I’ve literally put on this album in the presence of others more than once only to quickly turn it off hoping nobody noticed that it was expressing my innermost private thoughts so exactly. I lifted the following lyrics (written by Greg Dulli) verbatim from the liner notes. On the album, several lines are repeated. Thank you, John Paul, for introducing me to this band so many years ago. I don’t forget shit like that. I don’t forget who my friends are even when I’m being an asshole to them. I don’t try to be an asshole; I really don’t. I just am. I know it's hard to believe how naively inconsiderate I can be. Today I jokingly told someone I think it’s important to force people to try to remember why they like me. Lord knows if and why anybody does.
The thing about never following anybody else’s assumptions is that then you’re forced to blindly improvise life as you go, and when you fuck it up you have nobody but yourself to blame, and there is no absolution. Sorry for my fuck-ups. Oh, and fuck you for blaming me for the shit that wasn’t my fault.
Crime Scene Part One
Tonight, tonight I say goodbye
To everyone who loves me
Stick it to my enemies, tonight
Then I disappear
Bathe my path in shining light
Set the dials to thrill me
Every secret has its price
This one’s set to kill
Too loose, too tight, too dark, too bright
A lie, the truth, which one should I use?
If the lie succeeds
Then you’ll know I was mean
When I tell you I have secrets
To attend
Do you think I’m beautiful?
Or do you think I’m evil?
Will you take me for a ride?
The one that never ends
Too loose, too tight, too dark, too bright
A lie, the truth, which one shall I use?
If the lie succeeds
Then you’ll know I was mean
When I tell you I have secrets
To attend
Tonight, tonight I say goodbye
To everything that thrills me
As I throw the chains
I forged in life
To shatter on the floor
As I dream all the evidence
Is piling against me
As I breathe the essence rare
Is falling off the vine
And if you knew, just how smooth
I could stop it on a dime
You could meet me at the scene of the crime
My Enemy
I hear the whispers, baby
If what they say is true
They say I killed the brother
To fall in love with u
These words I heard them once before
A conversation I believe
How does a man begin 2 fall
When he does practice 2 deceive?
There was a voice behind my back
His face I could not see it clear
The voice was so familiar, though
I knew my enemy was near
The sun iz gone
And the sky iz black
So get your ass out from
Behind my back
I told u once
And I told u all
And I told it like it was (sic)
U can’t
Have me
If u can’t
Catch me
Out of your mind bent on revenge
To think I once called u my friend
U want the dog? I’ll let him out
Come and get some baby
Double Day
It was a Saturday
I came home early drunk with love
And other things
I must confess I love it all
Pretend that I can hardly wait
To wipe the smile off your face
It’s only when
On that you can depend
Later that afternoon
My paranoia got the best of me
I knew it would, it always do
I made the call
Pretend that I can hardly wait
To put that smile back on my face
It’s coming soon
I’m going to the moon
If you pretend, then I imitate
My friend, come crucify my heart
I wanna get it on
I wanna get it on
And in the evening when I sleep
My situation changes nightly
Sometimes it comes, sometimes it goes
Sometimes I feel I’ll never know
Tonight’s the night I take it home
White knuckle happy and alone
With no one in the room but me
I see I finally see
Blame, Etc.
My lust it ties me up
In chains
My skin catches fire at the
Mention of your name
No matter what I tried 2 do
I could not lose it
Now I know my heart
Is being used
But what I’m not allowed to have
I never could refuse
No matter what I tried 2 do
I stood accused
I reply, that I don’t believe
I’m never gonna die, I don’t
Do u?
Blame, deny, betray, divide
A lie, the truth
Which one shall I use?
Whatcha gonna do?
I know
Whatcha gonna do?
I know, I know, I know
Your sanctimony
Is showing my dear
The acrimony
Hangs in the air
Beware of who u trust
In this world
Beware the lies about
2 unfurl
I reply, that I don’t believe
I’m never gonna die, I don’t
Do u?
U were blind
But u are not alone in this
As I, once was
Like u
Blame, etc.
Step Into The Light
Whenever the light shines
And the stillness is shaken
And the drug of your smile has gone
And left me alone
I need it bad, I need it now
Won’t you come and give me some?
I need it sweet, baby please
Won’t you answer the phone?
Step into the light, baby
Just give me the word
And I will begin
Step into the light, baby
And see the trouble I’m in
The light has gone
My love has gone
The good times have gone
Away
I have to ask, I need to know
Was it ever love?
I need it sweet, baby please
Come and give me some
Going To Town
Lover mine
Get your coat and come outside
I wanna take you for a ride
On into town
Lover fair
We’ll be looking sharp, I swear
I want them all to stop and stare
When we take ‘em down
Go to town, burn it down, turn around and get your stroll on, baby
I’ll get the car
You get the match
And gasoline
And as we ride
Away into the countryside
I feel as though I must confide
There is a cost
When you say
Now we got Hell to pay
Don’t worry, baby, that’s okay
I know the boss
Honky’s Ladder
Got u where I want u
Motherfucker
I got 5ive up on your dime
And if u wanna peep on something
Peep what I got stuck between
Your eyes
And since I don’t believe
A word u say
Save it for another, baby brother
Swallow time 2 pay
Up on the ladder they sing
How high?
Does a brother have 2 climb
2 touch the light
But wait ‘til I get done
With u
If u tell me
“Don’t get mixed up with the Devil”
That’s exactly
What I’m gonna do
Caught u while u waited
For your boy 2 come
And fix u up again
Come a little closer, baby
I only wanna try 2
Be your friend
Since I ain’t got nothing
Left 2 lose
Got u where I want u
Motherfucker
Don’t u try 2 move
Up on the ladder they sing
How high?
Does a brother have 2 climb
2 touch the light
Won’t u take me up there
With you? U said u would
No one ever could shake
That ladder like I could
So I wait…
Night by Candlelight
Repeat these words
After me
In all honesty
Repeat these words
After me
If you dare to believe this
Yourself
Am I vain? Have I shame?
Are my thoughts of a man
Who can call himself sane?
Do I blame, all my pain
On the wickedness
I have arranged?
If I do, bring it down
Repeat these words
After me
In all honesty
Repeat these words
After me
If you dare to believe this
Yourself
Am I vain? Have I shame?
Are my thoughts of a man
Who can call himself sane?
Is my fate, all the same
As the man who has
Walked the line straight?
If it is, bring it down
And I, I must rely, my dear
And I, cannot deny, my dear
There will be a reckoning
Which was, is
And is to come
Repeat these words
After me
In all honesty
Repeat these words
After me
If you dare
To believe
Bulletproof
Love
I can’t hide
But it’s been easier
Since I said it now
Love
It don’t end
And I can’t buy
A friend
I waited long
The waiting’s over
So get on down
This time we go a little lower
The sun has broke
I stretch it out
And throw some gas into the fire
To tell the truth
To tell it well
It all depends upon the liar
And if I scream, overboard
I’m in this over my head
Or whisper sweet
Baby please, baby please
Am I ded?
Every time I dream about you, baby
With your hands all over me
I never forget anything
Don’t forget that I’m asleep
Go to sleep
It’s over now
A final prayer for my friend
You tell that fool, to make it good
You have to start at the end
And if I scream, overkill
I’m in this over my head
Or whisper sweet, baby please
I must have meant what I said
Summer’s Kiss
Did you feel the breeze
My love
Summer’s kiss is over, baby
Over
Do you know the words?
Sing along with me
And put on your rose fur coat, baby
It’s 1973
My love, this dream I have each night
I stare into a blinding light
Alone, I stare
Demons, be gone
Away from me
And come on down to the corner
I got something I want you to see
The burning sun
Too hot for shade
Come lay down in the cool grass
With me, baby let’s watch that
Summer’s fade
My love, this dream I have each night
I stare into a blinding light
Alone, I stare
So sweet
This dream is not a dream
A wake with it
Inside of me
Alone, I swear
Faded
you can believe in me, baby
Can I believe in you?
What you don’t know
Can hurt you, child
All the things a mind can
Do to you
If I go bad
From time to time
Love to love but love is not
My only crime
Bathe the path, shine the light
Better get your ass up on
The mountain, baby
I’ll take you up tonight
Faded
This I feel
Behind the blue clouds
I remain concealed
Lord, lift me out of the night
Come on, look down
And see the mess I’m in tonight
You can believe in me, baby
Can I believe in you?
I wish I could remember what
You said, when I said
Enough
You said
Good boy… bad boy… killjoy
Get your ass over here, boy
And since I know
Myself so well
Don’t breathe a word
Don’t you ever tell
You can believe in me, baby
Can I believe in you?
That secret’s gonna kill you
In the end
It’s gonna kill
You
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Camping Journal III
Excerpts from a camping trip with friends a few weeks back. I hadn’t realized my camping journal was almost full, so I spent the weekend running around looking for scraps of paper to write on or trying to remember what was said until something was found. Upon review, it seems the funny stuff all got forgotten....
That shirt is too tight around my chest.
Give it to Sandy.
The small boob jokes aren’t going to make sense until Ann gets here.
Oh my god; my ass is numb!
Really? We haven’t even started!
Had that old after the beer shoot the shit.
Those people weren’t enjoying my jokes at all.
Just tell them, “Your life is in my hands. Laugh or die.”
The lady on my boat was a parole officer. Jeremy might know her.
Have there been people born with horns?
The best thing about Carl is his parents.
They might be the best thing about me as well.
Chaco’s are hard on me.
Somebody somewhere knows how many sperm are in a teaspoon.
How many are in your mouth?
It’s a $40 t-shirt.
Is it pee resistant?
It’s pretty; I’d like to eat it.
This river is wet!
They eat some of the kids.
Sloppy Joe’s on the menu every Friday. Do they have to give the last names, though?
Are girls harder?
Boys are harder several times a day.
I love the weenies.
If it’s something they’re saying over and over again about your vagina they’ll get in trouble for it.
She’s a task-ks master
Who’s marionberry? Isn’t he the mayor or something?
Are you aware that you have a pencil in your pants?
I only heard mulberries and ass.
I’m on medication.
It’s not that funny.
It might be in a few hours.
The Missionary position reminded me of this:
I’m having puppies!
Why, did she do a dog?
No one really laughed on the boat today- again.
They thought it was funny eventually.
God loves raspberries. Who doesn’t?
Communists, that’s who.
Size does matter, it turns out.
I took that personally.
I knew you would.
White gas reminds me of my childhood.
Strip poker- I win even if I lose. Show up naked. There’s no place to go but up.
Dress poker?
Everybody panic!
No death’s cool.
Do “your mom” jokes ever make sense?
Sometimes and then it’s a zinger.
What do you want from me? I’ve already had half a bottle of whiskey.
My expectations were already low.
Next time you kill me, would you give me a little more notice?
She has an acupuncturist. I have a polygrapher. That’s what keeps the relationship alive.
Are you writing down the polygamy?
Sticky like the McGregors.
It came from Marshalltown; of course it’s sticky.
I can’t put it in the hole.
That’s what she said.
I am going to go talk to your mom about raping buses.
There’s a pretty healthy, um, didn’t mean to look….
That little fricker fricked me!
Oh, yeah, Carl will help you.
That guy at the campsite next to us reminds me of my dad.
A homosexual?
Thank you I like coconuts. They smell like, when drying in the sun, like tarter sauce.
No Tourret’s for me thank you.
My joy factory hurts.
You shouldn’t do that with your joy factory.
My joy factory’s exploding.
Would it be okay if I said out loud that Carl’s an asshole and Ann’s a bitch?
There’s a lot of good things about Portland but Carl’s not one of them.
I just figured out your husband’s the luckiest man ever! He’s got a four-legged pussy, a three legged pussy and a two-legged pussy.
His name’s Romaine.
Is he a noodle?
He’s lettuce, dipshit, get it right.
All I’d use a camera phone for would be to take pictures of my cats and other pussies in compromising positions.
He’s in alcohol’s hammock right now.
Just let me know when I’m overwhelming.
He can’t even say the word without having sex with it.
Careful, Andrew’s recording your every word.
Okay, now I can officially call you a douche bag.
It was the other seasonal staff; the control side. There was something growing in that crew.
It was a Swiss Army vehicle.
It was invisible.
Wonder Woman drove it.
If you can land it in this donut I’ll give you $1.50 and the donut.
Smile like a donut.
Artistically?
Grrooss
Aww you’re such a snugglepuss. Oh wait, now I’m just being molested.
All roads are a crossroads- sometimes you just don’t see the intersection.
Spaniards are hairy and they stink.
Why save the money when you can buy booze with it?
I like pet parades.
Pitch spork.
What would you like to do ideally?
Murder spree.
One man’s junk is another man’s coffee creamer.
Oh look he’s giving the puppy-dog face.
That gave me the creepy chills.
What do you call, no, who can you do, no, wait, how does it go?
Fucking goat heads.
Smells like up-dog.
Smells like good fooking.
It’s ambiguous day!
It rikas.
Why does the southwest have to be so far away?
I wish you squeezed me like that.
Lay down on the bench, baby.
Show ‘em your metal, dude.
Just think; they could be sitting here doing nothing right now.
Buy a new cheese, dude.
Ain’t much doin’ down here in Maupin.
Want me to tell you a story?
Will it be about a small animal dying?
Probably.
That is a whole lot more math than I am prepared to do right now.
They always fuck our plans up whether they’re jogging or not.
I would be kinda anti-climactical for you maybe.
If you’re heading towards the put-in….
Pardon my use of the word, but this is retarded.
In this case the word is entirely appropriate.
What’s scat?
I forgot about doggy-style.
Someone needs a reminder.
Crapbag Quilters.
A tattoo of a trout jumping at your worm…
I can’t believe you didn’t make a penis joke out of that.
Can you tell me what kind of wood this is?
The Sky Chairs are impressively comfortable.
They must be- they’re expensive and ugly.
No, you’re talking about the girls in the chairs.
Let me try it once. Here, hold my thing here.
Bingo therapy.
Andrew, why do you have one up and one down?
Everybody act synonymous.
Face and nuts; legs and arms- things that enter the body.
Are you deep-throating that flask?
Ahh, snuggle
It’s not as sexy coming from you.
My balls slapping the water don’t make as much noise as Jeremy’s.
Half of what I say is making fun of Carl.
Sprouts are dirty.
You’re the #1 cause of everything awful.
You get HIV from sprouts.
Carl, I’d like you to know that I have Asperger’s.
Ass burgers are gross.
You smell like fried cod. It’s a little Marshalltownesque.
Why are you touching my penis?
It’s wet.
No, don’t whip it out.
It barely whips.
If I trim my pubes it looks a lot longer.
Flask-on-flask action.
You’ve got to slow down, man; get more particular.
I like the forced pacing…
With your mom.
Get more what? Pussy?
What is wrong with you, girl?
Want a list?
Yes.
Your mother, the Pope, capitalism, I keep hanging out with you for some reason….
There’s that guy with the wet crotch area.
You didn’t see that, did you? Stop staring at me!
You need more paper.
I’ll be good; you guys aren’t that funny.
Serviceable, like your mom.
I wrote my mom. Doesn’t work the same. “Oh yeah, so’s my mom, oh wait….”
You’re fucking, girl.
Crying is the only way I can ever get laid.
When I die I want to become a Native American Spirit.
Jeremy always has My Mom withdrawl.
There’s high schoolers checking out my booze.
Hey, want to talk about composting toilets?
Uh, sure.
I don’t mind gelatinous and creamy.
Is that real?
It’s really in my hand about to enter your chest.
Please don’t start making out with your own arm.
Call me buddy once.
Buddyonce
I’m not in the mood, D bag.
A little Dirty Bird will do ya.
I hope that you’re Sandy because if you’re not, she’s right inside.
Don’t tear it; we owe double if you tear it.
This could have been a bereavement meal.
Andrew didn’t die, I’m a little bereaved about that.
This wouldn’t be a problem if we were in Mulligan’s in Cedar Falls.
She’s totally gonna hiccup!
Dustin Hoffman and your mom.
Tastes like rotten chicken.
Bubbly!
He’s already smashed his nuts once but I didn’t do it.
The power of pear.
Prower to the people. Fuck ‘em.
What do you do, upchuck in a womanly way?
Your bag has a boner.
That’s not what I said.
I know but I’m funnier than you.
Are you cheering for your own demise?
We couldn’t tell if it was your ass cheeks or your arms.
Flying Jesus, indeed.
I like to wear herpes.
Oh Sandy, can I smell like you tonight?
Ooh, I get to smell by me tonight too.
Do you guys know where I live?
No.
Good.
I’m an Egyptian Goddess.
That doesn’t seem like something you should have to announce.
Carl, does Maupin make you sick or is it just Abby?
They’re dirty like your mom.
Why buy something for $90 if you don’t love it?
Like a hooker.
Agave Maria
Carl, are you aroused? Oh shit, I’ll be right back….
Something about La Playa.
Everything alright in there?
Uh, yep, he’s aroused.
I don’t have a dick. Well I do, but I’m not that attached to it.
Didn’t you take sex ed.? Yes, but it wasn’t that thorough.
What do you do in that situation?
Well, I usually just play with my own penis.
I though you were a female alien. You eat in that hole? I’m sorry.
Carl’s funny; you’re annoying.
On the plus side, it makes me rub my boobs.
I love heartburn all of a sudden.
Also, you’re missing all of my funny jokes.
No I haven’t, I’m still waiting.
By lantern, I mean your mother.
Wah wah lost.
Andrew’s face is ugh.
I filled it, so now I’m filling random other things.
Nice spatulation.
Let’s spatulate.
Renewing my bowels? Vowels?
Axe- Lady Repellant.
Jesus walked on water- the son of Jesus could read.
The son of Jesus is like the son of Godzilla.
I’M HILARIOUS!
Cotton kills!
How deep is that there?
We can all see it’s pretty deep. It’s a little inappropriate to ask when she’s in that position. You should probably just find out for yourself.
First Abby humped the boat, now it’s Sandy’s turn.
Hey Jeremy, want to do this?
Was she pointing at her crotch when she said that?
I almost got killed by a wooden stake, which is actually the only way you can kill me.
What makes you so growly?
I’m half bear.
Turn around- you look cute in your undies.
Everybody loses except for me- I still win.
Ann shoved me into a tree.
Then stop being an asshole.
You just did it by being hilarious.
How about a hug?
How about a fuck off?
I don’t know whether to shit or smile.
Or start stabbing.
Fun with Funnnies
The daughter of Jesus couldn’t read, she was illiterate.
I saw a beaver over there.
Was it Sandy’s?
Powdered cheese- is there anything better?
That cotton belt might be saving your knife right now but it will be taking your life later.
I need your squishy part to be longer.
Megs said she needs my squishy part to be longer.
No comment.
I was going to hold it above you and drop it into your abdomen. I’m sure it wouldn’t have hit any major organs.
Do you have any major organs?
Not anymore.
He can watch it for a long time because there’s a lot of action in there.
He should see my bedroom.
It’s funny because it’s a lie.
That snake is as big as mine.
I just realized I haven’t done a cartwheel in a skirt today!
Good, I want to stare at your vagina.
Have we really said that many funny things?
No.
My name is not Fisto.
I was going to say I love you, but nevermind.
Don’t worry- I have small appendages.
You make good furniture, but that’s about it.
What are you thinking about?
Your mom.
I forgot to bring my stethoscope. Now I don’t know whether you’re dead or not.
That shirt is too tight around my chest.
Give it to Sandy.
The small boob jokes aren’t going to make sense until Ann gets here.
Oh my god; my ass is numb!
Really? We haven’t even started!
Had that old after the beer shoot the shit.
Those people weren’t enjoying my jokes at all.
Just tell them, “Your life is in my hands. Laugh or die.”
The lady on my boat was a parole officer. Jeremy might know her.
Have there been people born with horns?
The best thing about Carl is his parents.
They might be the best thing about me as well.
Chaco’s are hard on me.
Somebody somewhere knows how many sperm are in a teaspoon.
How many are in your mouth?
It’s a $40 t-shirt.
Is it pee resistant?
It’s pretty; I’d like to eat it.
This river is wet!
They eat some of the kids.
Sloppy Joe’s on the menu every Friday. Do they have to give the last names, though?
Are girls harder?
Boys are harder several times a day.
I love the weenies.
If it’s something they’re saying over and over again about your vagina they’ll get in trouble for it.
She’s a task-ks master
Who’s marionberry? Isn’t he the mayor or something?
Are you aware that you have a pencil in your pants?
I only heard mulberries and ass.
I’m on medication.
It’s not that funny.
It might be in a few hours.
The Missionary position reminded me of this:
I’m having puppies!
Why, did she do a dog?
No one really laughed on the boat today- again.
They thought it was funny eventually.
God loves raspberries. Who doesn’t?
Communists, that’s who.
Size does matter, it turns out.
I took that personally.
I knew you would.
White gas reminds me of my childhood.
Strip poker- I win even if I lose. Show up naked. There’s no place to go but up.
Dress poker?
Everybody panic!
No death’s cool.
Do “your mom” jokes ever make sense?
Sometimes and then it’s a zinger.
What do you want from me? I’ve already had half a bottle of whiskey.
My expectations were already low.
Next time you kill me, would you give me a little more notice?
She has an acupuncturist. I have a polygrapher. That’s what keeps the relationship alive.
Are you writing down the polygamy?
Sticky like the McGregors.
It came from Marshalltown; of course it’s sticky.
I can’t put it in the hole.
That’s what she said.
I am going to go talk to your mom about raping buses.
There’s a pretty healthy, um, didn’t mean to look….
That little fricker fricked me!
Oh, yeah, Carl will help you.
That guy at the campsite next to us reminds me of my dad.
A homosexual?
Thank you I like coconuts. They smell like, when drying in the sun, like tarter sauce.
No Tourret’s for me thank you.
My joy factory hurts.
You shouldn’t do that with your joy factory.
My joy factory’s exploding.
Would it be okay if I said out loud that Carl’s an asshole and Ann’s a bitch?
There’s a lot of good things about Portland but Carl’s not one of them.
I just figured out your husband’s the luckiest man ever! He’s got a four-legged pussy, a three legged pussy and a two-legged pussy.
His name’s Romaine.
Is he a noodle?
He’s lettuce, dipshit, get it right.
All I’d use a camera phone for would be to take pictures of my cats and other pussies in compromising positions.
He’s in alcohol’s hammock right now.
Just let me know when I’m overwhelming.
He can’t even say the word without having sex with it.
Careful, Andrew’s recording your every word.
Okay, now I can officially call you a douche bag.
It was the other seasonal staff; the control side. There was something growing in that crew.
It was a Swiss Army vehicle.
It was invisible.
Wonder Woman drove it.
If you can land it in this donut I’ll give you $1.50 and the donut.
Smile like a donut.
Artistically?
Grrooss
Aww you’re such a snugglepuss. Oh wait, now I’m just being molested.
All roads are a crossroads- sometimes you just don’t see the intersection.
Spaniards are hairy and they stink.
Why save the money when you can buy booze with it?
I like pet parades.
Pitch spork.
What would you like to do ideally?
Murder spree.
One man’s junk is another man’s coffee creamer.
Oh look he’s giving the puppy-dog face.
That gave me the creepy chills.
What do you call, no, who can you do, no, wait, how does it go?
Fucking goat heads.
Smells like up-dog.
Smells like good fooking.
It’s ambiguous day!
It rikas.
Why does the southwest have to be so far away?
I wish you squeezed me like that.
Lay down on the bench, baby.
Show ‘em your metal, dude.
Just think; they could be sitting here doing nothing right now.
Buy a new cheese, dude.
Ain’t much doin’ down here in Maupin.
Want me to tell you a story?
Will it be about a small animal dying?
Probably.
That is a whole lot more math than I am prepared to do right now.
They always fuck our plans up whether they’re jogging or not.
I would be kinda anti-climactical for you maybe.
If you’re heading towards the put-in….
Pardon my use of the word, but this is retarded.
In this case the word is entirely appropriate.
What’s scat?
I forgot about doggy-style.
Someone needs a reminder.
Crapbag Quilters.
A tattoo of a trout jumping at your worm…
I can’t believe you didn’t make a penis joke out of that.
Can you tell me what kind of wood this is?
The Sky Chairs are impressively comfortable.
They must be- they’re expensive and ugly.
No, you’re talking about the girls in the chairs.
Let me try it once. Here, hold my thing here.
Bingo therapy.
Andrew, why do you have one up and one down?
Everybody act synonymous.
Face and nuts; legs and arms- things that enter the body.
Are you deep-throating that flask?
Ahh, snuggle
It’s not as sexy coming from you.
My balls slapping the water don’t make as much noise as Jeremy’s.
Half of what I say is making fun of Carl.
Sprouts are dirty.
You’re the #1 cause of everything awful.
You get HIV from sprouts.
Carl, I’d like you to know that I have Asperger’s.
Ass burgers are gross.
You smell like fried cod. It’s a little Marshalltownesque.
Why are you touching my penis?
It’s wet.
No, don’t whip it out.
It barely whips.
If I trim my pubes it looks a lot longer.
Flask-on-flask action.
You’ve got to slow down, man; get more particular.
I like the forced pacing…
With your mom.
Get more what? Pussy?
What is wrong with you, girl?
Want a list?
Yes.
Your mother, the Pope, capitalism, I keep hanging out with you for some reason….
There’s that guy with the wet crotch area.
You didn’t see that, did you? Stop staring at me!
You need more paper.
I’ll be good; you guys aren’t that funny.
Serviceable, like your mom.
I wrote my mom. Doesn’t work the same. “Oh yeah, so’s my mom, oh wait….”
You’re fucking, girl.
Crying is the only way I can ever get laid.
When I die I want to become a Native American Spirit.
Jeremy always has My Mom withdrawl.
There’s high schoolers checking out my booze.
Hey, want to talk about composting toilets?
Uh, sure.
I don’t mind gelatinous and creamy.
Is that real?
It’s really in my hand about to enter your chest.
Please don’t start making out with your own arm.
Call me buddy once.
Buddyonce
I’m not in the mood, D bag.
A little Dirty Bird will do ya.
I hope that you’re Sandy because if you’re not, she’s right inside.
Don’t tear it; we owe double if you tear it.
This could have been a bereavement meal.
Andrew didn’t die, I’m a little bereaved about that.
This wouldn’t be a problem if we were in Mulligan’s in Cedar Falls.
She’s totally gonna hiccup!
Dustin Hoffman and your mom.
Tastes like rotten chicken.
Bubbly!
He’s already smashed his nuts once but I didn’t do it.
The power of pear.
Prower to the people. Fuck ‘em.
What do you do, upchuck in a womanly way?
Your bag has a boner.
That’s not what I said.
I know but I’m funnier than you.
Are you cheering for your own demise?
We couldn’t tell if it was your ass cheeks or your arms.
Flying Jesus, indeed.
I like to wear herpes.
Oh Sandy, can I smell like you tonight?
Ooh, I get to smell by me tonight too.
Do you guys know where I live?
No.
Good.
I’m an Egyptian Goddess.
That doesn’t seem like something you should have to announce.
Carl, does Maupin make you sick or is it just Abby?
They’re dirty like your mom.
Why buy something for $90 if you don’t love it?
Like a hooker.
Agave Maria
Carl, are you aroused? Oh shit, I’ll be right back….
Something about La Playa.
Everything alright in there?
Uh, yep, he’s aroused.
I don’t have a dick. Well I do, but I’m not that attached to it.
Didn’t you take sex ed.? Yes, but it wasn’t that thorough.
What do you do in that situation?
Well, I usually just play with my own penis.
I though you were a female alien. You eat in that hole? I’m sorry.
Carl’s funny; you’re annoying.
On the plus side, it makes me rub my boobs.
I love heartburn all of a sudden.
Also, you’re missing all of my funny jokes.
No I haven’t, I’m still waiting.
By lantern, I mean your mother.
Wah wah lost.
Andrew’s face is ugh.
I filled it, so now I’m filling random other things.
Nice spatulation.
Let’s spatulate.
Renewing my bowels? Vowels?
Axe- Lady Repellant.
Jesus walked on water- the son of Jesus could read.
The son of Jesus is like the son of Godzilla.
I’M HILARIOUS!
Cotton kills!
How deep is that there?
We can all see it’s pretty deep. It’s a little inappropriate to ask when she’s in that position. You should probably just find out for yourself.
First Abby humped the boat, now it’s Sandy’s turn.
Hey Jeremy, want to do this?
Was she pointing at her crotch when she said that?
I almost got killed by a wooden stake, which is actually the only way you can kill me.
What makes you so growly?
I’m half bear.
Turn around- you look cute in your undies.
Everybody loses except for me- I still win.
Ann shoved me into a tree.
Then stop being an asshole.
You just did it by being hilarious.
How about a hug?
How about a fuck off?
I don’t know whether to shit or smile.
Or start stabbing.
Fun with Funnnies
The daughter of Jesus couldn’t read, she was illiterate.
I saw a beaver over there.
Was it Sandy’s?
Powdered cheese- is there anything better?
That cotton belt might be saving your knife right now but it will be taking your life later.
I need your squishy part to be longer.
Megs said she needs my squishy part to be longer.
No comment.
I was going to hold it above you and drop it into your abdomen. I’m sure it wouldn’t have hit any major organs.
Do you have any major organs?
Not anymore.
He can watch it for a long time because there’s a lot of action in there.
He should see my bedroom.
It’s funny because it’s a lie.
That snake is as big as mine.
I just realized I haven’t done a cartwheel in a skirt today!
Good, I want to stare at your vagina.
Have we really said that many funny things?
No.
My name is not Fisto.
I was going to say I love you, but nevermind.
Don’t worry- I have small appendages.
You make good furniture, but that’s about it.
What are you thinking about?
Your mom.
I forgot to bring my stethoscope. Now I don’t know whether you’re dead or not.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Desperation
When I was first confronted with Thoreau’s declaration that “The vast majority of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” I remember quietly, desperately hoping I wasn’t one of them. But Thoreau didn’t mean this statement as a criticism so much as a self-revelation. He made a point to separate himself from his assumptions and routines in order to discover unexplored ways in which he could find fulfillment, pleasure and contentment.
Not long after reading Walden for the second time, I went through my Kafka phase. Here was a man who lived a life of overt desperation. Realizing that the flaw with living could lie not in the desperation involved but in not voicing that desperation was a real epiphany for me. Reading Kafka might have led to my appreciation of the grunge music surrounding me at the time, although it’d probably be more accurate to credit fellow computer nerds Josh, Damon and Cory for that. Besides, Kafka was far less satirical than grunge. His The Castle is the greatest ode to frustration that I have ever encountered.
Walt Whitman was the one who most successfully relayed to me the possibility of desperately clinging to hope. Completely removed from Kafka’s despair, Whitman had no apprehensions toward self-contradiction, confusion or the unknown. His words: “I too am not a bit tamed. I too am untranslatable. I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world,” inspired me infinitely. At the same time, his extreme optimism weakens him for my cynical self, because it’s less impressive to think well of things if you assume they’re going to turn out great than to think well of things despite realizing it’s all going to shit.
Douglas Adams seemed to revel in the fact that everything’s going to shit. That was the beauty of it for him. He understood than when all is lost, there is nothing to lose. Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual; not one that’s of much use anyhow. The most you can do is keep a towel nearby and, above all else, don’t panic. And when that plan fails, turn on the Improbability Drive and hope things work themselves out.
I see myself as embracing a combination of Thoreau’s asceticism and curiosity, Kafka’s cynicism and frustration, Whitman’s tenacity and hedonistic ambition and Adam’s indomitable sense of humor. In my experience, all you can do in this life is try. Try desperately, but don’t panic. Typically, Yoda had it backwards: Try or try not, there is no do. Doing has a finality that can only be equated with death. In any other connotation, completion is illusory. Therefore, the idea of fulfillment is dubious. Our pursuits toward that which would seem to fulfill are worthwhile, but we cannot predict our enjoyment of something we have never experienced. Also, fulfillment is fleeting by its very nature. The more you have of something, the more mundane it becomes. Thoreau left Walden after two years, inevitably finding it wanting.
Not long after reading Walden for the second time, I went through my Kafka phase. Here was a man who lived a life of overt desperation. Realizing that the flaw with living could lie not in the desperation involved but in not voicing that desperation was a real epiphany for me. Reading Kafka might have led to my appreciation of the grunge music surrounding me at the time, although it’d probably be more accurate to credit fellow computer nerds Josh, Damon and Cory for that. Besides, Kafka was far less satirical than grunge. His The Castle is the greatest ode to frustration that I have ever encountered.
Walt Whitman was the one who most successfully relayed to me the possibility of desperately clinging to hope. Completely removed from Kafka’s despair, Whitman had no apprehensions toward self-contradiction, confusion or the unknown. His words: “I too am not a bit tamed. I too am untranslatable. I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world,” inspired me infinitely. At the same time, his extreme optimism weakens him for my cynical self, because it’s less impressive to think well of things if you assume they’re going to turn out great than to think well of things despite realizing it’s all going to shit.
Douglas Adams seemed to revel in the fact that everything’s going to shit. That was the beauty of it for him. He understood than when all is lost, there is nothing to lose. Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual; not one that’s of much use anyhow. The most you can do is keep a towel nearby and, above all else, don’t panic. And when that plan fails, turn on the Improbability Drive and hope things work themselves out.
I see myself as embracing a combination of Thoreau’s asceticism and curiosity, Kafka’s cynicism and frustration, Whitman’s tenacity and hedonistic ambition and Adam’s indomitable sense of humor. In my experience, all you can do in this life is try. Try desperately, but don’t panic. Typically, Yoda had it backwards: Try or try not, there is no do. Doing has a finality that can only be equated with death. In any other connotation, completion is illusory. Therefore, the idea of fulfillment is dubious. Our pursuits toward that which would seem to fulfill are worthwhile, but we cannot predict our enjoyment of something we have never experienced. Also, fulfillment is fleeting by its very nature. The more you have of something, the more mundane it becomes. Thoreau left Walden after two years, inevitably finding it wanting.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Cliff Jumping
Swimming lessons are among the worst memories I have of growing up. I’ll never know if this was due to the asshole “teachers” I had, the fact that I always had to be in class with kids way younger than me or that being underwater tends to make me panic. Whatever; it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t enjoy swimming at all, but I’m fine with that.
During swimming lessons, there was always the day when they would force you to jump off the high dive. I hated that day. Belly-flopping into water from 15 feet above it hurts. I preferred the 3 foot board where I could do front flips and cannonballs and stuff.
Unsurprisingly, cliff jumping is something that I’ve never had on my “to-do” list. So when a group of friends went to do just that, I intended on watching. But after about six of my friends leapt off a 20-25 foot cliff and seem to enjoy themselves doing it, I decided to prove my high school principal’s irrelevant chide as inept. I put on a life jacket and followed.
In that moment, I was reminded how much I enjoy the sensation of falling. When I was a kid, I used to jump out of trees all the time from as high as I could do it without hitting a branch underneath. As much as I hated the coldness of it, I liked being able to jump into fresh snow off of roofs. Of course there were haylofts and garage beams above dirt piles. I even launched myself off the roof of a shed once onto dry ground to impress a girl, although that time my dad saw and I got into trouble. While working third shift at a gas station in college, I learned that you could stack up the empty cardboard boxes after stocking their contents and belly-flop into them off the roof of the store with no pain whatsoever.
Anyway, in all the reminiscing I forgot to close my mouth and swallowed a mouthful of river. But the landing didn’t hurt and the life jacket popped me back to the surface where eventually I was able to breathe.
Another group in the area showed Carl and Jeremy where the forty and seventy foot jumping cliffs were. Then one of them jumped off the seventy footer and lived, although I didn’t personally see it. We all went over and peeked over the edges of both, and they looked pretty damn high. Jake and I played the “I’ll do it if you do it” game with the forty foot jump, and after Jeremy survived, Jake went over, and so then I was stuck standing at the edge looking over the lip and thinking I don’t think I want to do this. I lifted one foot tentatively over the edge and my other foot followed somehow and I said, “oh shit” as I fell. But then I immediately relaxed, cupped my crotch with my hands and closed my mouth. I didn’t so much land as slow to a stop. That was a fun freaking jump.
We were late for our rafting trip, but we planned on coming back the next day. We rafted over a six foot waterfall then went to bed (to paraphrase drastically). The next morning, Jeremy wanted to show us a swimming hole before going back to the cliffs. When we got there, it was littered with officious vehicles and personnel. It turned out they were fishing out two bodies of people who had drowned trying to swim in a whirlpool beneath a waterfall about a quarter mile from where we intended to swim. That downer proved enough to prevent us from jumping over any other cliffs that weekend.
I was disappointed that I hadn’t done the seventy foot jump, even though the mere thought of it made my chest burn. So I organized a return trip last weekend.
In the interim, I realized that the best method for cliff jumping was not to stare over the edge but to instead get a running start so that there would be no time to think about the stupidity of it or change your mind. I also decided not to re-do any of the other jumps to avoid any potential disasters before the big one. Unfortunately Jake couldn’t make the trip, so it was down to Jeremy (whom I watched re-jump the other two cliffs), several witness, for whom I located a great spot to watch about a half hour before the leap, during which I had also pinpointed the well-worn runway off the 70 foot ledge, and I. As Jeremy and I walked up the cliff face, some rafters floating past in a bright yellow raft yelled up to ask if we were going to jump. We affirmed.
I intentionally didn’t bother to look over the edge. I walked to the back of the path off the cliff and ran. I didn’t actually jump; I just kept running until I wasn’t stepping on anything. For a moment the sensation was not unlike stepping down another step after you thought you were at the bottom. Next I thought, I actually did it. Check that; I’m actually doing it. I looked to see my watching friends but the yellow raft caught my eye instead. They had docked at the opposite shore just downstream. I seemed to stop mid-air to ponder them like a cartoon coyote. Then I thought, Oh yeah, I’m falling and looked down.
My advice for anybody interested in jumping off a seventy foot cliff is to never look down. The rest of me slipped effortlessly into the water, but my face smashed right into it. I gave myself a minor whip-lash and a bruised lower lip, but if I had jumped from higher I would have broken my neck.
Jeremy waited just long enough for me to float to the surface and yell “Don’t do it!” to jump after me. He hit the water LOUD, and I thought, Jeez, did I smack it that hard? I hadn’t; he had some pretty bad-ass welts on his arms.
So yeah, Mr. Jelly-belly or whatever your name was, if my friends jumped off a cliff I would do it. Hell, I’d do it again.
During swimming lessons, there was always the day when they would force you to jump off the high dive. I hated that day. Belly-flopping into water from 15 feet above it hurts. I preferred the 3 foot board where I could do front flips and cannonballs and stuff.
Unsurprisingly, cliff jumping is something that I’ve never had on my “to-do” list. So when a group of friends went to do just that, I intended on watching. But after about six of my friends leapt off a 20-25 foot cliff and seem to enjoy themselves doing it, I decided to prove my high school principal’s irrelevant chide as inept. I put on a life jacket and followed.
In that moment, I was reminded how much I enjoy the sensation of falling. When I was a kid, I used to jump out of trees all the time from as high as I could do it without hitting a branch underneath. As much as I hated the coldness of it, I liked being able to jump into fresh snow off of roofs. Of course there were haylofts and garage beams above dirt piles. I even launched myself off the roof of a shed once onto dry ground to impress a girl, although that time my dad saw and I got into trouble. While working third shift at a gas station in college, I learned that you could stack up the empty cardboard boxes after stocking their contents and belly-flop into them off the roof of the store with no pain whatsoever.
Anyway, in all the reminiscing I forgot to close my mouth and swallowed a mouthful of river. But the landing didn’t hurt and the life jacket popped me back to the surface where eventually I was able to breathe.
Another group in the area showed Carl and Jeremy where the forty and seventy foot jumping cliffs were. Then one of them jumped off the seventy footer and lived, although I didn’t personally see it. We all went over and peeked over the edges of both, and they looked pretty damn high. Jake and I played the “I’ll do it if you do it” game with the forty foot jump, and after Jeremy survived, Jake went over, and so then I was stuck standing at the edge looking over the lip and thinking I don’t think I want to do this. I lifted one foot tentatively over the edge and my other foot followed somehow and I said, “oh shit” as I fell. But then I immediately relaxed, cupped my crotch with my hands and closed my mouth. I didn’t so much land as slow to a stop. That was a fun freaking jump.
We were late for our rafting trip, but we planned on coming back the next day. We rafted over a six foot waterfall then went to bed (to paraphrase drastically). The next morning, Jeremy wanted to show us a swimming hole before going back to the cliffs. When we got there, it was littered with officious vehicles and personnel. It turned out they were fishing out two bodies of people who had drowned trying to swim in a whirlpool beneath a waterfall about a quarter mile from where we intended to swim. That downer proved enough to prevent us from jumping over any other cliffs that weekend.
I was disappointed that I hadn’t done the seventy foot jump, even though the mere thought of it made my chest burn. So I organized a return trip last weekend.
In the interim, I realized that the best method for cliff jumping was not to stare over the edge but to instead get a running start so that there would be no time to think about the stupidity of it or change your mind. I also decided not to re-do any of the other jumps to avoid any potential disasters before the big one. Unfortunately Jake couldn’t make the trip, so it was down to Jeremy (whom I watched re-jump the other two cliffs), several witness, for whom I located a great spot to watch about a half hour before the leap, during which I had also pinpointed the well-worn runway off the 70 foot ledge, and I. As Jeremy and I walked up the cliff face, some rafters floating past in a bright yellow raft yelled up to ask if we were going to jump. We affirmed.
I intentionally didn’t bother to look over the edge. I walked to the back of the path off the cliff and ran. I didn’t actually jump; I just kept running until I wasn’t stepping on anything. For a moment the sensation was not unlike stepping down another step after you thought you were at the bottom. Next I thought, I actually did it. Check that; I’m actually doing it. I looked to see my watching friends but the yellow raft caught my eye instead. They had docked at the opposite shore just downstream. I seemed to stop mid-air to ponder them like a cartoon coyote. Then I thought, Oh yeah, I’m falling and looked down.
My advice for anybody interested in jumping off a seventy foot cliff is to never look down. The rest of me slipped effortlessly into the water, but my face smashed right into it. I gave myself a minor whip-lash and a bruised lower lip, but if I had jumped from higher I would have broken my neck.
Jeremy waited just long enough for me to float to the surface and yell “Don’t do it!” to jump after me. He hit the water LOUD, and I thought, Jeez, did I smack it that hard? I hadn’t; he had some pretty bad-ass welts on his arms.
So yeah, Mr. Jelly-belly or whatever your name was, if my friends jumped off a cliff I would do it. Hell, I’d do it again.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Peanut Butter Sandwich
Not long ago somebody asked, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” I shrugged and blurted out the first thing to pop into my head, “I stabbed a peanut butter sandwich multiple times with a butter knife once.” That answer likely popped into my head because it was a big lesson about myself that I learned early. A lot of shit pisses me off, but I have an inner voice that habitually asks, “Is this worth killing a sandwich over?” Sometimes it is; most times it isn’t. I’ve actually asked it out loud on occasion, but of course I’m met with blank stares that are probably not worth satiating.
I must have been around eight. Mom made me a peanut butter sandwich. (I didn’t like jelly when I was a kid. Come to think of it, I still don't like grape jelly.) It must not have been on a plate, because there would be blunt knife scars in the countertop reminding me of the deed for the rest of the time we lived in that house. My mom asked me a question. I remember the question as “How was school today?” but that begs the question of why I would be eating a peanut butter sandwich after school. We always ate home-cooked suppers (as they call them in Iowa) together as a family at the dinner table after dad got home from work. I would have only been eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. Unless… maybe that’s what I was pissed about. No, it seems that we’d either had a half-day at school or it was Saturday and the question was, “How was school yesterday?”
“Fine,” I muttered. My mom was skeptical. “It doesn’t sound like it was fine.” To this day, perhaps my biggest pet peeve is when I say something honestly and then someone either challenges me or tries to make me change my answer. I’ve already given my answer to your question; what the hell else can you possibly want from me? “Are you sure?” “It doesn’t sound like you’re sorry.” “Wouldn’t you rather…?” “Don’t you mean…?” “I was hoping you’d say….” Etc. If you don’t want my opinion, don’t talk to me.
Anyway, my mom kept pestering me about my day, insinuating something must have been wrong with it. I tried to remember something bad just to have something to tell her, but couldn’t. I think I stabbed the sandwich just to shut her up. Au contraire; I was sent to my room “to think about what I had done.” I thought, “Well, that was weird. Now she really thinks I had a bad day.” Then I probably played G.I. Joe or something.
I must have been around eight. Mom made me a peanut butter sandwich. (I didn’t like jelly when I was a kid. Come to think of it, I still don't like grape jelly.) It must not have been on a plate, because there would be blunt knife scars in the countertop reminding me of the deed for the rest of the time we lived in that house. My mom asked me a question. I remember the question as “How was school today?” but that begs the question of why I would be eating a peanut butter sandwich after school. We always ate home-cooked suppers (as they call them in Iowa) together as a family at the dinner table after dad got home from work. I would have only been eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. Unless… maybe that’s what I was pissed about. No, it seems that we’d either had a half-day at school or it was Saturday and the question was, “How was school yesterday?”
“Fine,” I muttered. My mom was skeptical. “It doesn’t sound like it was fine.” To this day, perhaps my biggest pet peeve is when I say something honestly and then someone either challenges me or tries to make me change my answer. I’ve already given my answer to your question; what the hell else can you possibly want from me? “Are you sure?” “It doesn’t sound like you’re sorry.” “Wouldn’t you rather…?” “Don’t you mean…?” “I was hoping you’d say….” Etc. If you don’t want my opinion, don’t talk to me.
Anyway, my mom kept pestering me about my day, insinuating something must have been wrong with it. I tried to remember something bad just to have something to tell her, but couldn’t. I think I stabbed the sandwich just to shut her up. Au contraire; I was sent to my room “to think about what I had done.” I thought, “Well, that was weird. Now she really thinks I had a bad day.” Then I probably played G.I. Joe or something.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Quotes
Both of the following statements were made in a recent conversation, but I only said one of them. Can you guess which?
1) Relationships are the one thing you either follow through with or you don’t and it’s shitty either way.
2) There’s a certain arrogance in saying this, but if people don’t get how brilliant I am they are stupid.
1) Relationships are the one thing you either follow through with or you don’t and it’s shitty either way.
2) There’s a certain arrogance in saying this, but if people don’t get how brilliant I am they are stupid.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)