Run on! Hey, hey, hey!
3.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 March, 2003
I've been resisting writing rants about dreams I've had because a pal once told me that he was talking to someone and that person started talking about a dream she'd had and it pissed him off to no end. He didn't give a shit, he told me, what his friend's dream was about. Not one little shit. Well you know what? He don't got a computer anymore, so fuck him. Here ya go: Here's a rant about a dream I had last week. And if you're not careful, you might learn something before it's done.
I had a dream that I was at work and I got up to get a cuppa coffee. I walked to the little kitchen down the hall and found the coffee carafe was fuckin' empty. (Big surprise: It's really hard to dump the used grinds, drop in a new filter and open a pre-measured coffee pouch. So hard that I'm sure it's beyond the capability of most of the fuckin' jerks here that also manage to litter and not flush.) So, as I am capable of making a freshy, I did. Then I waited for the sumbitch to brew. As it was nearing half-way, I hijacked the coffee: I deftly removed the carafe from the steamy stream and placed my cup beneath, then I filled my cup with the concentrated coffee in the carafe. Another slick move and the carafe was once again on the hotplate, beneath the drip. I've come to call this a "ballsy" coffee. It's got a full carafe's concentration of coffee in one cup. I perform this trick enough that I dream about it.
So I walked back to my desk. I got a dozen or so steps down the hall and thought that my roommate might want a cup of coffee. He does enjoy a ballsy cup. I stopped, looked at my coffee cup and thought about it. Then I decided, "Fuck him." Right then, in the dream, I had a cerebral hemorrhage and died. I mean it. An artery blew up in my brain and I croaked. Instantly I was in hell and the devil said, "Hmm. Mebbe you should oughta gotten yr roommate a cup of that ballsy coffee." I thought, shit. Mebbe the old guy is right. That was a darn selfish thing of me to have done. Then, y'know, I romped around in hell and eventually woke up.
So in REAL LIFE, the next day, I hijacked me a cup of ballsy coffee and hijacked one for my roommate. Set it down for him, he said, "thanks. Is it ballsy?" I said sure. Then I looked right at the camera and winked.
Tonight: Pow!. TNSC Historians remind us that we visited this bar the day before it opened to the public! There's lotsa parking there, too. Bring yr pals. Bring yr IDs. See you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 27, 2003
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Day's dawning, skin's crawling.
3.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 March, 2003
I like the look of that little screwball, Spongebob Squarepants. I seen his show once and it's hard to watch. I figure I gotta get on the dope to figure it out. It's weird.
How's yr war goin'? You sick of the words "shock and awe" yet?
Tonight's venue is requested by birthday girl Kyra. She says Dogpatch. Bring yr pals. Kyra will. She'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.3.2k3
Thursday, 20 March, 2003
I like the look of that little screwball, Spongebob Squarepants. I seen his show once and it's hard to watch. I figure I gotta get on the dope to figure it out. It's weird.
How's yr war goin'? You sick of the words "shock and awe" yet?
Tonight's venue is requested by birthday girl Kyra. She says Dogpatch. Bring yr pals. Kyra will. She'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Get yr hot ass over here.
3.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 March, 2003
I had a rant going about why I didn't rant about the fucking war and I started ranting about the fucking war. That's fucked up. Had a chance to pull out so I did. I may post the non-rant fucking war rant later but it pisses me off thinking about it. The fucking war. Pisses me off thinking about the fucking war. So today's Venue Announcement rant won't be about the fucking war. It'll be about Country Music. (I'll call it cunt for short.) I've come to realise that cunt is just like "rock." It's too broad a category. Witness the last ten shitty songs played by a "rock" station here in SF:
Last Ten Songs Played On 96.5 KOIT
Most Recent on Top
1 (You'Re My) Soul And Inspira - Righteous Brothers
2 Will You Still Love Me - Chicago
3 (Everything I Do) I Do It Fo - Bryan Adams
4 Biggest Part Of Me - Ambrosia
5 This Kiss - Faith Hill
6 Somewhere Out There - Linda Ronstadt/James Ingram
7 Too Much Heaven - Bee Gees
8 Nobody Knows - Tony Rich Project
9 Layla (Unplugged) - Eric Clapton
10 The Greatest Love Of All - Whitney Houston
Are you fucking kidding me? Whitney Houston? ROCK? Sure the KOIT qualifies itself as "Lite" rock, but "rock" nontheless. Whitney Houston ain't lite rock. GnR's "Sweet Child of Mine" is lite rock. A lot of the shtuff that Radiohead has put out lately is lite rock. Whitney's entire artistic catalog has nothing to do with rock. It has everything to do with B A D P O P M U S I C. POP stands for POPular. Some rock is popular, but it ain't pop. Some pop, like Whitney's, ain't nothing but pop. But back to cunt. Garrrth Brooks and that jackass who sang "Achey Breaky Ass" or whatever fucked up cunt. That shit's there's the Whitney Houston pop songs. Not cunt. Hank Williams Sr. is the real mccoy. As is Johnny Cash, Big Sandy, The Knitters, Patsy Cline, Jon Wayne, Waylon, Willie and lots of others. It's too bad that these days claiming to be a country music fan automatically labels you as a big dumb jerk. Aaagh. Tonight we're going to a joint that has a great juke. It has lite rock and regular rock. Real (Jesus Lizard) Rock. This place is called: Sadie's Flying Elephant. We ain't been there for a while. The word KOIT, whether it's the radio station or the tower or that creepy pervert lady, makes me think of the word coitus. Thought I'd share that. Potrero and Mariposa. There you'll find tonight's meeting. Bring yr pals. I will. See you the
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
3.2.2k3
Thursday, 13 March, 2003
I had a rant going about why I didn't rant about the fucking war and I started ranting about the fucking war. That's fucked up. Had a chance to pull out so I did. I may post the non-rant fucking war rant later but it pisses me off thinking about it. The fucking war. Pisses me off thinking about the fucking war. So today's Venue Announcement rant won't be about the fucking war. It'll be about Country Music. (I'll call it cunt for short.) I've come to realise that cunt is just like "rock." It's too broad a category. Witness the last ten shitty songs played by a "rock" station here in SF:
Last Ten Songs Played On 96.5 KOIT
Most Recent on Top
1 (You'Re My) Soul And Inspira - Righteous Brothers
2 Will You Still Love Me - Chicago
3 (Everything I Do) I Do It Fo - Bryan Adams
4 Biggest Part Of Me - Ambrosia
5 This Kiss - Faith Hill
6 Somewhere Out There - Linda Ronstadt/James Ingram
7 Too Much Heaven - Bee Gees
8 Nobody Knows - Tony Rich Project
9 Layla (Unplugged) - Eric Clapton
10 The Greatest Love Of All - Whitney Houston
Are you fucking kidding me? Whitney Houston? ROCK? Sure the KOIT qualifies itself as "Lite" rock, but "rock" nontheless. Whitney Houston ain't lite rock. GnR's "Sweet Child of Mine" is lite rock. A lot of the shtuff that Radiohead has put out lately is lite rock. Whitney's entire artistic catalog has nothing to do with rock. It has everything to do with B A D P O P M U S I C. POP stands for POPular. Some rock is popular, but it ain't pop. Some pop, like Whitney's, ain't nothing but pop. But back to cunt. Garrrth Brooks and that jackass who sang "Achey Breaky Ass" or whatever fucked up cunt. That shit's there's the Whitney Houston pop songs. Not cunt. Hank Williams Sr. is the real mccoy. As is Johnny Cash, Big Sandy, The Knitters, Patsy Cline, Jon Wayne, Waylon, Willie and lots of others. It's too bad that these days claiming to be a country music fan automatically labels you as a big dumb jerk. Aaagh. Tonight we're going to a joint that has a great juke. It has lite rock and regular rock. Real (Jesus Lizard) Rock. This place is called: Sadie's Flying Elephant. We ain't been there for a while. The word KOIT, whether it's the radio station or the tower or that creepy pervert lady, makes me think of the word coitus. Thought I'd share that. Potrero and Mariposa. There you'll find tonight's meeting. Bring yr pals. I will. See you the
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, February 27, 2003
I can do what I want.
2.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 February, 2003
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight Orbit Room. Thank Alan if you think this is boring. Lyndal does. That's why she ain't comin' out.
However, I'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
2.4.2k3
Thursday, 27 February, 2003
I had a dipshit for a neighbor when I was growing up. He did really stupid suburban white-guy things like leave a strip of grass between our lawns if he mowed after us. Or me, rather. Mowed after me. I mowed the frikkin' grass. Didn't mind. I'd mow interestin g patterns in the lawn: Circuit boards, snail trails, concentric circles, etc. I really liked making an Etch-A-Sketch-like pattern in the lawn in th e morning and then waiting for the evening or even the next day to "erase it." I liked the idea of all the cop helicopters seeing a crude, shaved-ber muda grass "Last Supper" for a day. Or the TV news choppers maybe spotting the likeness of an erupting Mt. St. Helens I carved into the lawn (The log jam of downed trees in the South Fork Toutle River turned out rather well if I do say so myself.) But back to the jerkweed neighbor. He left the str ip of long grass because he was a dumbass. Further evidence: He had a semi-hollow grapefruit tree in his yard. Some birdys made a nest in it. Once , while he was watering his trees with the garden hose, he figured maybe filling the hollow with water would be the best way to water said tree. He dr owned the birdys. The tree had to be chopped down. Dipshit.
The one cool thing he ever did was quite extraordinary and totally by accident. While mowing (having just left the strip of tall grass between the am biguous border), his wife came out to yell at him or ask him something. They were talking over the din of the mower when her head suddenly snapped ba ck - as if having been hit by something. She then ran into the house. He dumbly shut off his mower, thinking his wife (did I mention? Also a dumbas s) might be in some sort of distress. Well she was. They went to the hospital and the doc dug a fucking penny out of the side of her head. The mowe r had kicked the thing up and by freak chance nailed her in the head, penetrating it. Wow! What a shot! No shortage of fun and games in my old 'hoo d.
Tonight Orbit Room. Thank Alan if you think this is boring. Lyndal does. That's why she ain't comin' out.
However, I'll see you there!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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