."
I was four.
Or five.
Now get the rub:
My sister did not, in fact, make up the word, "oaf."
But she did call us dunces.
Kinda pyrrhic victory for her, I guess.
Tonight: POW!
See you there!
bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 01, 2003
Ocho de Mayo, or, Here, Kitty Kitty
5.1.2k3
Thursday, 08 May, 2003
"For every bad action there's ten good actions that come of it."
I heard some blowhard on the radio say this. I don't have anything to do all day but listen for people on the radio to say stupid things, so when I heard this gem I was pleased.
I thought I'd put the stupid fucking statement to the test. THE BAD ACTION: I dumped a steamin' hot cuppa coffee in my lap. THE TEN GOOD ACTIONS: 1.) I screamed "FUCK" as loud as I could. So loud it hurt my throat. Not as bad as my steamin' hot lap, but I felt it later too. (So, really ... is this a good action? Nah.) 2.) I threw the mug against the wall. (Also not a good action: I really liked that mug. It's the last one I had from that shitty joint I used to work, Editel.) 3.) I got coffee stains all o-vah my trusty favorite shorts. (Yeah, that'll come out: BAD action.) 4.) It took the expression, "It burns when I pee," to a whole new level. A bad level. 5.) Steamin' hot cuppa coffee WASTED! Bad! 6.) Messy! Messy! Messy! 7.) A nun happened to be walking by my home and was within earshot when I yelled FUCK. You shoulda seen the disappointed look she gave me as she shook her penguin-head. 8.) The Cubs lost. (It's connected. And Bad.) 9.) The Lord happened to be checkin' in on the Editel mug and noticed I had just smashed it. He was pissed so he skunked all my beers. Very bad. 10.) My hot, wet lap got cold and I had major shrinkage. Oh so very very bad.
So blowhard had no idea what he was talkin' about after all, as 10 bad actions came of my initial bad actio. It's fun to prove people wrong.
Tonight: Lucky 13
Nice joint, that Lucky 13. Bring yr pals. I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.1.2k3
Thursday, 08 May, 2003
"For every bad action there's ten good actions that come of it."
I heard some blowhard on the radio say this. I don't have anything to do all day but listen for people on the radio to say stupid things, so when I heard this gem I was pleased.
I thought I'd put the stupid fucking statement to the test. THE BAD ACTION: I dumped a steamin' hot cuppa coffee in my lap. THE TEN GOOD ACTIONS: 1.) I screamed "FUCK" as loud as I could. So loud it hurt my throat. Not as bad as my steamin' hot lap, but I felt it later too. (So, really ... is this a good action? Nah.) 2.) I threw the mug against the wall. (Also not a good action: I really liked that mug. It's the last one I had from that shitty joint I used to work, Editel.) 3.) I got coffee stains all o-vah my trusty favorite shorts. (Yeah, that'll come out: BAD action.) 4.) It took the expression, "It burns when I pee," to a whole new level. A bad level. 5.) Steamin' hot cuppa coffee WASTED! Bad! 6.) Messy! Messy! Messy! 7.) A nun happened to be walking by my home and was within earshot when I yelled FUCK. You shoulda seen the disappointed look she gave me as she shook her penguin-head. 8.) The Cubs lost. (It's connected. And Bad.) 9.) The Lord happened to be checkin' in on the Editel mug and noticed I had just smashed it. He was pissed so he skunked all my beers. Very bad. 10.) My hot, wet lap got cold and I had major shrinkage. Oh so very very bad.
So blowhard had no idea what he was talkin' about after all, as 10 bad actions came of my initial bad actio. It's fun to prove people wrong.
Tonight: Lucky 13
Nice joint, that Lucky 13. Bring yr pals. I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 24, 2003
Poot and Scoot
4.4.2k3
Thursday, 24 April, 2003
When I set an alarm clock, for whatever purpose, whether it's to drop everything and brush the fangs, turn on the tube to watch the game or to simply wake my sleepy ass up to shower and get to work, I set the thing to go off at an odd minute. Three past the hour. 17 till. That kinda thing. I've been doing this for years with no real reason.
The other day I had to set an alarm to get up extra-early to trudge across town and give a cat a shot. I set the alarm for 6:33a. When it woke me and I shut it off I saw the display. 6:33. I thought to myself, "Wonder what other suckers are getting up right this moment. I wonder who got up a minute earlier and who got to sleep in a whole extra minute?" Taking it further, I wondered if I knew people who set alarms at specific minutes. I wondered how many degrees of separation from myself would find people setting alarms at six oh oh, six oh one and so on until 6:59a. So I threw out a little email survey.
I sent the simple message: Send yr first name, yr city, what time you set your alarm in the morning and who sent you the message. I sent one lone email to my pal in Atlanta, GA. Within hours I received dozens of replies from all over the world. The strangest was from a dude named Santa hailing from North Pole. He sets his alarm for 6:14a. Don't know if it's legit or not. Don't know if there are more than one "Santa" livin' in the North Pole. Could be that it really was him. Whatever the case, my question of degrees of separation answered itself. "A lot." A lot of degrees of separation between me and folks setting alarms for specific minutes past 6a. My reasoning: Don't know Santa. Don't know Gordon in Philly (6:18a); Phoebe in Caracas (6:44a); Leo in Boise (6:55a) or Bridgit in Stockholm (6:23a). I have all the forwarding paths and whatnot, but the first 6-ish response was about fifty forwards. The second was somewhere around a hundred. I got fucking bored.
Tonight: Annie's
Birthday request.
Bring yr pals. I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.4.2k3
Thursday, 24 April, 2003
When I set an alarm clock, for whatever purpose, whether it's to drop everything and brush the fangs, turn on the tube to watch the game or to simply wake my sleepy ass up to shower and get to work, I set the thing to go off at an odd minute. Three past the hour. 17 till. That kinda thing. I've been doing this for years with no real reason.
The other day I had to set an alarm to get up extra-early to trudge across town and give a cat a shot. I set the alarm for 6:33a. When it woke me and I shut it off I saw the display. 6:33. I thought to myself, "Wonder what other suckers are getting up right this moment. I wonder who got up a minute earlier and who got to sleep in a whole extra minute?" Taking it further, I wondered if I knew people who set alarms at specific minutes. I wondered how many degrees of separation from myself would find people setting alarms at six oh oh, six oh one and so on until 6:59a. So I threw out a little email survey.
I sent the simple message: Send yr first name, yr city, what time you set your alarm in the morning and who sent you the message. I sent one lone email to my pal in Atlanta, GA. Within hours I received dozens of replies from all over the world. The strangest was from a dude named Santa hailing from North Pole. He sets his alarm for 6:14a. Don't know if it's legit or not. Don't know if there are more than one "Santa" livin' in the North Pole. Could be that it really was him. Whatever the case, my question of degrees of separation answered itself. "A lot." A lot of degrees of separation between me and folks setting alarms for specific minutes past 6a. My reasoning: Don't know Santa. Don't know Gordon in Philly (6:18a); Phoebe in Caracas (6:44a); Leo in Boise (6:55a) or Bridgit in Stockholm (6:23a). I have all the forwarding paths and whatnot, but the first 6-ish response was about fifty forwards. The second was somewhere around a hundred. I got fucking bored.
Tonight: Annie's
Birthday request.
Bring yr pals. I will. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 17, 2003
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Chain-chain-change!
4.2.2k3
Thursday, 10 APril, 2003
Here's some things!
I called this fucking bitch I know a "big fat androgynous hoggy with a turtleneck ass." I think that is a.) true; and b.) funny.
I got a lot of things goin' on this month. So damn many I needa get my Palm Pilot up and running. There's a dead monkey on it now. That sucker stinks.
Boy did I stay out late last night.
Spongebob is cool. Silly.
Moss was in the paper yesterday: LINK
I'm considering a second Emergen-C today.
Moving again. Got calls to make.
I like being sneaky. Yesterday I was sneaky.
Birthday party for Miss Delp and Mister Lennon this Sunday the 13th. It's gonna be at Great America. Robot is prolly gonna puke from them coasters.
Tonight: Baccus Kirk. I'm a bettin' man and I'm bettin' none of you folks are coming out tonight.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.2.2k3
Thursday, 10 APril, 2003
Here's some things!
I called this fucking bitch I know a "big fat androgynous hoggy with a turtleneck ass." I think that is a.) true; and b.) funny.
I got a lot of things goin' on this month. So damn many I needa get my Palm Pilot up and running. There's a dead monkey on it now. That sucker stinks.
Boy did I stay out late last night.
Spongebob is cool. Silly.
Moss was in the paper yesterday: LINK
I'm considering a second Emergen-C today.
Moving again. Got calls to make.
I like being sneaky. Yesterday I was sneaky.
Birthday party for Miss Delp and Mister Lennon this Sunday the 13th. It's gonna be at Great America. Robot is prolly gonna puke from them coasters.
Tonight: Baccus Kirk. I'm a bettin' man and I'm bettin' none of you folks are coming out tonight.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Sunday, April 06, 2003
My beery lies over the ocean ...
3.1.2k3
Thursday, 07 March, 2003
I have a wonderful friend who's a super skier and it's thrilling to watch her shred the slopes. She seems to have been born on them skis, as she commands them effortlessly, as if they were a part of her anatomy. A lovely List Member and I drove up Tahoe recently and met up with my special skiing friend. She and some of her pals had rented a house up there for a weekend of alpiney sports. Let me tell you about the house. It was nice enough: It had comfy sofas, a huge fireplace and a big kitchen that a lot of folks could stand around in jawing at each other. What was curious about this joint was the decor. There were vintage sleds on EVERY wall. Million-year-old skis mounted above the dining room table. Lots of other bits of yesteryear's snow sports equipment covered every square inch that didn't have a "Rosebud" nailed to it. There were also cutsey framed illustrations of bears in the snowy woods, deer in the snowy woods, woodchucks in the snowy woods ... ya get the idea. If that wasn't strange enough, the next morning's ride to the ski resort revealed the neighbors' houses - glorified in all manner of alpine decoration. My question is, if one builds or buys a house in a snow-sports locale, are they obligated to decorate their places like that? I don't know. Need to investigate. I spent the rest of the day thinking about it while falling down in the snow.
Tonight: Zeitgeist. It's going to be nice out tonight, so why not throw a few back and get some charcoal-grilled meats while yr at it. And hobnob w/ pals? Sounds like Christmas to me.
See you there!
bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.1.2k3
Thursday, 07 March, 2003
I have a wonderful friend who's a super skier and it's thrilling to watch her shred the slopes. She seems to have been born on them skis, as she commands them effortlessly, as if they were a part of her anatomy. A lovely List Member and I drove up Tahoe recently and met up with my special skiing friend. She and some of her pals had rented a house up there for a weekend of alpiney sports. Let me tell you about the house. It was nice enough: It had comfy sofas, a huge fireplace and a big kitchen that a lot of folks could stand around in jawing at each other. What was curious about this joint was the decor. There were vintage sleds on EVERY wall. Million-year-old skis mounted above the dining room table. Lots of other bits of yesteryear's snow sports equipment covered every square inch that didn't have a "Rosebud" nailed to it. There were also cutsey framed illustrations of bears in the snowy woods, deer in the snowy woods, woodchucks in the snowy woods ... ya get the idea. If that wasn't strange enough, the next morning's ride to the ski resort revealed the neighbors' houses - glorified in all manner of alpine decoration. My question is, if one builds or buys a house in a snow-sports locale, are they obligated to decorate their places like that? I don't know. Need to investigate. I spent the rest of the day thinking about it while falling down in the snow.
Tonight: Zeitgeist. It's going to be nice out tonight, so why not throw a few back and get some charcoal-grilled meats while yr at it. And hobnob w/ pals? Sounds like Christmas to me.
See you there!
bye-ee!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Achoo!
4.1.2k3
Thursday, 03 April, 2003
Yeh, well while most folks are fired up for Spring, I dread its arrival. Nothing but misery brought on by every green thing flowering. All those various pollens get up my nose and in my eyes and I'm a fucking wreck. And the dope one can take for it works ... but it zombies you out something fierce. Cheese and crackers seem to help, so see you tonight at:
Specs'. Bring yr pals. Bring me some Kleenex. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.1.2k3
Thursday, 03 April, 2003
Yeh, well while most folks are fired up for Spring, I dread its arrival. Nothing but misery brought on by every green thing flowering. All those various pollens get up my nose and in my eyes and I'm a fucking wreck. And the dope one can take for it works ... but it zombies you out something fierce. Cheese and crackers seem to help, so see you tonight at:
Specs'. Bring yr pals. Bring me some Kleenex. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 27, 2003
Run on! Hey, hey, hey!
3.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 March, 2003
I've been resisting writing rants about dreams I've had because a pal once told me that he was talking to someone and that person started talking about a dream she'd had and it pissed him off to no end. He didn't give a shit, he told me, what his friend's dream was about. Not one little shit. Well you know what? He don't got a computer anymore, so fuck him. Here ya go: Here's a rant about a dream I had last week. And if you're not careful, you might learn something before it's done.
I had a dream that I was at work and I got up to get a cuppa coffee. I walked to the little kitchen down the hall and found the coffee carafe was fuckin' empty. (Big surprise: It's really hard to dump the used grinds, drop in a new filter and open a pre-measured coffee pouch. So hard that I'm sure it's beyond the capability of most of the fuckin' jerks here that also manage to litter and not flush.) So, as I am capable of making a freshy, I did. Then I waited for the sumbitch to brew. As it was nearing half-way, I hijacked the coffee: I deftly removed the carafe from the steamy stream and placed my cup beneath, then I filled my cup with the concentrated coffee in the carafe. Another slick move and the carafe was once again on the hotplate, beneath the drip. I've come to call this a "ballsy" coffee. It's got a full carafe's concentration of coffee in one cup. I perform this trick enough that I dream about it.
So I walked back to my desk. I got a dozen or so steps down the hall and thought that my roommate might want a cup of coffee. He does enjoy a ballsy cup. I stopped, looked at my coffee cup and thought about it. Then I decided, "Fuck him." Right then, in the dream, I had a cerebral hemorrhage and died. I mean it. An artery blew up in my brain and I croaked. Instantly I was in hell and the devil said, "Hmm. Mebbe you should oughta gotten yr roommate a cup of that ballsy coffee." I thought, shit. Mebbe the old guy is right. That was a darn selfish thing of me to have done. Then, y'know, I romped around in hell and eventually woke up.
So in REAL LIFE, the next day, I hijacked me a cup of ballsy coffee and hijacked one for my roommate. Set it down for him, he said, "thanks. Is it ballsy?" I said sure. Then I looked right at the camera and winked.
Tonight: Pow!. TNSC Historians remind us that we visited this bar the day before it opened to the public! There's lotsa parking there, too. Bring yr pals. Bring yr IDs. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 March, 2003
I've been resisting writing rants about dreams I've had because a pal once told me that he was talking to someone and that person started talking about a dream she'd had and it pissed him off to no end. He didn't give a shit, he told me, what his friend's dream was about. Not one little shit. Well you know what? He don't got a computer anymore, so fuck him. Here ya go: Here's a rant about a dream I had last week. And if you're not careful, you might learn something before it's done.
I had a dream that I was at work and I got up to get a cuppa coffee. I walked to the little kitchen down the hall and found the coffee carafe was fuckin' empty. (Big surprise: It's really hard to dump the used grinds, drop in a new filter and open a pre-measured coffee pouch. So hard that I'm sure it's beyond the capability of most of the fuckin' jerks here that also manage to litter and not flush.) So, as I am capable of making a freshy, I did. Then I waited for the sumbitch to brew. As it was nearing half-way, I hijacked the coffee: I deftly removed the carafe from the steamy stream and placed my cup beneath, then I filled my cup with the concentrated coffee in the carafe. Another slick move and the carafe was once again on the hotplate, beneath the drip. I've come to call this a "ballsy" coffee. It's got a full carafe's concentration of coffee in one cup. I perform this trick enough that I dream about it.
So I walked back to my desk. I got a dozen or so steps down the hall and thought that my roommate might want a cup of coffee. He does enjoy a ballsy cup. I stopped, looked at my coffee cup and thought about it. Then I decided, "Fuck him." Right then, in the dream, I had a cerebral hemorrhage and died. I mean it. An artery blew up in my brain and I croaked. Instantly I was in hell and the devil said, "Hmm. Mebbe you should oughta gotten yr roommate a cup of that ballsy coffee." I thought, shit. Mebbe the old guy is right. That was a darn selfish thing of me to have done. Then, y'know, I romped around in hell and eventually woke up.
So in REAL LIFE, the next day, I hijacked me a cup of ballsy coffee and hijacked one for my roommate. Set it down for him, he said, "thanks. Is it ballsy?" I said sure. Then I looked right at the camera and winked.
Tonight: Pow!. TNSC Historians remind us that we visited this bar the day before it opened to the public! There's lotsa parking there, too. Bring yr pals. Bring yr IDs. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Day's dawning, skin's crawling.
3.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 March, 2003
I like the look of that little screwball, Spongebob Squarepants. I seen his show once and it's hard to watch. I figure I gotta get on the dope to figure it out. It's weird.
How's yr war goin'? You sick of the words "shock and awe" yet?
Tonight's venue is requested by birthday girl Kyra. She says Dogpatch. Bring yr pals. Kyra will. She'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 March, 2003
I like the look of that little screwball, Spongebob Squarepants. I seen his show once and it's hard to watch. I figure I gotta get on the dope to figure it out. It's weird.
How's yr war goin'? You sick of the words "shock and awe" yet?
Tonight's venue is requested by birthday girl Kyra. She says Dogpatch. Bring yr pals. Kyra will. She'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Get yr hot ass over here.
3.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 March, 2003
I had a rant going about why I didn't rant about the fucking war and I started ranting about the fucking war. That's fucked up. Had a chance to pull out so I did. I may post the non-rant fucking war rant later but it pisses me off thinking about it. The fucking war. Pisses me off thinking about the fucking war. So today's Venue Announcement rant won't be about the fucking war. It'll be about Country Music. (I'll call it cunt for short.) I've come to realise that cunt is just like "rock." It's too broad a category. Witness the last ten shitty songs played by a "rock" station here in SF:
Last Ten Songs Played On 96.5 KOIT
Most Recent on Top
1 (You'Re My) Soul And Inspira - Righteous Brothers
2 Will You Still Love Me - Chicago
3 (Everything I Do) I Do It Fo - Bryan Adams
4 Biggest Part Of Me - Ambrosia
5 This Kiss - Faith Hill
6 Somewhere Out There - Linda Ronstadt/James Ingram
7 Too Much Heaven - Bee Gees
8 Nobody Knows - Tony Rich Project
9 Layla (Unplugged) - Eric Clapton
10 The Greatest Love Of All - Whitney Houston
Are you fucking kidding me? Whitney Houston? ROCK? Sure the KOIT qualifies itself as "Lite" rock, but "rock" nontheless. Whitney Houston ain't lite rock. GnR's "Sweet Child of Mine" is lite rock. A lot of the shtuff that Radiohead has put out lately is lite rock. Whitney's entire artistic catalog has nothing to do with rock. It has everything to do with B A D P O P M U S I C. POP stands for POPular. Some rock is popular, but it ain't pop. Some pop, like Whitney's, ain't nothing but pop. But back to cunt. Garrrth Brooks and that jackass who sang "Achey Breaky Ass" or whatever fucked up cunt. That shit's there's the Whitney Houston pop songs. Not cunt. Hank Williams Sr. is the real mccoy. As is Johnny Cash, Big Sandy, The Knitters, Patsy Cline, Jon Wayne, Waylon, Willie and lots of others. It's too bad that these days claiming to be a country music fan automatically labels you as a big dumb jerk. Aaagh. Tonight we're going to a joint that has a great juke. It has lite rock and regular rock. Real (Jesus Lizard) Rock. This place is called: Sadie's Flying Elephant. We ain't been there for a while. The word KOIT, whether it's the radio station or the tower or that creepy pervert lady, makes me think of the word coitus. Thought I'd share that. Potrero and Mariposa. There you'll find tonight's meeting. Bring yr pals. I will. See you the
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 March, 2003
I had a rant going about why I didn't rant about the fucking war and I started ranting about the fucking war. That's fucked up. Had a chance to pull out so I did. I may post the non-rant fucking war rant later but it pisses me off thinking about it. The fucking war. Pisses me off thinking about the fucking war. So today's Venue Announcement rant won't be about the fucking war. It'll be about Country Music. (I'll call it cunt for short.) I've come to realise that cunt is just like "rock." It's too broad a category. Witness the last ten shitty songs played by a "rock" station here in SF:
Last Ten Songs Played On 96.5 KOIT
Most Recent on Top
1 (You'Re My) Soul And Inspira - Righteous Brothers
2 Will You Still Love Me - Chicago
3 (Everything I Do) I Do It Fo - Bryan Adams
4 Biggest Part Of Me - Ambrosia
5 This Kiss - Faith Hill
6 Somewhere Out There - Linda Ronstadt/James Ingram
7 Too Much Heaven - Bee Gees
8 Nobody Knows - Tony Rich Project
9 Layla (Unplugged) - Eric Clapton
10 The Greatest Love Of All - Whitney Houston
Are you fucking kidding me? Whitney Houston? ROCK? Sure the KOIT qualifies itself as "Lite" rock, but "rock" nontheless. Whitney Houston ain't lite rock. GnR's "Sweet Child of Mine" is lite rock. A lot of the shtuff that Radiohead has put out lately is lite rock. Whitney's entire artistic catalog has nothing to do with rock. It has everything to do with B A D P O P M U S I C. POP stands for POPular. Some rock is popular, but it ain't pop. Some pop, like Whitney's, ain't nothing but pop. But back to cunt. Garrrth Brooks and that jackass who sang "Achey Breaky Ass" or whatever fucked up cunt. That shit's there's the Whitney Houston pop songs. Not cunt. Hank Williams Sr. is the real mccoy. As is Johnny Cash, Big Sandy, The Knitters, Patsy Cline, Jon Wayne, Waylon, Willie and lots of others. It's too bad that these days claiming to be a country music fan automatically labels you as a big dumb jerk. Aaagh. Tonight we're going to a joint that has a great juke. It has lite rock and regular rock. Real (Jesus Lizard) Rock. This place is called: Sadie's Flying Elephant. We ain't been there for a while. The word KOIT, whether it's the radio station or the tower or that creepy pervert lady, makes me think of the word coitus. Thought I'd share that. Potrero and Mariposa. There you'll find tonight's meeting. Bring yr pals. I will. See you the
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 27, 2003
I can do what I want.
2.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 February, 2003
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight Orbit Room. Thank Alan if you think this is boring. Lyndal does. That's why she ain't comin' out.
However, I'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 February, 2003
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight Orbit Room. Thank Alan if you think this is boring. Lyndal does. That's why she ain't comin' out.
However, I'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Yeh, whatever.
2.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 February, 2003
Hello cans, boxes and pork sandwich makers. Tonight, the much requested Attic Club is once again our venue. Alas, no rambling Venue Announcement today, but I will tell you that, in collaboration with the science geeks from the University of Bisbee, Robot will be presenting you all with a full-custom, DE-lux (read: Interactive) Venue Announcement soon. Go have yr bevvies.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 February, 2003
Hello cans, boxes and pork sandwich makers. Tonight, the much requested Attic Club is once again our venue. Alas, no rambling Venue Announcement today, but I will tell you that, in collaboration with the science geeks from the University of Bisbee, Robot will be presenting you all with a full-custom, DE-lux (read: Interactive) Venue Announcement soon. Go have yr bevvies.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 13, 2003
Hit and run TNSC
2.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 February, 2003
Ya ever hear the expression, "Always crashing the same car?" If you don't get its meaning, it means that you make the same mistake again and again. There are several dumbshit maneuvers I repeat but there's one in particular I'll delineate here in anecdotal form:
I was sittin' around jawing with a pal a few weeks back. We were at her apartment drinking a few beers, watchin' some TV. As we're both fans of that genius Alton Brown, and his show, Good Eats, was on, we were watching it. As I mentioned, Alton Brown is a genius, and as usual, his show was interesting, informative and captivating, so our attention was glued to the show and stayed put through the transition to a commercial break. What jarred me out of my Good Eats stupor was a spot for that annoying, no-talent jackass, Bobby Flay, and his stupid show. God that fool pisses me off. He doesn't tell you anything you don't already know and he treats the chefs he profiles like wannabes. This is the same Bobby Flay that got his ass soundly handed to him by the Iron Chef on that show's special "celebrity" series. I think that Bobby Flay even ran off the set because he was getting whooped so bad. Anyhoo, I started off on a rant about, well, what I just mentioned. To my pal I said I didn't care much for Bobby Flay or his show or his talent or how he treated the other chefs. I think I threw in some made-up crimes against cooking just for hyperbole. I was working myself into a lather when my friend interrupted and said, "Um ... you know that Bobby Flay is my sister's husband's brother, right?" I, of course, did NOT know this. I sensed that she didn't appreciate my comments. She continued with, "And you can get your goddang beer can off the arm of my new sofa, okay?" Sheesh. I took a quick moment to assess how important to me our friendship was. Then I said, "Have you ever met that jer ... uh ... Bobby Flay? Was he a total prick to you? Did he cook for you? Had you had better MacDonald's? Oh, and, this beer can's empty. I guess that means that you could get me another." I don't think she cottoned to that kind of talk. I didn't wait around to hear how she finished the phrase "... big-mouth, spastic, jerkweed, geek-boy ..." The door closed behind me at "geek-boy."
That's the kind of crap I do a lot: Insult someone or yell at them only to find they're closer to me than I thought. How was I supposed to know that my friend's sister's husband's brother was Bobby Flay? Or that that hog that almost ran me over on the way to work was actually my client that morning. (Man was that a tension-filled edit!) I can answer my own question: There's no way to know. I figure I'll take the risk, though, because no one likes a guy who doesn't talk. A lot. Or have opinions. About everything. Or creatively swears. Constantly. Et cetera.
Tonight: Hemlock Tavern
Come meet a real chef tonight at the Tenderloin's Hemlock. Watch for people in crosswalks, I always do.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 February, 2003
Ya ever hear the expression, "Always crashing the same car?" If you don't get its meaning, it means that you make the same mistake again and again. There are several dumbshit maneuvers I repeat but there's one in particular I'll delineate here in anecdotal form:
I was sittin' around jawing with a pal a few weeks back. We were at her apartment drinking a few beers, watchin' some TV. As we're both fans of that genius Alton Brown, and his show, Good Eats, was on, we were watching it. As I mentioned, Alton Brown is a genius, and as usual, his show was interesting, informative and captivating, so our attention was glued to the show and stayed put through the transition to a commercial break. What jarred me out of my Good Eats stupor was a spot for that annoying, no-talent jackass, Bobby Flay, and his stupid show. God that fool pisses me off. He doesn't tell you anything you don't already know and he treats the chefs he profiles like wannabes. This is the same Bobby Flay that got his ass soundly handed to him by the Iron Chef on that show's special "celebrity" series. I think that Bobby Flay even ran off the set because he was getting whooped so bad. Anyhoo, I started off on a rant about, well, what I just mentioned. To my pal I said I didn't care much for Bobby Flay or his show or his talent or how he treated the other chefs. I think I threw in some made-up crimes against cooking just for hyperbole. I was working myself into a lather when my friend interrupted and said, "Um ... you know that Bobby Flay is my sister's husband's brother, right?" I, of course, did NOT know this. I sensed that she didn't appreciate my comments. She continued with, "And you can get your goddang beer can off the arm of my new sofa, okay?" Sheesh. I took a quick moment to assess how important to me our friendship was. Then I said, "Have you ever met that jer ... uh ... Bobby Flay? Was he a total prick to you? Did he cook for you? Had you had better MacDonald's? Oh, and, this beer can's empty. I guess that means that you could get me another." I don't think she cottoned to that kind of talk. I didn't wait around to hear how she finished the phrase "... big-mouth, spastic, jerkweed, geek-boy ..." The door closed behind me at "geek-boy."
That's the kind of crap I do a lot: Insult someone or yell at them only to find they're closer to me than I thought. How was I supposed to know that my friend's sister's husband's brother was Bobby Flay? Or that that hog that almost ran me over on the way to work was actually my client that morning. (Man was that a tension-filled edit!) I can answer my own question: There's no way to know. I figure I'll take the risk, though, because no one likes a guy who doesn't talk. A lot. Or have opinions. About everything. Or creatively swears. Constantly. Et cetera.
Tonight: Hemlock Tavern
Come meet a real chef tonight at the Tenderloin's Hemlock. Watch for people in crosswalks, I always do.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 06, 2003
Hit and run TNSC
2.1.2k3
Thursday, 06 February, 2003
One day when I was but a wee-little Robot, I was riding my bike along the quiet suburban street near my home. I don't know where the hell everyone else was but I found myself alone. As is natural for a wee-little Robot, I decided to pedal as fast as I could for roughly 30 seconds and then see how I would coast. I was going really fast at first then naturally I slowed. I don't know, maybe I got a half-a-block. I slowed to a crawl - trying to get every yard, every foot, every inch - manuvering the handlebars back and forth to keep from falling over. Inevitablility eventually caught me and I stopped. I balanced on two unmoving wheels for a long moment, then fell over onto the pavement. It wasn't a hard fall and it didn't hurt. Not sure why I did it. Kinda seemed like a fine ending to a stupid experiment. At any rate, I laid there on the warm sidewalk with the hot sun shining on me and it felt nice. I closed my eyes and felt the heat on my eyelids. It was very peaceful. Until, that is, the fucking car came screeching to a halt right next to me. A frantic middle-aged dude lept out and ran over to me. I looked up at him, quizzically, squinting from the sun. He was blabbering away: "Oh Lord, son, are you okay? Were you run over? Can you move - no! Don't move! Stay still! Oh Jesus! Is anything broken?" Then he was pawing at my arms, feeling for breaks, looking for compound fractures, abrasions and whatnot. He was being such a spaz and back then - like now - I didn't like people pawing at me. I said, "Lay off, buddy. Get yr mitts offa me. Want me to call a cop?" His jaw dropped and he took a step back. "You ... you're okay? What are you doing laying on the sidewalk? You weren't run over?" I said no. I was just laying there. That was when he got angry. He started yelling at me. "You little fool! You gave me a frikkin' heart attack! I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing? What's wrong with you?" I figured I had better start looking for a cop but the guy got back in his car and peeled outta there. Not before admonishing me a bit more for laying in a heap with a bike half in the street. "When you're really run over nobody's gonna help you, sonny!" SCREEEEECH! His last comment puzzled me. Like I did it a lot - laying in the street. Not to mention that, "Sure. Nobody will help a run-over wee-little Robot." Guy's a dork.
Tonight: The Il Pirata
Doug is added to the list. So is Peg. This joint is parking-friendly and located in lovely Potrero Hill. (Hint, hint, Lyndal.) It's pretty slick, so slick List Members are required. Also, I hurled on a raccoon here. Come on by and I'll tell the story. I may even recreate the event for ya. You like UPS? It's right across the street!
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.1.2k3
Thursday, 06 February, 2003
One day when I was but a wee-little Robot, I was riding my bike along the quiet suburban street near my home. I don't know where the hell everyone else was but I found myself alone. As is natural for a wee-little Robot, I decided to pedal as fast as I could for roughly 30 seconds and then see how I would coast. I was going really fast at first then naturally I slowed. I don't know, maybe I got a half-a-block. I slowed to a crawl - trying to get every yard, every foot, every inch - manuvering the handlebars back and forth to keep from falling over. Inevitablility eventually caught me and I stopped. I balanced on two unmoving wheels for a long moment, then fell over onto the pavement. It wasn't a hard fall and it didn't hurt. Not sure why I did it. Kinda seemed like a fine ending to a stupid experiment. At any rate, I laid there on the warm sidewalk with the hot sun shining on me and it felt nice. I closed my eyes and felt the heat on my eyelids. It was very peaceful. Until, that is, the fucking car came screeching to a halt right next to me. A frantic middle-aged dude lept out and ran over to me. I looked up at him, quizzically, squinting from the sun. He was blabbering away: "Oh Lord, son, are you okay? Were you run over? Can you move - no! Don't move! Stay still! Oh Jesus! Is anything broken?" Then he was pawing at my arms, feeling for breaks, looking for compound fractures, abrasions and whatnot. He was being such a spaz and back then - like now - I didn't like people pawing at me. I said, "Lay off, buddy. Get yr mitts offa me. Want me to call a cop?" His jaw dropped and he took a step back. "You ... you're okay? What are you doing laying on the sidewalk? You weren't run over?" I said no. I was just laying there. That was when he got angry. He started yelling at me. "You little fool! You gave me a frikkin' heart attack! I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing? What's wrong with you?" I figured I had better start looking for a cop but the guy got back in his car and peeled outta there. Not before admonishing me a bit more for laying in a heap with a bike half in the street. "When you're really run over nobody's gonna help you, sonny!" SCREEEEECH! His last comment puzzled me. Like I did it a lot - laying in the street. Not to mention that, "Sure. Nobody will help a run-over wee-little Robot." Guy's a dork.
Tonight: The Il Pirata
Doug is added to the list. So is Peg. This joint is parking-friendly and located in lovely Potrero Hill. (Hint, hint, Lyndal.) It's pretty slick, so slick List Members are required. Also, I hurled on a raccoon here. Come on by and I'll tell the story. I may even recreate the event for ya. You like UPS? It's right across the street!
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Five Fridays, Five Paydays.
1.5.2k3
Thursday, 30 January, 2003
January, May, August and October 2003. Five Fridays in each month. That kinda rules. You know why? That means you can sleep off your Thursday night an extra day! Uh ... How 'bout ... An extra day to stay home and cool it after spending yr paycheck buying your lovely fellow List Members delish drinks the night before. I don't know. Here are some things I do know:
I got a robot-grade cold going on. I went over to the doc and he poked, prodded, and did all those humiliating tests. He literally scratched his head and said, "I don't know. Could be Ebola. You crash and bleed out yet?" I told him no. He got that look of sudden inspiration, grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and said: "Have you been drinking regularly?" I said no. Because of the cold. He slapped me across the face, several times, and shrieked, "My god! You get to the bar and have a few RIGHT NOW!" Then he let me go, regained composure and said, "That'll fix you right up. Okay now. On your bike." And he ushered me out. So, ya see, "doctor's orders."
I also know that you better go see BOB LOG III at BotH this Sunday. He's a pal of mine since we were little robots. And he's an international superstar. Everyone I know is going, so that means you. Click the links. See the Log.
Then there's Tonight: Hyde Out
A nice little joint to tell funny stories you've been unwilling to share. Also, a lot of requests for this venue. Why? Don't know. But, nevertheless, see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.5.2k3
Thursday, 30 January, 2003
January, May, August and October 2003. Five Fridays in each month. That kinda rules. You know why? That means you can sleep off your Thursday night an extra day! Uh ... How 'bout ... An extra day to stay home and cool it after spending yr paycheck buying your lovely fellow List Members delish drinks the night before. I don't know. Here are some things I do know:
I got a robot-grade cold going on. I went over to the doc and he poked, prodded, and did all those humiliating tests. He literally scratched his head and said, "I don't know. Could be Ebola. You crash and bleed out yet?" I told him no. He got that look of sudden inspiration, grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and said: "Have you been drinking regularly?" I said no. Because of the cold. He slapped me across the face, several times, and shrieked, "My god! You get to the bar and have a few RIGHT NOW!" Then he let me go, regained composure and said, "That'll fix you right up. Okay now. On your bike." And he ushered me out. So, ya see, "doctor's orders."
I also know that you better go see BOB LOG III at BotH this Sunday. He's a pal of mine since we were little robots. And he's an international superstar. Everyone I know is going, so that means you. Click the links. See the Log.
Then there's Tonight: Hyde Out
A nice little joint to tell funny stories you've been unwilling to share. Also, a lot of requests for this venue. Why? Don't know. But, nevertheless, see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 23, 2003
No con leche.
1.4.2k3
Thursday, 23 January, 2003
Invading Iraq, pirates versus pirates, earthquakes in Mexico ... what's missing from the news? I'll tell you what: Juan Valdez and that goat of his. They ought to be getting Team of the Year awards and it ought ot be being reported. That's right. Every so often I realize how goddamn important coffee is to me and I start thinking about man and beast working the hills of South America, bringing the bean home to me. I'd be up shit creek without the fruit of their toil. And with what's facing me work-wise, I'm gonna need a lot of it. Starting right now. I'll tell you the venue, shut the hell up, get a cuppa joe and get back to work.
Tonight: Annie's
Back to home base for tonight's drinks. Lotsa folks down SOMA, so why not? Plus there's good cell reception there for interesting phone calls. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.4.2k3
Thursday, 23 January, 2003
Invading Iraq, pirates versus pirates, earthquakes in Mexico ... what's missing from the news? I'll tell you what: Juan Valdez and that goat of his. They ought to be getting Team of the Year awards and it ought ot be being reported. That's right. Every so often I realize how goddamn important coffee is to me and I start thinking about man and beast working the hills of South America, bringing the bean home to me. I'd be up shit creek without the fruit of their toil. And with what's facing me work-wise, I'm gonna need a lot of it. Starting right now. I'll tell you the venue, shut the hell up, get a cuppa joe and get back to work.
Tonight: Annie's
Back to home base for tonight's drinks. Lotsa folks down SOMA, so why not? Plus there's good cell reception there for interesting phone calls. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 16, 2003
Yi-eee!.
1.3.2k3
Thursday, 16 January, 2003
Well goddamn if I didn't burn the holy shit outta my mouth on some hot soup the other day. Took two whole days to recover and the mouth ain't totally normal yet. I remember the last time I did as much and I remember the vow: "Nope! No more burnin' the shit outta my mouth." So much for that.
And to top off the physical discomfort, I'm forced to reassess my soup heating strategy. In the perfect world, you've got a pot on a stove and steamy soup ready to be ladled into bowl. In imperfect world, you got a can, an opener, a bowl and a microwave. This solution seems straightforward, but I manage to screw it up. I either get soup that is hot around the edges and ice-cold in the middle, or liquid-hot magma-soup ready to render my mouth fried crispy. With both you naturally got a bowl that ya need fireplace tongs to haul out of the micro. Too bad for all the fog, 'cause I'm ready to ditch the micro-zapper and try solar.
Tonight: (Now here's a tricky one: This link is a link to Frankie's Bohemian. TNSC is going to the bar next door. The bar is called THE FISHBOWL. If you go to Frankie's and don't see anyone there, it's because everyone's next door. FISHBOWL don't have a Citysearch entry. Dumbasses. Alan will say that this is too confusing and that you lovely List Members won't know where to go, but I got more faith in ya than he does.) The Fishbowl
They got snacks at this joint. And Philly cheesesteaks down the road. No whitehot soup. Thank Christ.
Bring yr pals, I know I will. Bring yr inhalers. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.3.2k3
Thursday, 16 January, 2003
Well goddamn if I didn't burn the holy shit outta my mouth on some hot soup the other day. Took two whole days to recover and the mouth ain't totally normal yet. I remember the last time I did as much and I remember the vow: "Nope! No more burnin' the shit outta my mouth." So much for that.
And to top off the physical discomfort, I'm forced to reassess my soup heating strategy. In the perfect world, you've got a pot on a stove and steamy soup ready to be ladled into bowl. In imperfect world, you got a can, an opener, a bowl and a microwave. This solution seems straightforward, but I manage to screw it up. I either get soup that is hot around the edges and ice-cold in the middle, or liquid-hot magma-soup ready to render my mouth fried crispy. With both you naturally got a bowl that ya need fireplace tongs to haul out of the micro. Too bad for all the fog, 'cause I'm ready to ditch the micro-zapper and try solar.
Tonight: (Now here's a tricky one: This link is a link to Frankie's Bohemian. TNSC is going to the bar next door. The bar is called THE FISHBOWL. If you go to Frankie's and don't see anyone there, it's because everyone's next door. FISHBOWL don't have a Citysearch entry. Dumbasses. Alan will say that this is too confusing and that you lovely List Members won't know where to go, but I got more faith in ya than he does.) The Fishbowl
They got snacks at this joint. And Philly cheesesteaks down the road. No whitehot soup. Thank Christ.
Bring yr pals, I know I will. Bring yr inhalers. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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