Secret Meeting! Breaking the rules!
12.5.2k4
There is a wonderful game to play when you are out of your apartment, house, condo or shack. One merely has to be away from the computer or TV and out on the streets. The streets full of traffic are the key ... the game ... "Nice Dualie!" Here are the official rules, as conceived by the game founder ... me. (With help from Jimi Herald.)
A dualie is a pickup truck with a pair of dual wheels on its rear axle. It is a heavy duty pickup. It cannot be a tow truck or any other such "work" vehicle that has built-in tool chests along the sides of the truck bed. (Controversy surrounds this rule because Robot's brother is a world-class shit disturber and cannot accept the difference between a panel-truck (as described above) and, for example, a contractor's dualie that has the owner's logo on the doors.)
Scoring:
When one spots a dualie, one declares, "Nice Dualie," and one point is awarded. The dualie cannot be scored on again (if, for example, the dualie is parked on the street and one drives by it twice in a day.)
If two or more people declare, "Nice Dualie," roughly at the same time, the first to finish the phrase gets the point.
The first dualie scored THAT DAY counts as two points.
If the truck is red, two points are awarded.
A television commercial or program that features a dualie can be scored upon. (If the same commercial or program comes on a different TV, the dualie is fair game (Think Sports Bar).
If a non-dualie truck is declared "Nice Dualie," the declarist loses two points.
The point total resets each day.
Parked dualies count.
And there you have it. Enjoy!
Tonight we break TNSC rules in the Holiday Spirit and convene near a BART station in the East Bay - Radio Bar.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Happy New Year to all List Members!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Hoe Hoe Hoe
12.4.2k4
Will make it short and sweet: Happy Holidays to all y'all. The Founding Members and I know you likely have plans this week and may in fact be out of town, but as there are always those who would like to hoist a few anyway, so this week's venue is the TNSC's traditional holiday meeting place: The Owl Tree.
Please remember to choose both a favorite 2D and 3D owl. Rules are rules.
Wanna know who won my challenge to use a fringe cooking appliance - as seen in last week's Venue Announcement? No one. How is it that no one won, you ask? Simple. No one played. Fuck you all. The prize that could have been claimed by someone using their stick blender to make a milkshake lies unclaimed. And you know what? It was a million bucks. So ha ha, you just lost a million bucks. (Okay, really it wasn't a million bucks. I was more like a handful of crumpled ones and fives and some loose change I found around the house. Still, six-fifty is six-fifty.)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.4.2k4
Will make it short and sweet: Happy Holidays to all y'all. The Founding Members and I know you likely have plans this week and may in fact be out of town, but as there are always those who would like to hoist a few anyway, so this week's venue is the TNSC's traditional holiday meeting place: The Owl Tree.
Please remember to choose both a favorite 2D and 3D owl. Rules are rules.
Wanna know who won my challenge to use a fringe cooking appliance - as seen in last week's Venue Announcement? No one. How is it that no one won, you ask? Simple. No one played. Fuck you all. The prize that could have been claimed by someone using their stick blender to make a milkshake lies unclaimed. And you know what? It was a million bucks. So ha ha, you just lost a million bucks. (Okay, really it wasn't a million bucks. I was more like a handful of crumpled ones and fives and some loose change I found around the house. Still, six-fifty is six-fifty.)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 16, 2004
East End Boys, West Bend Grrrrls.
12.3.2k4
So, what ... are you going to move from place to place, city to city, state to state and haul around all them "fringe" appliances thinkin' YEH some day I am gonna make me some waffles on this waffle-iron my dear Auntie Myrtle gave me five Christmases ago and I used once? I AM going to get a bunch of carrots, celery, radishes, cilantro and what and use this JUICER I bought a fuckin' million years ago and used for a week? I, for one, am NOT going to move again and bring along them things if I don't be usin' them. So ... junk them? eBay? Craigslist? I got an idea! USE THEM! Justify their presence in yr home. Make it worth finding a box for them next time you call the moving co. to haul yr shit to yr new digs.
I was under the kitchen sink counting spiders the other day and spied my espresso machine. I thought, well shee-it. When's the last time I enjoyed a deluxe coffee at home? Took it out, cleaned it up, got some Peet's 'spresso and voila! RIGHT NOW I'm working on #3 homemade Americano. This weekend I'm gonna fire-up the Breadmaker. Last night I used the mixer and made some cookies. I challenge every one of you lovely List Members: Dust off that rarely-used appliance and use it. Fire me an email and lemme know what you cooked, juiced, fried, grilled, steamed or whatever. A prize will be awarded for the most esoteric submission. I alone will be the Judge. Bribes, as always, will be accepted.
Submit your cookery here.
Tonight - Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Great turnout last week. If you missed it, you suck!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.3.2k4
So, what ... are you going to move from place to place, city to city, state to state and haul around all them "fringe" appliances thinkin' YEH some day I am gonna make me some waffles on this waffle-iron my dear Auntie Myrtle gave me five Christmases ago and I used once? I AM going to get a bunch of carrots, celery, radishes, cilantro and what and use this JUICER I bought a fuckin' million years ago and used for a week? I, for one, am NOT going to move again and bring along them things if I don't be usin' them. So ... junk them? eBay? Craigslist? I got an idea! USE THEM! Justify their presence in yr home. Make it worth finding a box for them next time you call the moving co. to haul yr shit to yr new digs.
I was under the kitchen sink counting spiders the other day and spied my espresso machine. I thought, well shee-it. When's the last time I enjoyed a deluxe coffee at home? Took it out, cleaned it up, got some Peet's 'spresso and voila! RIGHT NOW I'm working on #3 homemade Americano. This weekend I'm gonna fire-up the Breadmaker. Last night I used the mixer and made some cookies. I challenge every one of you lovely List Members: Dust off that rarely-used appliance and use it. Fire me an email and lemme know what you cooked, juiced, fried, grilled, steamed or whatever. A prize will be awarded for the most esoteric submission. I alone will be the Judge. Bribes, as always, will be accepted.
Submit your cookery here.
Tonight - Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Great turnout last week. If you missed it, you suck!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Sex in a canoe, Pt. 2
12.2.2k4
Last week's rant left you with me sitting on my couch, watching Monday Night Football, eating cheesy Triscuts and drinking Miller Lite beer, having jettisoned Coors Light for political reasons. The first thing I did outta the gate with my new domestic light beer of choice was to royally fuck myself over: I sat there and drank, oh, 18 or so. Got rather shit-housed. Stayed up really late laughing and crying at the TV, cranking the iPod up to ten, smoking a pack of ciggys and generally having a one-man party.
The next morning I felt generally okay but I was in the dog house, cold-busted by my grrrrl for being an idiot and getting wasted all by myself (loser) and waking her up many times throughout the night (jerk). And you know? She was right. I got carried away and I had to deal with the consequences.
One way I delt with the consequences was that I invoked the "Refuse to Booze" option. It is what it sounds like: No Drinking. This did afford me, however, the opportunity to test the age-old expression about light beer: It's Fucking Close To Water. I drank water. Arrowhead bottled water. A lot of it. All day and long into the night. My conclusion? The adage is wrong. Light beer is only close to water in that it's a liquid and drinking lots of it makes you pee a lot. After drinking what roughly amounted to an 18-pack of water I didn't feel a goddamn thing.
Tonight - Thee Parkside.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Couple last things:
TNSC Robot's sister shamelessly self-promotes her upcoming HOLIDAY TRUNK SHOW. Just in time for Xmas. She says: You are invited to our Holiday Trunk Show on Sunday, December 12 from 12-8 p.m. at 800 Post Street @ Leavenworth, SF.
Thee Parkside, tonight's venue, was requested by a Longtime List Member who will be in attendance tonight after a protracted stint in Cananda. Come early to avoid the cover, which probably goes into effect at 9p ... and to see the MYSTERY GUEST. And no, it's not Santa.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.2.2k4
Last week's rant left you with me sitting on my couch, watching Monday Night Football, eating cheesy Triscuts and drinking Miller Lite beer, having jettisoned Coors Light for political reasons. The first thing I did outta the gate with my new domestic light beer of choice was to royally fuck myself over: I sat there and drank, oh, 18 or so. Got rather shit-housed. Stayed up really late laughing and crying at the TV, cranking the iPod up to ten, smoking a pack of ciggys and generally having a one-man party.
The next morning I felt generally okay but I was in the dog house, cold-busted by my grrrrl for being an idiot and getting wasted all by myself (loser) and waking her up many times throughout the night (jerk). And you know? She was right. I got carried away and I had to deal with the consequences.
One way I delt with the consequences was that I invoked the "Refuse to Booze" option. It is what it sounds like: No Drinking. This did afford me, however, the opportunity to test the age-old expression about light beer: It's Fucking Close To Water. I drank water. Arrowhead bottled water. A lot of it. All day and long into the night. My conclusion? The adage is wrong. Light beer is only close to water in that it's a liquid and drinking lots of it makes you pee a lot. After drinking what roughly amounted to an 18-pack of water I didn't feel a goddamn thing.
Tonight - Thee Parkside.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Couple last things:
TNSC Robot's sister shamelessly self-promotes her upcoming HOLIDAY TRUNK SHOW. Just in time for Xmas. She says: You are invited to our Holiday Trunk Show on Sunday, December 12 from 12-8 p.m. at 800 Post Street @ Leavenworth, SF.
Thee Parkside, tonight's venue, was requested by a Longtime List Member who will be in attendance tonight after a protracted stint in Cananda. Come early to avoid the cover, which probably goes into effect at 9p ... and to see the MYSTERY GUEST. And no, it's not Santa.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Sex in a canoe.
12.1.2k4
I was kickin' it, a couple weeks back, on a Monday night, watchin' football, eating zapped Triscuits with pepper jack and drinking beers. Not unlike, I'm sure, many, MANY red-blooded American robots around the country. This Monday night is of note, of course, because I had severly modified my beer-drinking choices. Goes like this: Since I was a wee-little robot, my beer of choice was Coors Light. I'm not positive why I started and continued with the Rocky Mountain brew but it had some things going for it. For one, the cool silvery can reflected the harsh desert sun of my youthful robotic beer-drinking days, thus serving as a built-in Coolie. Also, it was indeed SO light, one could drink large quantities of it and avoid a lot of the dehydrating effects of other beers. Simple, right? I thought so. For years.
Then one day, as I cracked open an ice-cold CL, a commie-pinko, tree-hugging liberal pal said, "Why the FUCK are you drinking that shit?" I thought that Johnny Dingle-seed was going to say the same-ol' "that ain't nothin' but piss-water. You had ought drink a real beer, like Sierra Nevada." But instead he said, "the Fucking Coors family are Republican scum. Why are you giving them your money?"
I thought on this long and hard. I came to a conclusion: Fuck it. At this time in my life I also bought and wore styles by the clothing designer Liz Claiborne. Seems ol' Liz was a reputed Satanist and gave much in financial backing to the Church of Satan or some such. I had already said, "fuck it," to that, figured that the shirt was pretty cool and while I ain't a Satanist, "fuck it, how bad can Satan be?" I felt the same was true for giving my money to the Coors Republican family. How bad could they be?
So time passes and while I had long ago given up on Liz-and-Satan shirts, I kept with the Coors and therefore the Republicans too. Then Election Day 2004 comes. I'm sitting there, on the same couch that I watch Monday Night Football, and I'm weeping into my fiftieth Coors Light of the night watching in horror at the returns. When suddenly the gubernatorial results come in from Colorado and Pete Republican Scum Coors Light has lost his race. Well, "good," I thought, and I glanced down at the Silver Bullet in my hand, then back at the TV as W took yet another state. I was a fool. I decided then and there that the Republicans were indeed MUCH WORSE than Satan and that I wasn't giving any more of my money to the Republicans by way of buying Coors beer.
I would buy Miller Lite and support Nelson Mandela.
(This story to be concluded next week.)
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Found my long-lost goddamn Palm Pilot the other day. Restored all the data (including the always handy "PalmaSutra") and ya know what I found? A list of TNSC venues from the OLD OLD days. On this date in 1999, the TNSC went to Cafe du Nord. As Lee Lee the Musical Bee is fond of saying, "Fascinating."
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
12.1.2k4
I was kickin' it, a couple weeks back, on a Monday night, watchin' football, eating zapped Triscuits with pepper jack and drinking beers. Not unlike, I'm sure, many, MANY red-blooded American robots around the country. This Monday night is of note, of course, because I had severly modified my beer-drinking choices. Goes like this: Since I was a wee-little robot, my beer of choice was Coors Light. I'm not positive why I started and continued with the Rocky Mountain brew but it had some things going for it. For one, the cool silvery can reflected the harsh desert sun of my youthful robotic beer-drinking days, thus serving as a built-in Coolie. Also, it was indeed SO light, one could drink large quantities of it and avoid a lot of the dehydrating effects of other beers. Simple, right? I thought so. For years.
Then one day, as I cracked open an ice-cold CL, a commie-pinko, tree-hugging liberal pal said, "Why the FUCK are you drinking that shit?" I thought that Johnny Dingle-seed was going to say the same-ol' "that ain't nothin' but piss-water. You had ought drink a real beer, like Sierra Nevada." But instead he said, "the Fucking Coors family are Republican scum. Why are you giving them your money?"
I thought on this long and hard. I came to a conclusion: Fuck it. At this time in my life I also bought and wore styles by the clothing designer Liz Claiborne. Seems ol' Liz was a reputed Satanist and gave much in financial backing to the Church of Satan or some such. I had already said, "fuck it," to that, figured that the shirt was pretty cool and while I ain't a Satanist, "fuck it, how bad can Satan be?" I felt the same was true for giving my money to the Coors Republican family. How bad could they be?
So time passes and while I had long ago given up on Liz-and-Satan shirts, I kept with the Coors and therefore the Republicans too. Then Election Day 2004 comes. I'm sitting there, on the same couch that I watch Monday Night Football, and I'm weeping into my fiftieth Coors Light of the night watching in horror at the returns. When suddenly the gubernatorial results come in from Colorado and Pete Republican Scum Coors Light has lost his race. Well, "good," I thought, and I glanced down at the Silver Bullet in my hand, then back at the TV as W took yet another state. I was a fool. I decided then and there that the Republicans were indeed MUCH WORSE than Satan and that I wasn't giving any more of my money to the Republicans by way of buying Coors beer.
I would buy Miller Lite and support Nelson Mandela.
(This story to be concluded next week.)
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Found my long-lost goddamn Palm Pilot the other day. Restored all the data (including the always handy "PalmaSutra") and ya know what I found? A list of TNSC venues from the OLD OLD days. On this date in 1999, the TNSC went to Cafe du Nord. As Lee Lee the Musical Bee is fond of saying, "Fascinating."
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Fuzzy
11.3.2k4
Ya ever hear the expression: "Those that care a lot, swear a lot." ?? No? Well I just now made it up, so no wonder. But since you now have, think on it for a bit. I swear an awful lot and I care about a lot of things. So it's true. Ain't it?
Tonight - Place Pigalle.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Couple things:
Robot's sister Bishop's solo art show is tonight, conveniently enough just a few steps from tonight's venue. Please come by early and have a peek. The show is at Lavish. Bishop's new website featuring her paintings is Here.
Sadly for some, Place Pigalle don't serve hard liquor, just beer and wine. Fair warning. (Come anyway.)
The rant section is offline, as is the service that hosts it. Wouldn't ya know? Will re-insert when they revive. IF they revive.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.3.2k4
Ya ever hear the expression: "Those that care a lot, swear a lot." ?? No? Well I just now made it up, so no wonder. But since you now have, think on it for a bit. I swear an awful lot and I care about a lot of things. So it's true. Ain't it?
Tonight - Place Pigalle.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Couple things:
Robot's sister Bishop's solo art show is tonight, conveniently enough just a few steps from tonight's venue. Please come by early and have a peek. The show is at Lavish. Bishop's new website featuring her paintings is Here.
Sadly for some, Place Pigalle don't serve hard liquor, just beer and wine. Fair warning. (Come anyway.)
The rant section is offline, as is the service that hosts it. Wouldn't ya know? Will re-insert when they revive. IF they revive.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Cuba
11.2.2k4
"Thank god for T -N-S-C is the first thing I say,
When I'm jumpin' outta bed
At the start of every day."
It's the truth! I'm starting to think that few people outside the membership of the venerable TNSC have any clue at all! Sure, Alton Brown ain't a List Member, but he's one of the few exceptions and anyway he would join if he lived in this area.
Couple things got me thinking about what a bunch of slack-jawed idiots most folks are. One thing, and you prolly see this coming, is the outcome of last Tuesday's Electrocution. My ballot had a space for a write-in candidate, but it had a declaration that anyone writing in "Any frikkin' monkey in the National Zoo" would be sent directly to GitMo and so I didn't write that in even though it was exactly what I had planned to write. Word-for-word.
I got another indicator of how fucking stupid people are. I'm currently selling an item on the eBay. Let's say it's a car. So I set up the auction by writing a description: Robin's egg-blue 1979 AMC Hornet Sportabout. 4-door, 4-cylindar, 666,000 miles. Robin's egg-blue vinyl interior, mint condition. AM radio. ONE OWNER. COMPLETE, METICULOUS MAINTENANCE RECORDS from 1979-2004 and original owner's manual included. 2004 smog certificate. Blue book value $6.50. Reserve half that. Pictures of car and scans of documents available. Opening price $1.
Right, so there's the eBay item. For all to bid upon. I was expecting a few people to contact me and request the scans and the photos. A few did. However, MOST people who asked questions came up with questions like this:
What color is it?
How many miles?
What is your reserve?
Is there an owner's manual?
What kind of material is the interior?
Is there a radio?
I'm really beside myself. I can't figure it out. Did they read the description? If they did, their questions were answered. If there had been one question like this, I'd politely tell them as much. But there were 15 - 20 fuckups asking "it a two-door or four-door?" I swear, calling them doorknobs is a disservice to the knobs on doors.
Help us, Jeebus.
Tonight - Shanghai Kelly's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Robot's brother's birthday is this week and he chose the bar. C'mon in outta the rain and have a bevvy. I know I will. See you there!
Props to MC 900 Ft. Jesus for the song lyrics.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.2.2k4
"Thank god for T -N-S-C is the first thing I say,
When I'm jumpin' outta bed
At the start of every day."
It's the truth! I'm starting to think that few people outside the membership of the venerable TNSC have any clue at all! Sure, Alton Brown ain't a List Member, but he's one of the few exceptions and anyway he would join if he lived in this area.
Couple things got me thinking about what a bunch of slack-jawed idiots most folks are. One thing, and you prolly see this coming, is the outcome of last Tuesday's Electrocution. My ballot had a space for a write-in candidate, but it had a declaration that anyone writing in "Any frikkin' monkey in the National Zoo" would be sent directly to GitMo and so I didn't write that in even though it was exactly what I had planned to write. Word-for-word.
I got another indicator of how fucking stupid people are. I'm currently selling an item on the eBay. Let's say it's a car. So I set up the auction by writing a description: Robin's egg-blue 1979 AMC Hornet Sportabout. 4-door, 4-cylindar, 666,000 miles. Robin's egg-blue vinyl interior, mint condition. AM radio. ONE OWNER. COMPLETE, METICULOUS MAINTENANCE RECORDS from 1979-2004 and original owner's manual included. 2004 smog certificate. Blue book value $6.50. Reserve half that. Pictures of car and scans of documents available. Opening price $1.
Right, so there's the eBay item. For all to bid upon. I was expecting a few people to contact me and request the scans and the photos. A few did. However, MOST people who asked questions came up with questions like this:
What color is it?
How many miles?
What is your reserve?
Is there an owner's manual?
What kind of material is the interior?
Is there a radio?
I'm really beside myself. I can't figure it out. Did they read the description? If they did, their questions were answered. If there had been one question like this, I'd politely tell them as much. But there were 15 - 20 fuckups asking "it a two-door or four-door?" I swear, calling them doorknobs is a disservice to the knobs on doors.
Help us, Jeebus.
Tonight - Shanghai Kelly's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Robot's brother's birthday is this week and he chose the bar. C'mon in outta the rain and have a bevvy. I know I will. See you there!
Props to MC 900 Ft. Jesus for the song lyrics.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Bedtime for Democracy.
11.1.2k4
You ever get that "board-upside-the-head" feeling? For example, mebbe you live in a country you love and you respect your countrymen and have confidence they are pragmatic, intellegent people only to have the fact that the vast majority of them are ... um ... "not?" That is the "hit-by-board" feeling. Yeh, well I sure had that feeling, just the other day. I had me an idea about something and all of a sudden - BANG! - right upside the head. Here's the tale:
Not too many weeks ago I heard a news radio report that there was a DRAMATIC shortage of pole workers in the US. I thought: How horrible! I also thought: "Workers?" Pole "workers?" Since when did they call themselves "workers?" Perhaps they formed a national alliance of sorts, much like the strippers did in SF when they "Unionized." (I wondered if, in their unionization, the strippers considered a name-change too, something like, "Suggestive Erotic Clothing Sheddists (SECS)" or "Onstage Lingere Peelers.")
Union or not, the country seemed to be in a bad way for professional pole workers and report after report went across the radiowaves explaining the fact. I heard one report that ladies as old as 70 or 80 were coming out of retirement to answer the call. I thought: Good for them! Then I shook my head and thought: Ye Gods! An 80-year-old pole worker? One, I bet the tips won't be pouring in, and two, she better be careful up there or she could fall and break a hip!
The radio reports continued to say that, while the volunteership had helped, there was still a great shortage and some communities would suffer. I though it sad. Communities SHOULD be supported by enough pole workers.
THEN! and here's where the 2-by-4 comes into the story, then I switch on the torture of Election Day coverage on the TV this time (not the radio) and lo, there's a report about the pole workers. Only this time it's not POLE workers, it's POLL workers. WHAMMMM-O! Right in the bean. Then I thought: Fucking homonyms.
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Linkey-Loo coordinator and I had a terrible time coming up with the venue tonight. Hence the no creativity.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
11.1.2k4
You ever get that "board-upside-the-head" feeling? For example, mebbe you live in a country you love and you respect your countrymen and have confidence they are pragmatic, intellegent people only to have the fact that the vast majority of them are ... um ... "not?" That is the "hit-by-board" feeling. Yeh, well I sure had that feeling, just the other day. I had me an idea about something and all of a sudden - BANG! - right upside the head. Here's the tale:
Not too many weeks ago I heard a news radio report that there was a DRAMATIC shortage of pole workers in the US. I thought: How horrible! I also thought: "Workers?" Pole "workers?" Since when did they call themselves "workers?" Perhaps they formed a national alliance of sorts, much like the strippers did in SF when they "Unionized." (I wondered if, in their unionization, the strippers considered a name-change too, something like, "Suggestive Erotic Clothing Sheddists (SECS)" or "Onstage Lingere Peelers.")
Union or not, the country seemed to be in a bad way for professional pole workers and report after report went across the radiowaves explaining the fact. I heard one report that ladies as old as 70 or 80 were coming out of retirement to answer the call. I thought: Good for them! Then I shook my head and thought: Ye Gods! An 80-year-old pole worker? One, I bet the tips won't be pouring in, and two, she better be careful up there or she could fall and break a hip!
The radio reports continued to say that, while the volunteership had helped, there was still a great shortage and some communities would suffer. I though it sad. Communities SHOULD be supported by enough pole workers.
THEN! and here's where the 2-by-4 comes into the story, then I switch on the torture of Election Day coverage on the TV this time (not the radio) and lo, there's a report about the pole workers. Only this time it's not POLE workers, it's POLL workers. WHAMMMM-O! Right in the bean. Then I thought: Fucking homonyms.
Tonight - The Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Linkey-Loo coordinator and I had a terrible time coming up with the venue tonight. Hence the no creativity.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Groom N' Edge.
10.4.2k4
TNSC Robot is really getting a workout today. So much so, that he's unavailable to announce a venue. So stepping up to help, I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... Dalva.
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
10.4.2k4
TNSC Robot is really getting a workout today. So much so, that he's unavailable to announce a venue. So stepping up to help, I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... Dalva.
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Ring of Doom.
10.3.2k4
On the old airliner I can often be found pawing through the airline's free magazine. SWA's "Spirit," AA's "The American Way," or Delta's very cleverly named, "Sky" often give you seven to twelve minutes of mind-numbing reading. Really great stuff. I love checking on the ongoing war btwn the American Cattlemen's Association and the Beef Ranchers of America in their ads for the "Greatest Steak Joints in America." The ACA will swear that Jeb's B&G in Amarillo has the best T-Bone while the BRA attests, no, Phil's Chop City in Chicago wears the crown. It's funny. Check it.
Sky Mall is a riot, too. You need a fake rock to cover that unsightly DPW water meter in yr front lawn? Sky Mall's got it, and in two-three shapes and sizes, too! Anything you want: Booze, meat, fruit, plastic bag clips, a mini-submarine, an ice rink, a replica compass as featured in "Titanic," key warmers, electric umbrellas, U-make/U-eat Advent Calendars ... Sky Mall lacks nothing. I like leafing through and counting the kitties and puppies. And references to god. If there are more references to god than there are puppies and kitties I throw the thing down in disgust. The one thing Sky Mall lacks, though, are ads.
Anyone ever hear of "Zocor?" Breezed past an ad for it in "Spirit" without reading about it, but the name has stuck with me. I think it's some sorta drug ... mebbe for yr toenail fungus or yr itchy burney ass or mebbe it puts the fire back in yr firewood. To ME, "Zocor" sounds like the name of the ancient monster god from Beyond Space, who has come back to destroy the world! OK, lemme check and see ... ummmmmm ... nope. Zocor is a drug for yr shitty cholesterol levels. It's not the name of the evil demonic world-plunderer, back again after millennia, here to stomp cities and suck dry the oceans.
Tonight - Dylan's Pub.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
No, sir, I am a real horse!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
10.3.2k4
On the old airliner I can often be found pawing through the airline's free magazine. SWA's "Spirit," AA's "The American Way," or Delta's very cleverly named, "Sky" often give you seven to twelve minutes of mind-numbing reading. Really great stuff. I love checking on the ongoing war btwn the American Cattlemen's Association and the Beef Ranchers of America in their ads for the "Greatest Steak Joints in America." The ACA will swear that Jeb's B&G in Amarillo has the best T-Bone while the BRA attests, no, Phil's Chop City in Chicago wears the crown. It's funny. Check it.
Sky Mall is a riot, too. You need a fake rock to cover that unsightly DPW water meter in yr front lawn? Sky Mall's got it, and in two-three shapes and sizes, too! Anything you want: Booze, meat, fruit, plastic bag clips, a mini-submarine, an ice rink, a replica compass as featured in "Titanic," key warmers, electric umbrellas, U-make/U-eat Advent Calendars ... Sky Mall lacks nothing. I like leafing through and counting the kitties and puppies. And references to god. If there are more references to god than there are puppies and kitties I throw the thing down in disgust. The one thing Sky Mall lacks, though, are ads.
Anyone ever hear of "Zocor?" Breezed past an ad for it in "Spirit" without reading about it, but the name has stuck with me. I think it's some sorta drug ... mebbe for yr toenail fungus or yr itchy burney ass or mebbe it puts the fire back in yr firewood. To ME, "Zocor" sounds like the name of the ancient monster god from Beyond Space, who has come back to destroy the world! OK, lemme check and see ... ummmmmm ... nope. Zocor is a drug for yr shitty cholesterol levels. It's not the name of the evil demonic world-plunderer, back again after millennia, here to stomp cities and suck dry the oceans.
Tonight - Dylan's Pub.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
No, sir, I am a real horse!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 14, 2004
The Wind.
10.2.2k4
Got a question for y'all: Did you wreck all yr Cat Stevens records, tapes and CDs when he turned out to be some alleged terrorist-sympathizer? I can say that I don't care much for terrorists or zealotry in any form, but back in the days before the name change, old Cat did him some quality recordings. You see "Harold and Maude?" His tunes were featured in that gem. Fact is, every time I hear a Cat Stevens tune I don't think about Osama BL or the El QWeda ... nope ... I think about "Harold and Maude." I think about a young Bud Court banging 80-year-old Ruth Gordon. Here's one of the best scenes:
INT. PRIEST'S OFFICE - DAY
It is the same little old priest we have met earlier.
He sits at his desk and addresses the camera like a TV
audience. A picture of the Pope is over his right
shoulder; a picture of Jesus Christ over his left.
PRIEST
(very reasoned and slow)
Now, Harold, the Church has
nothing against the union of
the old and the young. Each
age has its own beauty. But a
marital union is concerned with
the conjugal rights. And the
procreation of children. I
would be remiss in my duties if
I did not tell you that the
idea of --
(he swallows)
- intercourse - the fact of
your young, firm --
(growing
disturbed)
-- body commingling with the
withered flesh, sagging breasts,
and flabby buttocks - makes me --
(falls apart)
- want to vomit.
Tonight - The El Rio.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Found the script on the Internet, Granny Fucker!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
10.2.2k4
Got a question for y'all: Did you wreck all yr Cat Stevens records, tapes and CDs when he turned out to be some alleged terrorist-sympathizer? I can say that I don't care much for terrorists or zealotry in any form, but back in the days before the name change, old Cat did him some quality recordings. You see "Harold and Maude?" His tunes were featured in that gem. Fact is, every time I hear a Cat Stevens tune I don't think about Osama BL or the El QWeda ... nope ... I think about "Harold and Maude." I think about a young Bud Court banging 80-year-old Ruth Gordon. Here's one of the best scenes:
INT. PRIEST'S OFFICE - DAY
It is the same little old priest we have met earlier.
He sits at his desk and addresses the camera like a TV
audience. A picture of the Pope is over his right
shoulder; a picture of Jesus Christ over his left.
PRIEST
(very reasoned and slow)
Now, Harold, the Church has
nothing against the union of
the old and the young. Each
age has its own beauty. But a
marital union is concerned with
the conjugal rights. And the
procreation of children. I
would be remiss in my duties if
I did not tell you that the
idea of --
(he swallows)
- intercourse - the fact of
your young, firm --
(growing
disturbed)
-- body commingling with the
withered flesh, sagging breasts,
and flabby buttocks - makes me --
(falls apart)
- want to vomit.
Tonight - The El Rio.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Found the script on the Internet, Granny Fucker!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Chad.
TNSC Robot has been recently recruited by the Diebold corporation to assist them with some upcoming work - so you're stuck with the Linkey-Loo Robot for guidance this fine Thursday. I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... The Monkey Club. See you simians there!!
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
TNSC Robot has been recently recruited by the Diebold corporation to assist them with some upcoming work - so you're stuck with the Linkey-Loo Robot for guidance this fine Thursday. I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... The Monkey Club. See you simians there!!
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Shadnick
9.5.2k4
Sometimes the inspiration for a Venue Announcement strikes at a moment when I'm not able to write it out so I leave little clues or keywords on scraps of paper to remind me what to write later. Often I'll lose these post-its and whatnot, sometimes never to find them and at other times finding them and having no idea what the hell they mean. Take for example the note I found yesterday:
"Boathouse - waterdog - pay toilet"
"L. Wong driving school"
"Elke Sommer - palm tree - fistfight"
This one was so cryptic it took me a second to realize it was VA notes. I have no idea what they mean. Dunno where I was going to take them.
So anyway ... if there's one thing I love, it's how the English swear. I've mentioned before that it tickles me to death to hear English folks proclaim "Fucking Hell" and "Bollocks to you!" I have discovered, in my advanced age, that them crazy folks from Down Under swear real nice too. If you want to hear a real-live Aussie swear in real-life, please come to the meeting tonight and you'll meet one. That's right, a List Member is bringing one for show-and-tell. I promise I can make her swear. Oh, and she wants to go to Annie's.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
9.5.2k4
Sometimes the inspiration for a Venue Announcement strikes at a moment when I'm not able to write it out so I leave little clues or keywords on scraps of paper to remind me what to write later. Often I'll lose these post-its and whatnot, sometimes never to find them and at other times finding them and having no idea what the hell they mean. Take for example the note I found yesterday:
"Boathouse - waterdog - pay toilet"
"L. Wong driving school"
"Elke Sommer - palm tree - fistfight"
This one was so cryptic it took me a second to realize it was VA notes. I have no idea what they mean. Dunno where I was going to take them.
So anyway ... if there's one thing I love, it's how the English swear. I've mentioned before that it tickles me to death to hear English folks proclaim "Fucking Hell" and "Bollocks to you!" I have discovered, in my advanced age, that them crazy folks from Down Under swear real nice too. If you want to hear a real-live Aussie swear in real-life, please come to the meeting tonight and you'll meet one. That's right, a List Member is bringing one for show-and-tell. I promise I can make her swear. Oh, and she wants to go to Annie's.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Slugfest!
9.4.2k4
Cat Hair Levels Near Total Surface Saturation
By Stuart Pidd
The Bisbee Bee
Alameda, CA - Despite concentrated efforts to stem the tide of cat hair surface contamination, the levels continue to rise in a vintage two-story townhouse here.
"The hair is everywhere," said Bucky Nopants, a resident of the domicile. "If (you) have cats, (you are) going to expect a certain amount of cat hair on (your) furniture and clothes. We've got hardwood floors and it's not uncommon to see weird little tufts of hair along the floorboards and stairs." But now the nuisance is showing up in other, unlikely places, Mr. Nopants said. "I brush my teeth and there's cat hair in my mouth! I swig V8 right from the bottle - the bottle that's in the fridge! - and I got cat hair in my mouth. The (expletive) stuff is (expletive) everywhere. It's in my eyes, on my clothes, in my whiskers!"
It is reported that Pepper Sweetchunks, the co-habitant of the townhouse, routinely changes from her work clothes to rags that one might strip furniture in, or perhaps paint tree trunks in, when she returns home from work. "Oh you bet your (expletive) I change my clothes the second I get home. One friendly rub-up from one of those monsters and yr pants are toast."
The monsters in question are two domestic longhair felines, one whitish, blue-eyed and annoyingly gregarious, the other blackish, yellow-eyed and guaranteed to flop at the slightest provocation or lick on command.
While the vacuum runs constantly here and astonishing amounts of hair are brushed from the beasts, the cat hair levels have been rising steadily for weeks.
Basil Cornpone, a corporate officer from Eephus Solutions, a site clean-up firm contracted by Mr. Nopants and Miss Sweetchunks to solve the problem, concedes the struggle's paradigm has shifted from offensive to defensive. "I've been in the cat hair extraction business for 36 days now and I've never seen it like this. No amount of brushing seems to help. We've power vacuumed this place for weeks with industrial tools and still there's cat hair. We've given up the obvious solutions and resorted to "Plan X."
The so-called "Plan X," as it was explained to the Bee, consists of high levels of defensive ignoring of the problem, in addition to defensive hoping it will go away.
With "Plan X" in effect for two weeks already, and scheduled to continue indefinitely, Mr. Nopants and Miss Sweetchunks hope to see results soon. "There's only so much (you) can do," said Mr. Nopants, "I mean, I ain't a prayin' man, but I was about to resort to it. Nothing else worked worth a (expletive)."
Tonight - Doc's Clock.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
9.4.2k4
Cat Hair Levels Near Total Surface Saturation
By Stuart Pidd
The Bisbee Bee
Alameda, CA - Despite concentrated efforts to stem the tide of cat hair surface contamination, the levels continue to rise in a vintage two-story townhouse here.
"The hair is everywhere," said Bucky Nopants, a resident of the domicile. "If (you) have cats, (you are) going to expect a certain amount of cat hair on (your) furniture and clothes. We've got hardwood floors and it's not uncommon to see weird little tufts of hair along the floorboards and stairs." But now the nuisance is showing up in other, unlikely places, Mr. Nopants said. "I brush my teeth and there's cat hair in my mouth! I swig V8 right from the bottle - the bottle that's in the fridge! - and I got cat hair in my mouth. The (expletive) stuff is (expletive) everywhere. It's in my eyes, on my clothes, in my whiskers!"
It is reported that Pepper Sweetchunks, the co-habitant of the townhouse, routinely changes from her work clothes to rags that one might strip furniture in, or perhaps paint tree trunks in, when she returns home from work. "Oh you bet your (expletive) I change my clothes the second I get home. One friendly rub-up from one of those monsters and yr pants are toast."
The monsters in question are two domestic longhair felines, one whitish, blue-eyed and annoyingly gregarious, the other blackish, yellow-eyed and guaranteed to flop at the slightest provocation or lick on command.
While the vacuum runs constantly here and astonishing amounts of hair are brushed from the beasts, the cat hair levels have been rising steadily for weeks.
Basil Cornpone, a corporate officer from Eephus Solutions, a site clean-up firm contracted by Mr. Nopants and Miss Sweetchunks to solve the problem, concedes the struggle's paradigm has shifted from offensive to defensive. "I've been in the cat hair extraction business for 36 days now and I've never seen it like this. No amount of brushing seems to help. We've power vacuumed this place for weeks with industrial tools and still there's cat hair. We've given up the obvious solutions and resorted to "Plan X."
The so-called "Plan X," as it was explained to the Bee, consists of high levels of defensive ignoring of the problem, in addition to defensive hoping it will go away.
With "Plan X" in effect for two weeks already, and scheduled to continue indefinitely, Mr. Nopants and Miss Sweetchunks hope to see results soon. "There's only so much (you) can do," said Mr. Nopants, "I mean, I ain't a prayin' man, but I was about to resort to it. Nothing else worked worth a (expletive)."
Tonight - Doc's Clock.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 16, 2004
The Twisted Spoke
9.3.2k4
Next time you need to get fixin's for Bloody Marys you get yr asses to - of all places inna world - Cost Plus. Seems like you might start at BevMo or the corner liquor store or the Safetyway or the Albertsons, Giant Eagle, Basha's, Dominick's, Jewel, Kroger or Piggly Wiggly, but I happened upon the Cost Plus on the way to BevMo for Bloody fixin's and the Bloody's that were the result of the trip to these markets were SO GODDAMN KICKASS they made me want to slap my pappy. Here's why:
Cost Plus, as you might know, has a world-class selection of junky, stinky wicker furniture from some exotic (Mexico) locale. They also got horsehair pillows, teak coffee tables, fans made from shellacked palm fronds and crazy European cookware. And if you were ever a kid, you might remember that they have a shitload of foreign chocolates. Well dip me in shit because they have all sortsa other foreign foodstuffs like mustard and wine. And for the Bloody Mary drinker there's a million jars of pickled this and preserved that! Beans, onions, wee-baby pickles. Garlic, hot pepper and bleu cheese stuffed olives. I tell ya ... take a skewer, impale one them garlic olives, a cocktail onion, a pepperoncini, a mini pickle and some kinda marinated cherry tomato, drop the whole thing in a Bloody, drop in a pickled string bean, season w/ Tabasco and celery salt, drink up and eat up all the goodies ... you are sooooo dancing and there's no denying you have scored without getting nekkid.
Bonus treat: Fold up a slice or two of salami and add to skewer. Nothin' like meat in a cocktail!
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: Zeitgeist.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
There's a bar in Chicago that serves a Bloody so full of junk they've given it a different name: Road-rash Mary. It comes w/ a 4oz beer back. Old Style, of course.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
9.3.2k4
Next time you need to get fixin's for Bloody Marys you get yr asses to - of all places inna world - Cost Plus. Seems like you might start at BevMo or the corner liquor store or the Safetyway or the Albertsons, Giant Eagle, Basha's, Dominick's, Jewel, Kroger or Piggly Wiggly, but I happened upon the Cost Plus on the way to BevMo for Bloody fixin's and the Bloody's that were the result of the trip to these markets were SO GODDAMN KICKASS they made me want to slap my pappy. Here's why:
Cost Plus, as you might know, has a world-class selection of junky, stinky wicker furniture from some exotic (Mexico) locale. They also got horsehair pillows, teak coffee tables, fans made from shellacked palm fronds and crazy European cookware. And if you were ever a kid, you might remember that they have a shitload of foreign chocolates. Well dip me in shit because they have all sortsa other foreign foodstuffs like mustard and wine. And for the Bloody Mary drinker there's a million jars of pickled this and preserved that! Beans, onions, wee-baby pickles. Garlic, hot pepper and bleu cheese stuffed olives. I tell ya ... take a skewer, impale one them garlic olives, a cocktail onion, a pepperoncini, a mini pickle and some kinda marinated cherry tomato, drop the whole thing in a Bloody, drop in a pickled string bean, season w/ Tabasco and celery salt, drink up and eat up all the goodies ... you are sooooo dancing and there's no denying you have scored without getting nekkid.
Bonus treat: Fold up a slice or two of salami and add to skewer. Nothin' like meat in a cocktail!
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: Zeitgeist.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
There's a bar in Chicago that serves a Bloody so full of junk they've given it a different name: Road-rash Mary. It comes w/ a 4oz beer back. Old Style, of course.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, September 09, 2004
One-half back!!
9.2.2k4
I know all you Giants fans out there are very familiar with dumping them when they're losing. You understand the feeling that, hey, they suck, why should I like them? You understand for two reasons: 1. You'll like them again when they're better, and, 2. They're not often bad in the first place.
I've had the band-wagon and the on-again, off-again of such a vehicle on my mind for a few days because it's that magic time of the year when we who are REAL fans - read: Cubs fans - can turn our attention from the dismal, embarassing and otherwise shitty play of our Professional Losers for a moment and in the very same breath, hope for a better year next year for the Cubbies and root this Sunday and for the next 16 Sundays for the BEARS!
I should stress that we're not giving up on the Cubs, but after getting our asses kicked by the bottom-feeding Expos while clinging tenuously to a Wild-Card Berth, Cubs/Bears fans will have more on their mind than "Cubs lose-Giants/Marlins/Padres/Astros win." We'll have "Goddamn the Bears play like Grrrrrl Scouts." Such is the life.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Eat beef, eat beef.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
9.2.2k4
I know all you Giants fans out there are very familiar with dumping them when they're losing. You understand the feeling that, hey, they suck, why should I like them? You understand for two reasons: 1. You'll like them again when they're better, and, 2. They're not often bad in the first place.
I've had the band-wagon and the on-again, off-again of such a vehicle on my mind for a few days because it's that magic time of the year when we who are REAL fans - read: Cubs fans - can turn our attention from the dismal, embarassing and otherwise shitty play of our Professional Losers for a moment and in the very same breath, hope for a better year next year for the Cubbies and root this Sunday and for the next 16 Sundays for the BEARS!
I should stress that we're not giving up on the Cubs, but after getting our asses kicked by the bottom-feeding Expos while clinging tenuously to a Wild-Card Berth, Cubs/Bears fans will have more on their mind than "Cubs lose-Giants/Marlins/Padres/Astros win." We'll have "Goddamn the Bears play like Grrrrrl Scouts." Such is the life.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Eat beef, eat beef.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Sakura.
Okay. We're on a website titled "therein-lies", the entire structure is based on a web of falsehoods, I'm a male and it's my primary instict to lie when I'm posed with a question....and still I can come up with nothing!! Thank god I don't do this for a living. TNSC Robot has been sent out for repairs, so you're stuck with the Linkey-Loo Robot for guidance this fine Thursday. I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... Edinburgh Castle. Just don't look up the guys dress. Trust me.
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
Okay. We're on a website titled "therein-lies", the entire structure is based on a web of falsehoods, I'm a male and it's my primary instict to lie when I'm posed with a question....and still I can come up with nothing!! Thank god I don't do this for a living. TNSC Robot has been sent out for repairs, so you're stuck with the Linkey-Loo Robot for guidance this fine Thursday. I spin the wheel........and.............the destination for this evening is............... Edinburgh Castle. Just don't look up the guys dress. Trust me.
Spot the reference!
See you there.
Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Home base.
8.3.2k4
In these uncertain times, it's good to get back home and get things in order. I'm gonna do just that, and I encourage you to do the same. In fact, I'll give you a gentle shove in the right direction. Start here, at TNSC's Official HQ:
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
8.3.2k4
In these uncertain times, it's good to get back home and get things in order. I'm gonna do just that, and I encourage you to do the same. In fact, I'll give you a gentle shove in the right direction. Start here, at TNSC's Official HQ:
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Octopus!!
8.2.2k4
Dang but not workin' is great! Here's what I've done:
Washed the floors
Cleaned the shower, ter-let and bathroom sink.
Done three-four loads of wash. And folded 'em.
Gone to the market.
Cooked up dinner: Brussels sauteed in bacon and garlic along w/ Beef Stroganoff.
Cooked up coffee: Pot-a Kona, Pot-a "Ethiopian Fancy" and two Pots-a Costa Rican.
Cooked up a big pot-a baked beans.
Gone off to the gym. Three times.
Washed a VW Golf. Int and Ext.
Washed a Jeep Liberty. Int and Ext.
Watered a bunch of plants.
Paid a bunch of bills.
Took a shitload of ... uh ... shit to Goodwill.
Returned a bunch of ... uh ... shit to the Ikea and Home Depot.
Like I said: Not workin' is soooooo great.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission Street w/ Jesus: Latin American Club.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Dang if you missed last week you missed Susan Dynamite. You eeeediot!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
8.2.2k4
Dang but not workin' is great! Here's what I've done:
Washed the floors
Cleaned the shower, ter-let and bathroom sink.
Done three-four loads of wash. And folded 'em.
Gone to the market.
Cooked up dinner: Brussels sauteed in bacon and garlic along w/ Beef Stroganoff.
Cooked up coffee: Pot-a Kona, Pot-a "Ethiopian Fancy" and two Pots-a Costa Rican.
Cooked up a big pot-a baked beans.
Gone off to the gym. Three times.
Washed a VW Golf. Int and Ext.
Washed a Jeep Liberty. Int and Ext.
Watered a bunch of plants.
Paid a bunch of bills.
Took a shitload of ... uh ... shit to Goodwill.
Returned a bunch of ... uh ... shit to the Ikea and Home Depot.
Like I said: Not workin' is soooooo great.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission Street w/ Jesus: Latin American Club.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Dang if you missed last week you missed Susan Dynamite. You eeeediot!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Brophy College Prep.
8.1.2k4
Hello Lovely List Members! And an updated List too!
Consider this news item from a few days ago:
________________________
Meat Puppets Bassist Gets 21 Months
MESA, Ariz. - Cris Kirkwood, former bass player for the Meat Puppets rock band, has been sentenced to 21 months in prison for attacking a security guard with a baton outside a post office.
Kirkwood, 43, pleaded guilty May 10 to a charge of assault with a dangerous weapon.
He was shot during the Dec. 26 incident at the post office in downtown Phoenix and authorities said he was on probation at the time for a 2000 drug offense.
According to the criminal complaint filed in U.S. District Court, Kirkwood was arguing with a woman about a parking space outside the post office when she approached security guard Thomas Goodrum.
Kirkwood yelled profanities at Goodrum, then shoved the security guard.
In the ensuing scuffle, Kirkwood managed to get Goodrum's collapsible baton away from him and hit him on the head, knocking off the guard's eyeglasses. Goodrum then pulled his handgun and fired a shot into Kirkwood's back, the complaint states.
Kirkwood and his brother, Curt, fronted the Meat Puppets, a Phoenix-area band that had several hit records in the 1980s and '90s. They were cited as an influence for bands such as Nirvana and earned a gold record in 1994 for "Too High to Die."
________________________
Now at first glance you might be thinking, "Hey, damn. I liked the 'Puppets. Looks they'll be outta the scene for a while longer." Or perhaps, "Goddang agro-hippy-humbug ex-rocker." I read it a couple times and the thing that stood out was the rent-a-cop. First the pussy gets his baton taken from him in a fight. Then he gets beaten by his own baton. Then he shoots - prolly to kill but has shit-aim - our fallen rockstar in the fucking back. I thought on this for a while and realised that everyone I know who had scrapes with rent-a-cops won the initial fight and got shot in the back or tazed. That's about a good half-dozen people! Why are these rent-a-cops losing fights? The question plagued me and I did a bit of Internet-research. I found a site that cleared up the mystery for me. Quoting now, from the prospectus of a nationally-known rent-a-cop training company: "Once certified, the officer (their word) will be trained to deal with the highly-anticipated situation of losing a scuffle (their word) with an adversary: Lethal force. Our programs include rudimentary firearms-training - supplying more than enough skill to kill or wound fleeing suspects." Kinda freaked me out. And Kirkwood still gets 21 in the Slam. Dang but life ain't fair.
Tonight - Kickin' it Market Street w/ Jesus: Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! Good luck with this one.
Get yr buns to the onetime headquarters of the TNSC. Meet yr original four* Founding Members - that's right! Susan Dynamite is back in town for drinkeys!
I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
*Four if Mr. Metsker joins us ...
whrr ... clik!
8.1.2k4
Hello Lovely List Members! And an updated List too!
Consider this news item from a few days ago:
________________________
Meat Puppets Bassist Gets 21 Months
MESA, Ariz. - Cris Kirkwood, former bass player for the Meat Puppets rock band, has been sentenced to 21 months in prison for attacking a security guard with a baton outside a post office.
Kirkwood, 43, pleaded guilty May 10 to a charge of assault with a dangerous weapon.
He was shot during the Dec. 26 incident at the post office in downtown Phoenix and authorities said he was on probation at the time for a 2000 drug offense.
According to the criminal complaint filed in U.S. District Court, Kirkwood was arguing with a woman about a parking space outside the post office when she approached security guard Thomas Goodrum.
Kirkwood yelled profanities at Goodrum, then shoved the security guard.
In the ensuing scuffle, Kirkwood managed to get Goodrum's collapsible baton away from him and hit him on the head, knocking off the guard's eyeglasses. Goodrum then pulled his handgun and fired a shot into Kirkwood's back, the complaint states.
Kirkwood and his brother, Curt, fronted the Meat Puppets, a Phoenix-area band that had several hit records in the 1980s and '90s. They were cited as an influence for bands such as Nirvana and earned a gold record in 1994 for "Too High to Die."
________________________
Now at first glance you might be thinking, "Hey, damn. I liked the 'Puppets. Looks they'll be outta the scene for a while longer." Or perhaps, "Goddang agro-hippy-humbug ex-rocker." I read it a couple times and the thing that stood out was the rent-a-cop. First the pussy gets his baton taken from him in a fight. Then he gets beaten by his own baton. Then he shoots - prolly to kill but has shit-aim - our fallen rockstar in the fucking back. I thought on this for a while and realised that everyone I know who had scrapes with rent-a-cops won the initial fight and got shot in the back or tazed. That's about a good half-dozen people! Why are these rent-a-cops losing fights? The question plagued me and I did a bit of Internet-research. I found a site that cleared up the mystery for me. Quoting now, from the prospectus of a nationally-known rent-a-cop training company: "Once certified, the officer (their word) will be trained to deal with the highly-anticipated situation of losing a scuffle (their word) with an adversary: Lethal force. Our programs include rudimentary firearms-training - supplying more than enough skill to kill or wound fleeing suspects." Kinda freaked me out. And Kirkwood still gets 21 in the Slam. Dang but life ain't fair.
Tonight - Kickin' it Market Street w/ Jesus: Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! Good luck with this one.
Get yr buns to the onetime headquarters of the TNSC. Meet yr original four* Founding Members - that's right! Susan Dynamite is back in town for drinkeys!
I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
*Four if Mr. Metsker joins us ...
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Nugget.
7.5.2k4
The two of them sat at the younger man's desk, examining the 8x10 glossy photograph. From the uncomfortable chair the supervisor had pulled up, the older man leaned forward and gestured toward different parts of the photo with the eraser-end of his pencil.
"This down here, the red-tinted area, is medium-to-light industry. Orange is heavy industry," he said, pointing to the orange area at the center of the red.
"Right," the younger man said, "and these various shades of green?"
"Forest. The darker shades indicate density. Dark is more dense," said the older man.
"And this part here, up at the top?" asked the younger man.
"Ah, that's Canada," said the older man.
"Canada?"
"That's right. The dotted line," he pointed with the eraser, "the dotted line is the border."
"Uh-huh, I see," the younger man said. "You mind if I write on this?"
"Write whatever you want. It's your copy."
The younger man opened a drawer and picked out a black marker. He removed the cap and began to write tall capital letters on the photo: F U C K I N G C A N A D A. Then he underlined it.
The older man watched speechlessly as the younger man wrote "FUCKING CANADA" on the photo. With a look of bewilderment on his face, he looked up from it and stared at the younger man, who met his gaze.
"Just what the hell are you doing," he asked.
"You said I could write on it," he said.
"I didn't say you could write that on it."
"You said I could write whatever I want."
"Well what are you writing that word on it for?"
"I dunno. I got nothing really against Canada. I like beer and hockey and all."
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: The Eagle Drift-in.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! There's room for interpretation.
Go to Eagle Drift-in.
I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.5.2k4
The two of them sat at the younger man's desk, examining the 8x10 glossy photograph. From the uncomfortable chair the supervisor had pulled up, the older man leaned forward and gestured toward different parts of the photo with the eraser-end of his pencil.
"This down here, the red-tinted area, is medium-to-light industry. Orange is heavy industry," he said, pointing to the orange area at the center of the red.
"Right," the younger man said, "and these various shades of green?"
"Forest. The darker shades indicate density. Dark is more dense," said the older man.
"And this part here, up at the top?" asked the younger man.
"Ah, that's Canada," said the older man.
"Canada?"
"That's right. The dotted line," he pointed with the eraser, "the dotted line is the border."
"Uh-huh, I see," the younger man said. "You mind if I write on this?"
"Write whatever you want. It's your copy."
The younger man opened a drawer and picked out a black marker. He removed the cap and began to write tall capital letters on the photo: F U C K I N G C A N A D A. Then he underlined it.
The older man watched speechlessly as the younger man wrote "FUCKING CANADA" on the photo. With a look of bewilderment on his face, he looked up from it and stared at the younger man, who met his gaze.
"Just what the hell are you doing," he asked.
"You said I could write on it," he said.
"I didn't say you could write that on it."
"You said I could write whatever I want."
"Well what are you writing that word on it for?"
"I dunno. I got nothing really against Canada. I like beer and hockey and all."
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: The Eagle Drift-in.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! There's room for interpretation.
Go to Eagle Drift-in.
I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Johnson.
7.4.2k4
Ya like skippin' rocks across water? Me? I love it. I enjoy the ritual of carefully choosing the right rock: Smooth and flat, but with enough weight to put some elbow into. Sometimes, for kicks, I grab a completely unworthy rock and huck it. Them round, boxy rocks will indeed skip a couple times, given the proper angle and enough speed.
I often find myself feeling a bit sorry for those rocks I hurl into the deep. I ask myself, "How long did it take that poor iddle-little rock to get up here on the riverbank or beach or lakeside or whate'r ... only to get flung back into the depths from whence it came oh-so-long ago?" When I find myself feeling for the rocks I feel nothing but disgust for myself. What a dope!
So after 30+ years of skippin' rocks, I paid 'em all back by getting myself skipped across a semi-placid lake, not unlike a skippin' stone. Went up campin', ya see, and one of the campers had a skiboat with a big 'ol motor and a rope with which to drag a big 'ol innertube behind it. The innertube had canvas handles and was real slick - it was built for the purpose of being dragged behind a skiboat. Well I got in and the boat captain took off and GODDAMN is it fun to be dragged really fuckin' fast behind a boat. In, on, and out of the wake is cool, but my favorite is when the 'tube and its passenger is flung way out beyond the wake. I tried to get my face close-close-close to the surface of the water, and when I did I immediately felt what it must feel like to be a rock some fuckhead just skipped across the water. Then, as usual, I thought I was pretty goddamn dorky for feeling like a rock and suddenly I hit a big (big being a relative word) BIG lake ripple and I got thrown the fuck out of the 'tube and right into the lake. Complete with a facefull of lake water.
Tonight - Kickin' it North Beach w/ Jesus: Grant and Green.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Now ya might be thinkin', "Why North Beach w/ NO parking and Why G&G?" Well I'll tell ya: Founding Member John Metsker suggested the joint because his pal and boss, the immortal bartender Vise Grip, has a wifey that's croonin' at said bar tonight. Do yrself a favor and Go And See. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.4.2k4
Ya like skippin' rocks across water? Me? I love it. I enjoy the ritual of carefully choosing the right rock: Smooth and flat, but with enough weight to put some elbow into. Sometimes, for kicks, I grab a completely unworthy rock and huck it. Them round, boxy rocks will indeed skip a couple times, given the proper angle and enough speed.
I often find myself feeling a bit sorry for those rocks I hurl into the deep. I ask myself, "How long did it take that poor iddle-little rock to get up here on the riverbank or beach or lakeside or whate'r ... only to get flung back into the depths from whence it came oh-so-long ago?" When I find myself feeling for the rocks I feel nothing but disgust for myself. What a dope!
So after 30+ years of skippin' rocks, I paid 'em all back by getting myself skipped across a semi-placid lake, not unlike a skippin' stone. Went up campin', ya see, and one of the campers had a skiboat with a big 'ol motor and a rope with which to drag a big 'ol innertube behind it. The innertube had canvas handles and was real slick - it was built for the purpose of being dragged behind a skiboat. Well I got in and the boat captain took off and GODDAMN is it fun to be dragged really fuckin' fast behind a boat. In, on, and out of the wake is cool, but my favorite is when the 'tube and its passenger is flung way out beyond the wake. I tried to get my face close-close-close to the surface of the water, and when I did I immediately felt what it must feel like to be a rock some fuckhead just skipped across the water. Then, as usual, I thought I was pretty goddamn dorky for feeling like a rock and suddenly I hit a big (big being a relative word) BIG lake ripple and I got thrown the fuck out of the 'tube and right into the lake. Complete with a facefull of lake water.
Tonight - Kickin' it North Beach w/ Jesus: Grant and Green.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Now ya might be thinkin', "Why North Beach w/ NO parking and Why G&G?" Well I'll tell ya: Founding Member John Metsker suggested the joint because his pal and boss, the immortal bartender Vise Grip, has a wifey that's croonin' at said bar tonight. Do yrself a favor and Go And See. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Golden Ball.
7.3.2k4
I love how in Windoze when ya have the caps lock key down and yr typin' and you capitalize something and it comes out all fucked up. Here's an example: aLAN IS AN aSSpACK.
Tonight - Kickin' it dEEP Mission w/ Jesus: Argus.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee! whrr ... clik!
7.3.2k4
I love how in Windoze when ya have the caps lock key down and yr typin' and you capitalize something and it comes out all fucked up. Here's an example: aLAN IS AN aSSpACK.
Tonight - Kickin' it dEEP Mission w/ Jesus: Argus.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee! whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Multiple Vitamins ... with Iron.
7.2.2k4
Carlos saw Rush at the Hollywood Bowl and said they kicked ass.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.2.2k4
Carlos saw Rush at the Hollywood Bowl and said they kicked ass.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission w/ Jesus: The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Hans to toss the wadder.
7.1.2k4
What would be more awesome than winnin' the frikkin' lotto?
Is it possible to cook w/ an electric stove?
How many times should I turn this screw?
Why didn't I feel anything?
Will that cat ever shut up?
Doesn't it look nice in Chicago today?
Do I really need that thing?
Where do I buy me some ribs?
Can I get a ride to the bar?
Why did I ever smoke these lousy ciggys?
Is it three o'clock yet?
Tonight - Kickin' it Potrero Hill w/ Jesus: Bloom's Saloon.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Go on over to the bar. Goat Hill Pizza, across the street, ROCKS! Bring yr pals ... I know I will.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
7.1.2k4
What would be more awesome than winnin' the frikkin' lotto?
Is it possible to cook w/ an electric stove?
How many times should I turn this screw?
Why didn't I feel anything?
Will that cat ever shut up?
Doesn't it look nice in Chicago today?
Do I really need that thing?
Where do I buy me some ribs?
Can I get a ride to the bar?
Why did I ever smoke these lousy ciggys?
Is it three o'clock yet?
Tonight - Kickin' it Potrero Hill w/ Jesus: Bloom's Saloon.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Go on over to the bar. Goat Hill Pizza, across the street, ROCKS! Bring yr pals ... I know I will.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Lou Malnati's
6.4.2k4
Rollin' thru Berkeley the other night with this hottie, we're lookin' for a Chicago-style pizza joint without any luck: Ess-peeediadotcom's maps are for shit. Real nice night, though. Pretty sunset. Didn't mind being semi-lost. 107-7 The Bone was pumpin' out some good rock and roll that made the drive. An all-time Van Halen classic, Panama, got me thinking. I heard the line, "got my back up against the record machine," and wondered if the kids these days understood the line. Do they know what records are, let alone a record machine? I've heard that nine-of-ten of them little devils don't know who Col. Sanders is, what the sum of sixty plus nine is and can't identify the USA on a fuckin map of the USA. Granted, some lyrics rock lyrics from before my time befuddle me ("wrapped up like a douche into the rumor of the night ... WTF???), but I know what a telegraph is, even though I ain't ever used one.
Started me thinkin' about really MEANINGFUL rock lyrics from the 80's that are lost on the youth of today. The Bone rolled out another song right after that prolly spanned the generation gap some, but also left the kids hanging. The song "Money For Nothing" mentions microwave ovens, refridgerators and TV's. Sure. The little dopes know these devices. But when Knopffler or whatever his name is goes on to say, "Just play your guitar on the MTV" I bet the kids turn off. Ain't no one playing any instruments on the MTV today. I guess it's later than I think.
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Bid farewell to Dani ... lost to Germany and a German. Also one yr last chances to see Mark Bobek ... lost to ... China.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
6.4.2k4
Rollin' thru Berkeley the other night with this hottie, we're lookin' for a Chicago-style pizza joint without any luck: Ess-peeediadotcom's maps are for shit. Real nice night, though. Pretty sunset. Didn't mind being semi-lost. 107-7 The Bone was pumpin' out some good rock and roll that made the drive. An all-time Van Halen classic, Panama, got me thinking. I heard the line, "got my back up against the record machine," and wondered if the kids these days understood the line. Do they know what records are, let alone a record machine? I've heard that nine-of-ten of them little devils don't know who Col. Sanders is, what the sum of sixty plus nine is and can't identify the USA on a fuckin map of the USA. Granted, some lyrics rock lyrics from before my time befuddle me ("wrapped up like a douche into the rumor of the night ... WTF???), but I know what a telegraph is, even though I ain't ever used one.
Started me thinkin' about really MEANINGFUL rock lyrics from the 80's that are lost on the youth of today. The Bone rolled out another song right after that prolly spanned the generation gap some, but also left the kids hanging. The song "Money For Nothing" mentions microwave ovens, refridgerators and TV's. Sure. The little dopes know these devices. But when Knopffler or whatever his name is goes on to say, "Just play your guitar on the MTV" I bet the kids turn off. Ain't no one playing any instruments on the MTV today. I guess it's later than I think.
Tonight - Kickin' it SOMA w/ Jesus: Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Bid farewell to Dani ... lost to Germany and a German. Also one yr last chances to see Mark Bobek ... lost to ... China.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 17, 2004
6.3.2k4
Dingus and Dingus
Here's a TNSC bedtime story for ya all to tell each other and if ya got a wee one or are gonna get a wee one or gonna have a wee one or ARE a wee one and I know some of you got one or are gonna get one or gonna have one or are one you can tell it to them or listen up.
There once were two brothers and their Mommy and Daddy were too interested in hitting the booze than thinking of names for the boys that they remained nameless for years. They would be playing trucks together and one would look upon the other and say, "what's your name? Gimme that 'dozer," whereupon the other would reply, "what's your name? Okay, 'cept pass me that Excel Spreadsheet." The first brother looked quizzically upon his brother and said, "what's your name? We're playing trucks. I will not pass you the Excel Spreadsheet. I will pass you the dump truck." The other brother replied, "That's fine, what's your name? But don't you think we should think about refinancing this fleet of ours before too long, as depreciation is a bitch." The other brother, all tall and skinny and curly-haired, adjusted his tie and said, "Jeez, what's your name? I don't really care. I'm getting rather bored with these trucks, shall we get a drink?" And of course the other brother said, "what's your name? That's the best idea I've heard all day." So they retired to the bar and enjoyed red wine and Beefeater martinis up/olives and wished each other happy birthday and bon voyage.
The End.
Tonight - Kickin' it DOWNTOWN: The House of Shields.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Bring yr pals - I know I will. It's Celebrity Night, after all.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Dingus and Dingus
Here's a TNSC bedtime story for ya all to tell each other and if ya got a wee one or are gonna get a wee one or gonna have a wee one or ARE a wee one and I know some of you got one or are gonna get one or gonna have one or are one you can tell it to them or listen up.
There once were two brothers and their Mommy and Daddy were too interested in hitting the booze than thinking of names for the boys that they remained nameless for years. They would be playing trucks together and one would look upon the other and say, "what's your name? Gimme that 'dozer," whereupon the other would reply, "what's your name? Okay, 'cept pass me that Excel Spreadsheet." The first brother looked quizzically upon his brother and said, "what's your name? We're playing trucks. I will not pass you the Excel Spreadsheet. I will pass you the dump truck." The other brother replied, "That's fine, what's your name? But don't you think we should think about refinancing this fleet of ours before too long, as depreciation is a bitch." The other brother, all tall and skinny and curly-haired, adjusted his tie and said, "Jeez, what's your name? I don't really care. I'm getting rather bored with these trucks, shall we get a drink?" And of course the other brother said, "what's your name? That's the best idea I've heard all day." So they retired to the bar and enjoyed red wine and Beefeater martinis up/olives and wished each other happy birthday and bon voyage.
The End.
Tonight - Kickin' it DOWNTOWN: The House of Shields.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Bring yr pals - I know I will. It's Celebrity Night, after all.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 10, 2004
6.2.2k4
I hope all y'all enjoy camping and by that I mean "car camping" because it ain't really camping w/o scads of icy-cold Coors Lights. I hope you enjoy camping cuz it's fun to sit and stare at a real live fire that YOU built all the while drinking icy-cold Coors Lights and thinking mebbe it's time to pull the trigger on them sausages you got stashed in the non-beer cooler. It's fun to hit logs w/ hatchets. It's fun to pitch a tent in the out-of-doors ... if you catch my meaning.
Got a couple expectations when camping: Yr gonna get rather filthy. Yr gonna smell pine forest and clean air. Yr gonna get dirt and sticks and leaves and such in the tent no matter how hard you try not to. Yr gonna hear the calls of the wild creatures who LIVE in the forest. Yr gonna stay up late and yr gonna eat eggs in the morning. Yr gonna pee on a tree.
Another expectation when yr camping: Yr not gonna be woken in the middle of the night by an air-raid siren. Call me crazy but I never thought the campground in the Sierra Nat'l Forest near Huntington Lake at around 9000 feet elevation was a strategic target for whatever airborne enemys we got but clearly someone up around there does and remains vigilent 24/7 cuz they must have spotted some tell-tale sign of impending aerial assault on their radar and signalled the sound-asleep Memorial Day campers with the unmistakable klaxon that the bombers approached! I was eagerly awaiting the KRUMP! KRUMP! of the triple-A as our host fought off the hordes and dreading the bombs through the pines and dogwoods. And us without our helmets!
Not a fuckin' thing ever came of the air-raid siren. No ack-ack guns, no secondary explosions and no searchlights sweeping the heavens. Mebbe it was a drill or something. Mebbe the bombers turned back. Who the fuckey fuck knows?
Tonight - Kickin' it Market Street: Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! This is where it all began.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I hope all y'all enjoy camping and by that I mean "car camping" because it ain't really camping w/o scads of icy-cold Coors Lights. I hope you enjoy camping cuz it's fun to sit and stare at a real live fire that YOU built all the while drinking icy-cold Coors Lights and thinking mebbe it's time to pull the trigger on them sausages you got stashed in the non-beer cooler. It's fun to hit logs w/ hatchets. It's fun to pitch a tent in the out-of-doors ... if you catch my meaning.
Got a couple expectations when camping: Yr gonna get rather filthy. Yr gonna smell pine forest and clean air. Yr gonna get dirt and sticks and leaves and such in the tent no matter how hard you try not to. Yr gonna hear the calls of the wild creatures who LIVE in the forest. Yr gonna stay up late and yr gonna eat eggs in the morning. Yr gonna pee on a tree.
Another expectation when yr camping: Yr not gonna be woken in the middle of the night by an air-raid siren. Call me crazy but I never thought the campground in the Sierra Nat'l Forest near Huntington Lake at around 9000 feet elevation was a strategic target for whatever airborne enemys we got but clearly someone up around there does and remains vigilent 24/7 cuz they must have spotted some tell-tale sign of impending aerial assault on their radar and signalled the sound-asleep Memorial Day campers with the unmistakable klaxon that the bombers approached! I was eagerly awaiting the KRUMP! KRUMP! of the triple-A as our host fought off the hordes and dreading the bombs through the pines and dogwoods. And us without our helmets!
Not a fuckin' thing ever came of the air-raid siren. No ack-ack guns, no secondary explosions and no searchlights sweeping the heavens. Mebbe it was a drill or something. Mebbe the bombers turned back. Who the fuckey fuck knows?
Tonight - Kickin' it Market Street: Orbit Room.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! This is where it all began.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Durango
6.1.2k4
Four of us went to see Tool a few years back at this goddamn stupid venue called the Shoreline Amphitheater. Sumbitch place is build on a real live landfill and it's not uncommon for the fokng ground up in the "Lawn Seating" to catch fire, what with them methanes driftin' on up from thousand-year-old chicken bones, diapers and whatnot. There's some real seats too, and a good half of them ya can't see from. Designer of the place was on crack. And!!! there's some city ordinance that Tool can't rock as loud as they typically would. This setting up the contention that unless yr sitting in a rare "good" seat kinda close to the action, yr evening Tool rocking will be disappointing.
I had two sets of two tickets. I gave the better of the pair to my brother and he and another pal went and sat a few rows closer. My seat was okay and the Tool rocking was loud enough and we were close enough to see the singer Maynard's hangdown when he ceremoniously exposed it. Or revealed it. Or whipped it out. Or dropped trou. Or brought the meat. Or served the sausage. Or whatever.
So Tool rocked my fucking socks off. They dish out the rock. You ever been lucky enough to see Tool you know what I'm talkin' about. I know Longtime Listmember Lee Lee the Musical Bee has seen the Tool and been rocked. I enjoyed the show.
Brother didn't seem to have seen the same show I did. I say this because he didn't like it. He said the Tool concert sucked. I thought mebbe he was on crack too. He went on and on. As he's apt to do from time to time. As we were walking back to the truck he again mentioned how Tool sucked and that's when a semi-hotty punkrockgrrrrrl overheard him and demanded an immediate retraction. He told the gal to go boil an egg or something along those lines and no way would he retract his contention that the just witnessed live Tool concert sucked the greasy cock of the Dark Lord. I'm fairly certain those were his exact words.
It seemed that the grrrrrl was a personal friend of the Tool singer Maynard because she felt it necessary to defend him. How she did so was screaming at the top of her lungs: "Oh YEH???!! FUCK YOU!!!! Maynard fucks you in the ass!!!! Maynard fucks you in the asssssss!" I thought this was rather curious.
Tonight - Kickin' it Downtown: The Irish Bank.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Have some bleu cheese fries. They are so nice.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
6.1.2k4
Four of us went to see Tool a few years back at this goddamn stupid venue called the Shoreline Amphitheater. Sumbitch place is build on a real live landfill and it's not uncommon for the fokng ground up in the "Lawn Seating" to catch fire, what with them methanes driftin' on up from thousand-year-old chicken bones, diapers and whatnot. There's some real seats too, and a good half of them ya can't see from. Designer of the place was on crack. And!!! there's some city ordinance that Tool can't rock as loud as they typically would. This setting up the contention that unless yr sitting in a rare "good" seat kinda close to the action, yr evening Tool rocking will be disappointing.
I had two sets of two tickets. I gave the better of the pair to my brother and he and another pal went and sat a few rows closer. My seat was okay and the Tool rocking was loud enough and we were close enough to see the singer Maynard's hangdown when he ceremoniously exposed it. Or revealed it. Or whipped it out. Or dropped trou. Or brought the meat. Or served the sausage. Or whatever.
So Tool rocked my fucking socks off. They dish out the rock. You ever been lucky enough to see Tool you know what I'm talkin' about. I know Longtime Listmember Lee Lee the Musical Bee has seen the Tool and been rocked. I enjoyed the show.
Brother didn't seem to have seen the same show I did. I say this because he didn't like it. He said the Tool concert sucked. I thought mebbe he was on crack too. He went on and on. As he's apt to do from time to time. As we were walking back to the truck he again mentioned how Tool sucked and that's when a semi-hotty punkrockgrrrrrl overheard him and demanded an immediate retraction. He told the gal to go boil an egg or something along those lines and no way would he retract his contention that the just witnessed live Tool concert sucked the greasy cock of the Dark Lord. I'm fairly certain those were his exact words.
It seemed that the grrrrrl was a personal friend of the Tool singer Maynard because she felt it necessary to defend him. How she did so was screaming at the top of her lungs: "Oh YEH???!! FUCK YOU!!!! Maynard fucks you in the ass!!!! Maynard fucks you in the asssssss!" I thought this was rather curious.
Tonight - Kickin' it Downtown: The Irish Bank.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Have some bleu cheese fries. They are so nice.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Spell the word > 9
5.4.2k4
Ya ever get that fokt-up feeling when ya get somewhere and realization slaps you across the face because you can't remember a single step of getting to where you are? You got in yr car and drove across town or bridges or through tunnels or past bakerys, zoos or prisons and you don't remember stoping for lights, taking rights or dodging potholes? The fuckwit that cut you off didn't even register? Has something to do with the "primitive mind" or some such egghead nonsense. I read an article that said that if the brain HAD to deal with all the mundane details of a "drive to work" or something it would overload. Mebbe there's something to that theory. It is quite a kick in the pants.
I mention this cuz the other day I called up my cat Fatty's vet and arranged for a prescription refill for his hyperthyroid medicine. The nice lady who's filled the scrip before said, "gimme ten minutes." I gave her overnight. Morning I wheeled over and zapped my debit card through and whambam took the little scrip bottle, threw it in my pocket and fucked off to work. Later that night came time to pill the cat I got the bottle out of my pocket and opened it. Ummm ... Empty. WTF? I checked the label and it was the right date. I inspected the inside of the bottle and where there's usually residue of some sort, this one looked straight outta the box.
I felt somewhat like a bonehead. How could I walk off w/ an empty bottle? Easy, I decided: The bottle don't weigh nothing full, so full or empty one can't tell the difference in such a quick snag-and-deposit-in-pocket motion. Second, they usually pack cotton balls in with the pills so a rattle - or in this case, lack thereof - is not expected. If anyone is the bonehead it is the dumbass vet. I am going to inspect the fucking thing from now on. Or mebbe radiate Fats' thyroid.
Tonight - Kickin' it "Western Addition": Fish Bowl.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Say, "Have a nice trip" to Robot's brother in French!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.4.2k4
Ya ever get that fokt-up feeling when ya get somewhere and realization slaps you across the face because you can't remember a single step of getting to where you are? You got in yr car and drove across town or bridges or through tunnels or past bakerys, zoos or prisons and you don't remember stoping for lights, taking rights or dodging potholes? The fuckwit that cut you off didn't even register? Has something to do with the "primitive mind" or some such egghead nonsense. I read an article that said that if the brain HAD to deal with all the mundane details of a "drive to work" or something it would overload. Mebbe there's something to that theory. It is quite a kick in the pants.
I mention this cuz the other day I called up my cat Fatty's vet and arranged for a prescription refill for his hyperthyroid medicine. The nice lady who's filled the scrip before said, "gimme ten minutes." I gave her overnight. Morning I wheeled over and zapped my debit card through and whambam took the little scrip bottle, threw it in my pocket and fucked off to work. Later that night came time to pill the cat I got the bottle out of my pocket and opened it. Ummm ... Empty. WTF? I checked the label and it was the right date. I inspected the inside of the bottle and where there's usually residue of some sort, this one looked straight outta the box.
I felt somewhat like a bonehead. How could I walk off w/ an empty bottle? Easy, I decided: The bottle don't weigh nothing full, so full or empty one can't tell the difference in such a quick snag-and-deposit-in-pocket motion. Second, they usually pack cotton balls in with the pills so a rattle - or in this case, lack thereof - is not expected. If anyone is the bonehead it is the dumbass vet. I am going to inspect the fucking thing from now on. Or mebbe radiate Fats' thyroid.
Tonight - Kickin' it "Western Addition": Fish Bowl.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Be there! Say, "Have a nice trip" to Robot's brother in French!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I bombed Korea.
5.3.2k4
Don't bother w/ them fishy fish and them glass tanks and that flakey food no more bubs! Nope! Heave that bubbly sunken treasure and them fake aquatic ferns. Don't need 'em anymore. Y'all gonna have to guess why. I'll give you a second or two.
Hmmm - dee - dum.
Doodly - doo.
Fine. I tell you. Birdys. Got's me a second-floor window seat and there's a herd of wee little "House Finches" that live in the tree below. I figured they'd like some seedys and whatnot and yep. They're swarming my window sill and since the glass is mirrored on the outside, they can't see in. I can stick my face to within inches of 'em. Dang they're cute. And loud! And damn-good little flyers. Fok I sometimes get the vertigo watching them drop off the edge then fly away. Awesome.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission: Latin American Club.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! No one gonna get it. Made it easy for Alan, though.
Be there! I know!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.3.2k4
Don't bother w/ them fishy fish and them glass tanks and that flakey food no more bubs! Nope! Heave that bubbly sunken treasure and them fake aquatic ferns. Don't need 'em anymore. Y'all gonna have to guess why. I'll give you a second or two.
Hmmm - dee - dum.
Doodly - doo.
Fine. I tell you. Birdys. Got's me a second-floor window seat and there's a herd of wee little "House Finches" that live in the tree below. I figured they'd like some seedys and whatnot and yep. They're swarming my window sill and since the glass is mirrored on the outside, they can't see in. I can stick my face to within inches of 'em. Dang they're cute. And loud! And damn-good little flyers. Fok I sometimes get the vertigo watching them drop off the edge then fly away. Awesome.
Tonight - Kickin' it Mission: Latin American Club.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! No one gonna get it. Made it easy for Alan, though.
Be there! I know!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, May 13, 2004
40-yard Dash
5.2.2k4
I stopped off at the coffee hut the other morning on the way to work and got me a large deluxe coffee. Damn but that illy coffee is good. Smooth, it is. A nice change-o-pace from my home-brewed Peet's French Roast ultra-deluxe coffee. Yeh, so I haul that sucker into work and into dailies and dailies lasted only 10 or 15 minutes so I had almost a half-cup left. On my way back to my piece-o-shit Dell machine I passed one of the several coffee closets here. I peeked in and the carafe on the heat was full! This was a surprise as my co-workers seem unable to open a pre-packaged serving of "Institutional Flavor" Starbux, throw it in a fresh filter and hit "Brew." That mini-rant aside, I took notice of my half-large deluxe coffee and thought of topping it off with, well, half-bad coffee. This got me thinking: Would adding a half-cup of bad coffee to a half-cup of good coffee does one make the good coffee half-bad or the bad coffee half-good? I was so perplexed - fundamentally, mind you - by this question I decided to throw it around and see what some other folks thought. I asked my criminally silly pal (who's having a birthday this Saturday) what she thought and she fuckin' sidestepped the problem and said, "Just finish yr coffee ya jerk. Don't top it off w/ nothin'. It ain't a question of making bad good or making good bad, it's a question of why the fuck do you need more coffee you lunatic? Yr bouncing around this office like a monkey and won't stop fucking talking so fast and so goddamn loud the last thing you need is more coffee." Chrissakes! I thought. Is she right? Couldn't be. There's NEVER enough coffee. oh yeh!
Tonight - Kickin' it old-school SOMA: Julie's Supper Club.
Here's tonight's HARD: Find the Reference! You get this one yr special.
Be there or be Alan! I know I will!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
5.2.2k4
I stopped off at the coffee hut the other morning on the way to work and got me a large deluxe coffee. Damn but that illy coffee is good. Smooth, it is. A nice change-o-pace from my home-brewed Peet's French Roast ultra-deluxe coffee. Yeh, so I haul that sucker into work and into dailies and dailies lasted only 10 or 15 minutes so I had almost a half-cup left. On my way back to my piece-o-shit Dell machine I passed one of the several coffee closets here. I peeked in and the carafe on the heat was full! This was a surprise as my co-workers seem unable to open a pre-packaged serving of "Institutional Flavor" Starbux, throw it in a fresh filter and hit "Brew." That mini-rant aside, I took notice of my half-large deluxe coffee and thought of topping it off with, well, half-bad coffee. This got me thinking: Would adding a half-cup of bad coffee to a half-cup of good coffee does one make the good coffee half-bad or the bad coffee half-good? I was so perplexed - fundamentally, mind you - by this question I decided to throw it around and see what some other folks thought. I asked my criminally silly pal (who's having a birthday this Saturday) what she thought and she fuckin' sidestepped the problem and said, "Just finish yr coffee ya jerk. Don't top it off w/ nothin'. It ain't a question of making bad good or making good bad, it's a question of why the fuck do you need more coffee you lunatic? Yr bouncing around this office like a monkey and won't stop fucking talking so fast and so goddamn loud the last thing you need is more coffee." Chrissakes! I thought. Is she right? Couldn't be. There's NEVER enough coffee. oh yeh!
Tonight - Kickin' it old-school SOMA: Julie's Supper Club.
Here's tonight's HARD: Find the Reference! You get this one yr special.
Be there or be Alan! I know I will!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Between Us
4.5.2k4
Thursday, 29 April 2004
Ah fok sometimes I'm surprised that swearing just don't cut it. Sometimes the situation calls for a person acting like a total penis to be called - not a cock or cockson or prick or johnson or dork or schlong - but simply a penis. "That guy is a total penis." Sums it up. Who can guess "which guy?"
Tonight - Popcorn and Jesus Lizard at: Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.5.2k4
Thursday, 29 April 2004
Ah fok sometimes I'm surprised that swearing just don't cut it. Sometimes the situation calls for a person acting like a total penis to be called - not a cock or cockson or prick or johnson or dork or schlong - but simply a penis. "That guy is a total penis." Sums it up. Who can guess "which guy?"
Tonight - Popcorn and Jesus Lizard at: Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Salt 'n Pepa
4.2.2k4
Thursday, 8 APril 2004
Have a look at this little "news" story I found on the Internet the other day:
SAN ANTONIO (Reuters) - A Texas woman heating fish sticks was shot in the leg by a gun that had been stashed in her oven, police said.
Roxanne Perez, 29, was taken to a local hospital where she was in good condition, police said Friday. They said a friend of hers had hidden the .357 caliber handgun in the stove two weeks earlier without telling her after she told him no guns were allowed in her house. When Perez heated up the fish sticks she also heated up the gun, which caused several rounds to be fired. One hit her in the leg. No charges have been filed because the shooting was accidental, police said.
I love this story so much I read it once a day at least. Every part of the story makes me happy to be an American. Here's why, bit-by-bit:
Fish sticks. I fuckin' love fish sticks and I love people who love 'em.
Roxanne Perez. That's one hell of a name.
Stashing a gun in an oven b/c you were told No Guns Allowed. If that don't say America I don't know what does. It screams RESOURCEFUL and CRAFTY and WILEY and DUMB-AS-DIRT and ... all this says AMERICA.
Heating up fish sticks = heating up gun. Funny how science works. It don't care if it's a pie, a cake, a casserole or a .357 yr heating up in the oven. Motherfucker ain't broke, oven will heat it up. It's like that, yeah.
No charges filed. If it was Roxanne or her pal that popped off some rounds, you bet charges would be filed. But as it was the Magic Chef or Kenmore or Whirlpool or whatever, no charges. (Sorta surprises me that them Texicans DIDN'T charge the oven. They're kinda ... you know ... thick.)
Roxy at hospital in good condition. I'm glad she weren't too badly hurt.
The story did leave me wondering who ate up them 'sticks ... or if any had been shot. Oh the humanity!
Tonight - Hug the Yeti at: Bigfoot Lodge.
Here's tonight's "harder": Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
4.2.2k4
Thursday, 8 APril 2004
Have a look at this little "news" story I found on the Internet the other day:
SAN ANTONIO (Reuters) - A Texas woman heating fish sticks was shot in the leg by a gun that had been stashed in her oven, police said.
Roxanne Perez, 29, was taken to a local hospital where she was in good condition, police said Friday. They said a friend of hers had hidden the .357 caliber handgun in the stove two weeks earlier without telling her after she told him no guns were allowed in her house. When Perez heated up the fish sticks she also heated up the gun, which caused several rounds to be fired. One hit her in the leg. No charges have been filed because the shooting was accidental, police said.
I love this story so much I read it once a day at least. Every part of the story makes me happy to be an American. Here's why, bit-by-bit:
Fish sticks. I fuckin' love fish sticks and I love people who love 'em.
Roxanne Perez. That's one hell of a name.
Stashing a gun in an oven b/c you were told No Guns Allowed. If that don't say America I don't know what does. It screams RESOURCEFUL and CRAFTY and WILEY and DUMB-AS-DIRT and ... all this says AMERICA.
Heating up fish sticks = heating up gun. Funny how science works. It don't care if it's a pie, a cake, a casserole or a .357 yr heating up in the oven. Motherfucker ain't broke, oven will heat it up. It's like that, yeah.
No charges filed. If it was Roxanne or her pal that popped off some rounds, you bet charges would be filed. But as it was the Magic Chef or Kenmore or Whirlpool or whatever, no charges. (Sorta surprises me that them Texicans DIDN'T charge the oven. They're kinda ... you know ... thick.)
Roxy at hospital in good condition. I'm glad she weren't too badly hurt.
The story did leave me wondering who ate up them 'sticks ... or if any had been shot. Oh the humanity!
Tonight - Hug the Yeti at: Bigfoot Lodge.
Here's tonight's "harder": Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Prince o' Danes
3.1.2k4
Thursday, 04 March 2004
Just a little advice here: Resist the urge to eat at them Jack's and McD's and Burger Kings and KFC and the like. I've been successful at such for a long, long goddamn time. That is until today. I'm a bit stressed because I fear I've lost something important and I got to miss a delicious BFL and it was already too late for the burrito truck so I headed over to Jack's and got me an ulty cheeseburgey. And fries. With extra salt. And a Coke. With extra ice.
It took me longer to get thru the burgery treat than I thought. I figure I had to eat up them fries quick lest they go cold on me. I think Jack's batters their fries or something. There's lots of nooks and crannies to latch onto the extra salt. Anyway, as I was saying, the burg was a labor. And shit it's gloppy with cheese. Goddang flat-out great junk shit food. Prollem is, now - a mere hour 'so later - I feel like I'm a barf barge on the Stink River and I just took a few Nazi shit torpedoes in the bilge. And the cockswain and his mate have fallen o'erboard. Yeh. That bad.
Ulty cheeseburger out-grosses gross. Pray you, avoid it.
Tonight: The Fishbowl
Alan won a recent FTR, so I gotta make 'em harder. Play anyway: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. See my family.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.1.2k4
Thursday, 04 March 2004
Just a little advice here: Resist the urge to eat at them Jack's and McD's and Burger Kings and KFC and the like. I've been successful at such for a long, long goddamn time. That is until today. I'm a bit stressed because I fear I've lost something important and I got to miss a delicious BFL and it was already too late for the burrito truck so I headed over to Jack's and got me an ulty cheeseburgey. And fries. With extra salt. And a Coke. With extra ice.
It took me longer to get thru the burgery treat than I thought. I figure I had to eat up them fries quick lest they go cold on me. I think Jack's batters their fries or something. There's lots of nooks and crannies to latch onto the extra salt. Anyway, as I was saying, the burg was a labor. And shit it's gloppy with cheese. Goddang flat-out great junk shit food. Prollem is, now - a mere hour 'so later - I feel like I'm a barf barge on the Stink River and I just took a few Nazi shit torpedoes in the bilge. And the cockswain and his mate have fallen o'erboard. Yeh. That bad.
Ulty cheeseburger out-grosses gross. Pray you, avoid it.
Tonight: The Fishbowl
Alan won a recent FTR, so I gotta make 'em harder. Play anyway: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. See my family.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Jesus!
3.4.2k4
Thursday, 25 March 2004
Wasn't too long ago I vowed to stop throwin' out food. I'd try harder to cook what I bought, then eat what I cooked. It ain't workin' out exactly as I had planned. Really good lookin' tomatoes find their way home with me from the store and a while later find their moldy butts in my trashcan. Same with luncheon meats, breads, cheeses and all variety of fruit and veg. Sucks. I hate the hell outta wasting foods. Funny how that bag o' chips and icy Coors Lights will get voted into Dinner Office when a perfectly good Deluxe Salad candidate get's Al Gored.
Tonight: Annie's.
Try to: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Treat them to the TNSC HQ's hospitality. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.4.2k4
Thursday, 25 March 2004
Wasn't too long ago I vowed to stop throwin' out food. I'd try harder to cook what I bought, then eat what I cooked. It ain't workin' out exactly as I had planned. Really good lookin' tomatoes find their way home with me from the store and a while later find their moldy butts in my trashcan. Same with luncheon meats, breads, cheeses and all variety of fruit and veg. Sucks. I hate the hell outta wasting foods. Funny how that bag o' chips and icy Coors Lights will get voted into Dinner Office when a perfectly good Deluxe Salad candidate get's Al Gored.
Tonight: Annie's.
Try to: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Treat them to the TNSC HQ's hospitality. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 18, 2004
One-One Thousand
3.3.2k4
Thursday, 18 March 2004
All ya ever hear about Southerners and the South is that they're all a buncha inbred chickenfuckers and dumb as a sac of hammers. I can tell you that this is mostly misconception. Sure, there's some dolts about, and I'm sure there's some chickenfuckin' going on now and again, but that don't make The South any different from, say, California. I spent some time in Mississippi a few months back and I'll tell ya I seen the damndest sight. Made me think of just how deeply NOT STUPID some them Southern folk are.
Like most of America, Mississippians love their cars. Most folks have two or three to themselves (and yes, some do park 'em on their front lawns), and they drive them cars FAST. Now believe it or not, there are highways - State and Federal highways - in Mississippi. I know, I know, yr predisposed to believe that there's nothing but rutted dirt roads in Mississippi, but I swear I-55 runs straight down through her. In addition to big 'ol highways and interstates, of course there's also two-lane blacktops and winding county roads. Fuck if the size of the road means anything to how fast they drive their cars; six lanes or two yr not doin' 80 per you will be run down.
Now at one point we were 'bout fourth in a stretch of cars barrelling through the countryside. The two cars in front of us flick on their right-turn signals. This alone separates them from California drivers. But the astounding thing was that at the last second before the turn, the car directly in front of us doesn't turn. Continues forward. Car in front of them did turn. I guessed the guy didn't turn was practicing for the 'ol "trick the cop" trick. "Oh sure, I'm pullin' over, see my signal?" Then at the last second ya DON'T pull over and the cop eats dust. Figure there's a lot of trickin'-the-cops goin' on. Then, a bit later, another pair of cars do the same thing. Both signal, but only the leading car turns. More practicing. Lot of people figuring on trickin' the cops.
When I had witnessed this three or four more times, I asked my uncle what the fuck. I told him my theory and he said while a good theory, it was incorrect. "'S more like a courtesy," he says. "All everyone drives so damn fast, when yr in a line on a small road, flicking on yr signal when the guy in front of you signals a turn tells the motorhead behind you you'll be slowing. Kind of a heads up." I was shocked and amazed. I told him that in California no-one signals their own turns, let alone their neighbor's. He was not surprised.
Tonight: Zeitgeist.
Here's tonight's "harder": Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Have a burgery treat. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.3.2k4
Thursday, 18 March 2004
All ya ever hear about Southerners and the South is that they're all a buncha inbred chickenfuckers and dumb as a sac of hammers. I can tell you that this is mostly misconception. Sure, there's some dolts about, and I'm sure there's some chickenfuckin' going on now and again, but that don't make The South any different from, say, California. I spent some time in Mississippi a few months back and I'll tell ya I seen the damndest sight. Made me think of just how deeply NOT STUPID some them Southern folk are.
Like most of America, Mississippians love their cars. Most folks have two or three to themselves (and yes, some do park 'em on their front lawns), and they drive them cars FAST. Now believe it or not, there are highways - State and Federal highways - in Mississippi. I know, I know, yr predisposed to believe that there's nothing but rutted dirt roads in Mississippi, but I swear I-55 runs straight down through her. In addition to big 'ol highways and interstates, of course there's also two-lane blacktops and winding county roads. Fuck if the size of the road means anything to how fast they drive their cars; six lanes or two yr not doin' 80 per you will be run down.
Now at one point we were 'bout fourth in a stretch of cars barrelling through the countryside. The two cars in front of us flick on their right-turn signals. This alone separates them from California drivers. But the astounding thing was that at the last second before the turn, the car directly in front of us doesn't turn. Continues forward. Car in front of them did turn. I guessed the guy didn't turn was practicing for the 'ol "trick the cop" trick. "Oh sure, I'm pullin' over, see my signal?" Then at the last second ya DON'T pull over and the cop eats dust. Figure there's a lot of trickin'-the-cops goin' on. Then, a bit later, another pair of cars do the same thing. Both signal, but only the leading car turns. More practicing. Lot of people figuring on trickin' the cops.
When I had witnessed this three or four more times, I asked my uncle what the fuck. I told him my theory and he said while a good theory, it was incorrect. "'S more like a courtesy," he says. "All everyone drives so damn fast, when yr in a line on a small road, flicking on yr signal when the guy in front of you signals a turn tells the motorhead behind you you'll be slowing. Kind of a heads up." I was shocked and amazed. I told him that in California no-one signals their own turns, let alone their neighbor's. He was not surprised.
Tonight: Zeitgeist.
Here's tonight's "harder": Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Have a burgery treat. I know I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Bobo, Stillman and Porter
2.4.2k4
Thursday, 26 February 2004
Like the fezzed monkeys I lunched with, I will suggest Annie's glorious bar as yr Venue tonight. I will not be in attendance, though, as I have a date with a babe.
There are some new folks on the list tonight, so make 'em feel at home.
Tonight: Annie's
Moss won last week's FTR. Play again: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Stay dry.
Someone will See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.4.2k4
Thursday, 26 February 2004
Like the fezzed monkeys I lunched with, I will suggest Annie's glorious bar as yr Venue tonight. I will not be in attendance, though, as I have a date with a babe.
There are some new folks on the list tonight, so make 'em feel at home.
Tonight: Annie's
Moss won last week's FTR. Play again: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Stay dry.
Someone will See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Searched the world over ...
2.3.2k4
Thursday, 19 February 2004
So I'm brushin' my teeth the other day, and sometimes I got that lazy habit of letting the water run as I brush. I know, I know, it's a waste, and I try not to do it often, but sometimes I slip and let it run. So the other day I'm brushin', the water's runnin', and it's coming out at a good flow. I sorta space out sometimes and this was one. That's a major reason I let the water run: Being spaced-out. So I'm spaced-out, brushin' the fangs, runnin' the water when suddenly the flow stutters, bubbles, coughs and starts merely trickling out. Not unlike if yr live-in-lover runs a faucet somewhere else, starts the laundry or flushes the commode. It's quite a difference, this trickle from the formerly robust water flow.
Toothbrush still in mouth, I lean over to get a better view of the tap. As I do, I hear eerie music emanating from somewhere close by. I lean in farther and the music gets clearer. It sounds like a David Lynch film score or a whacked-out funeral march. Strangely, it seems the source of the music is from somewhere in the sink! I'm rather confused at this point and by now I have my ear right up to the tap. Rather by chance, I happen to glance into the sink's overflow hole and I'll be damned if I couldn't see something in there. Furthermore, the music seems to be coming from the overflow hole, too. I squint to try to make out what's in there and it starts to come into focus. It sorta looks like the set from Hee-Haw with barn-like wood plank walls and bales of hay all about. I can clearly see a couple people in overalls sitting on the hay bales smoking corncob pipes and listening to a nearby boombox, obviously the source of the funereal music. I'm about to shit my fucking pants when the stem from a corncob pipe juts out of the hole and pokes me right in the eye. Taken aback, I'm about to say, "what the fuck?" when I hear a voice say, "Knock off the peepin', neighbor." Just then the water flow picks up and I rinse and spit. Haven't thought of that weird scene until just now.
Tonight: Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Moss won last week's FTR. Play again: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Pool, popcorn and Jesus at the Pachyderm.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.3.2k4
Thursday, 19 February 2004
So I'm brushin' my teeth the other day, and sometimes I got that lazy habit of letting the water run as I brush. I know, I know, it's a waste, and I try not to do it often, but sometimes I slip and let it run. So the other day I'm brushin', the water's runnin', and it's coming out at a good flow. I sorta space out sometimes and this was one. That's a major reason I let the water run: Being spaced-out. So I'm spaced-out, brushin' the fangs, runnin' the water when suddenly the flow stutters, bubbles, coughs and starts merely trickling out. Not unlike if yr live-in-lover runs a faucet somewhere else, starts the laundry or flushes the commode. It's quite a difference, this trickle from the formerly robust water flow.
Toothbrush still in mouth, I lean over to get a better view of the tap. As I do, I hear eerie music emanating from somewhere close by. I lean in farther and the music gets clearer. It sounds like a David Lynch film score or a whacked-out funeral march. Strangely, it seems the source of the music is from somewhere in the sink! I'm rather confused at this point and by now I have my ear right up to the tap. Rather by chance, I happen to glance into the sink's overflow hole and I'll be damned if I couldn't see something in there. Furthermore, the music seems to be coming from the overflow hole, too. I squint to try to make out what's in there and it starts to come into focus. It sorta looks like the set from Hee-Haw with barn-like wood plank walls and bales of hay all about. I can clearly see a couple people in overalls sitting on the hay bales smoking corncob pipes and listening to a nearby boombox, obviously the source of the funereal music. I'm about to shit my fucking pants when the stem from a corncob pipe juts out of the hole and pokes me right in the eye. Taken aback, I'm about to say, "what the fuck?" when I hear a voice say, "Knock off the peepin', neighbor." Just then the water flow picks up and I rinse and spit. Haven't thought of that weird scene until just now.
Tonight: Sadie's Flying Elephant.
Moss won last week's FTR. Play again: Find the Reference!
Bring yr pals. Pool, popcorn and Jesus at the Pachyderm.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Pressure!
2.2.2k4
Thursday, 12 February 2004
Pisses me off when I realize how many idiot things I've got stashed away in my brain. I know me some Billy Joel lyrics. Damn. I know the name of the planet of whose moon the rebel's base was on in Star Wars. I don't know why I thought of that, but I did and I was horrified that I knew the name of the moon. Yavin. Stupid made-up name. I thought to myself, "why the fuck do I know the name of that moon's planet's name? What an idiot thing to know." Just as I thought this I pulled a tortilla chip out of a sac and it was a very skinny isosceles triangle and my monkeymind said, "Star Destroyer." So appalled at my sudden manic Star Wars trivia prowess, I did the only thing I could do: I rammed the chip into my eye. That snapped me out of the pain, if but for an instant. My next thought, amid my screams and the gouts of blood spraying from my eye, was, "I bet good 'ol Luke hurt like this when Darth sawed off his paw with that light sword."
Tonight: Dylan's.
Be sure to play: Find the Reference!
Emails go out late these days. Tough it out, people.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.2.2k4
Thursday, 12 February 2004
Pisses me off when I realize how many idiot things I've got stashed away in my brain. I know me some Billy Joel lyrics. Damn. I know the name of the planet of whose moon the rebel's base was on in Star Wars. I don't know why I thought of that, but I did and I was horrified that I knew the name of the moon. Yavin. Stupid made-up name. I thought to myself, "why the fuck do I know the name of that moon's planet's name? What an idiot thing to know." Just as I thought this I pulled a tortilla chip out of a sac and it was a very skinny isosceles triangle and my monkeymind said, "Star Destroyer." So appalled at my sudden manic Star Wars trivia prowess, I did the only thing I could do: I rammed the chip into my eye. That snapped me out of the pain, if but for an instant. My next thought, amid my screams and the gouts of blood spraying from my eye, was, "I bet good 'ol Luke hurt like this when Darth sawed off his paw with that light sword."
Tonight: Dylan's.
Be sure to play: Find the Reference!
Emails go out late these days. Tough it out, people.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Johnson
2.1.2k4
Thursday, 05 February 2004
Little known about moi is that I spent a year away from home as a lad, attending a magnet school that drew me ha-way across this great nation of ours to that once-proud burg known as Columbus, Ohio. I musta scored the magic number on one them tests they give high school kids 'cause the postman brought the invite to the Our Lady of Blessed Last Fair Deals Gone Down and I was Greyhounded to Columbus later that afternoon. Turns out I was able to leave so quickly because my now-departed-but-then-dear-ol Aunt Etyhl lived only a hitchhike outta downtown Columbus and she was delighted to have me for a few semesters.
Aunt Ethyl was somekinda beauty queen-turned-racecar driver back in her day. Shirley Muldowney had nothin' on her looks or her lead foot. Auntie also had a terrific wit. And she could and DID drink Wally Parks, editor of Hot Rod Magazine and NHRA Founder, under the shop workbench. I was a mere infant in my domestic light beer drinking and a year with Aunt Ethyl was all it took to turn a hobby into a favorite hobby. Soon, though, a problem surfaced. America wasn't yet Recycle Crazy as it is now and the Columbus city trash men refused to take away our bins and bins of empty cans. We started squishing the cans but even squished their sheer number was a dumpster full.
One day before being overwhelmed by the cans, Auntie's pal and Top Fuel Icon Don "Big Daddy" Garlits stopped by for a visit. He took a look at us and said, "Sheeeooooot, Eth, I been here before. I'll be right back with yr solution." He peeled out of the drive and before Auntie and I could ask each other, "what the ... " Garlits was back with a goat. That goat was untethered and took at once to chowin' down on that mountain of cans. We all had a good laugh at that.
And that goat was smart too! Instead of fouling the carpet he used Auntie's cat Snorkles' litter box. Auntie reminded me to send a nice Christmas card to Mr.. Big Daddy wishing him yuletide greetings and thanks for solving the can problem. I said I would. I did.
The thing I remember most about the whole episode, though is cleaning the cat/goat box. I cleverly used one of the magnets I got at the magnet school and bang! The box was clean of goat droppings. True story.
Tonight: The Eagle Drift-In.
Good luck with this one: Find the Reference!
Also: If you never come to another TNSC meeting, come to this one. Why? You'll see.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.1.2k4
Thursday, 05 February 2004
Little known about moi is that I spent a year away from home as a lad, attending a magnet school that drew me ha-way across this great nation of ours to that once-proud burg known as Columbus, Ohio. I musta scored the magic number on one them tests they give high school kids 'cause the postman brought the invite to the Our Lady of Blessed Last Fair Deals Gone Down and I was Greyhounded to Columbus later that afternoon. Turns out I was able to leave so quickly because my now-departed-but-then-dear-ol Aunt Etyhl lived only a hitchhike outta downtown Columbus and she was delighted to have me for a few semesters.
Aunt Ethyl was somekinda beauty queen-turned-racecar driver back in her day. Shirley Muldowney had nothin' on her looks or her lead foot. Auntie also had a terrific wit. And she could and DID drink Wally Parks, editor of Hot Rod Magazine and NHRA Founder, under the shop workbench. I was a mere infant in my domestic light beer drinking and a year with Aunt Ethyl was all it took to turn a hobby into a favorite hobby. Soon, though, a problem surfaced. America wasn't yet Recycle Crazy as it is now and the Columbus city trash men refused to take away our bins and bins of empty cans. We started squishing the cans but even squished their sheer number was a dumpster full.
One day before being overwhelmed by the cans, Auntie's pal and Top Fuel Icon Don "Big Daddy" Garlits stopped by for a visit. He took a look at us and said, "Sheeeooooot, Eth, I been here before. I'll be right back with yr solution." He peeled out of the drive and before Auntie and I could ask each other, "what the ... " Garlits was back with a goat. That goat was untethered and took at once to chowin' down on that mountain of cans. We all had a good laugh at that.
And that goat was smart too! Instead of fouling the carpet he used Auntie's cat Snorkles' litter box. Auntie reminded me to send a nice Christmas card to Mr.. Big Daddy wishing him yuletide greetings and thanks for solving the can problem. I said I would. I did.
The thing I remember most about the whole episode, though is cleaning the cat/goat box. I cleverly used one of the magnets I got at the magnet school and bang! The box was clean of goat droppings. True story.
Tonight: The Eagle Drift-In.
Good luck with this one: Find the Reference!
Also: If you never come to another TNSC meeting, come to this one. Why? You'll see.
Bring yr pals. Party. I will.
See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Slacker
1.5.2k4
Thursday, 29 January 2004
I like Provolone cheese. It is nice. The name Provolone sounds like a hockey player's name.
Expect longer nonsensical Venue Announcements to commence next week.
Tonight drag yr sorry asses to Argus.
Try hard this time to: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.5.2k4
Thursday, 29 January 2004
I like Provolone cheese. It is nice. The name Provolone sounds like a hockey player's name.
Expect longer nonsensical Venue Announcements to commence next week.
Tonight drag yr sorry asses to Argus.
Try hard this time to: Find the Reference!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 22, 2004
It seems as though the TNSC Robot has better things to do than post venue
announcements. He has plenty of time for some late-night action with "Phil", but not
for anyone else!
That said, tonight's venue of choice is the ever-unpretentious:
"Crow Bar"
401 Broadway (x Montgomery)
San Francisco, CA 94133
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/profile/917792?cslink=search_name_noncust
For those directionally challenged:
http://www.mapquest.com/maps/
map.adp?country=US&countryid=250&addtohistory=&address=401+Broadway&city=Sa
n+Francisco&state=CA&zipcode=&submit=Get+Map
See you there!!!
Linkey-Loo Robot (disgruntled)
P.S. Check out this week's fantastic Linkey Loos at:
http://www.therein-lies.com/tnsc/html/index.html
announcements. He has plenty of time for some late-night action with "Phil", but not
for anyone else!
That said, tonight's venue of choice is the ever-unpretentious:
"Crow Bar"
401 Broadway (x Montgomery)
San Francisco, CA 94133
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/profile/917792?cslink=search_name_noncust
For those directionally challenged:
http://www.mapquest.com/maps/
map.adp?country=US&countryid=250&addtohistory=&address=401+Broadway&city=Sa
n+Francisco&state=CA&zipcode=&submit=Get+Map
See you there!!!
Linkey-Loo Robot (disgruntled)
P.S. Check out this week's fantastic Linkey Loos at:
http://www.therein-lies.com/tnsc/html/index.html
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