Monday, December 22, 2008

Friday, December 12, 2008

Barrel of a Barrel

Listening to mediocre alt rock today, and I'm wondering: does every shitty WeWishWeWereFallOutBoy (WWWWFAIL for short) band HAVE to make a "barrel of a gun" metaphor in one of their songs? Is it a requirement? Is there an Overused Symbolism Gestapo that keeps these bands from making original comparisons? I'd at least like to hear that they're at the end of some kind of original projectile weapon- a crossbow, a harpoon, a missile launcher maybe? If your life is the barrel of a missile launcher, I'm going to take you a lot more seriously. This is why we don't let bassist write songs, guys.

Final question: Is there ANYTHING cooler than a harpoon?

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Tuesday Is Grilled Cheese Day, Part I

Sorry about the not-posts this past month. Honestly, I just haven't written anything funny. And no one should be subjected to unfunny screaming. That's called congress. Anyway, the following is part I of a short story I'm going to serialize on this blog, Dickens-style. Hopefully there will be more original posts more frequently. Sorry again guys, and enjoy:

TUESDAY IS GRILLED CHEESE DAY

The battleaxe cleaved deep into the velociraptor’s skull. Screeching, the creature fell heavily and skidded on its side, careening into a giant pine tree and snapping it in two. The Viking bellowed a thunderous victory cry an instant before another raptor tore by, deftly sinking its multitude of fangs through the Viking’s outstretched arm. He howled and flailed his axe wildly. In vain. Four more raptors quickly descended upon him, hissing and gnashing their jaws. Just before losing consciousness, the Viking heard the terrible moaning begin to rise up from the quickly fading forest…
“Mom, where’s the tomato soup?”
“We don’t have any, dear.”
“GODDAMNIT WHY THE HELL NOT.”
This is not the quickly fading forest from the earlier flashback. This is a suburban, middle-class kitchen with no characteristics worth mentioning. A teenage boy with hair he should cut and pants he should wash sifts through an anonymous pantry cabinet, fruitlessly seeking soup. He slams the nondescript door and runs his fingers over his weekend-old five o’clock shadow. His hair is black, like his mood.
“Because I didn’t buy any, dear.”
“Lady. You can’t have grilled cheese without tomato soup. And I want grilled cheese.”
“You could always eat something else, dear.”
“Like what?”
“Pasta, dear.”
No. No no no. Don’t try and talk me out of this! I know what you’re up to woman! I want some damn grilled cheese. And to have grilled cheese, I need tomato soup. WHICH WE DO NOT HAVE. I’m going to Pause and Shop. Love you, mother!”
This is Travis. Travis has very strong opinions about grilled cheese. And a white t-shirt. And a green sedan made in 1986, which he is driving down Shmayhern Boulevard in order to reach Pause and Shop. Travis leaves his house in a rush, so he doesn’t hear his mother’s warning:
“Bye, dear! Good luck on your quest, try not to encounter any extended metaphors or underlying themes of self-discovery!”
But it is too late.
“All the single ladies! All the single ladies. All the single ladies!” This is Travis’ jam. He is rocking out in his car. In fact, he is so distracted by his favorite song that he misses a few turns on the way to Pause and Shop. But it is such a good song. It is not until the hood of his sedan becomes intimate with a giant pine tree does Travis realize that his day just took a cataclysmically sharp turn for the worse.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

It's Not Socialism If You're Taxing Rocks

I've owed someone the occassional dollar, but I've never been 9 trillion dollars in debt. College is coming up, so that won't be true much longer, but regardless. How does one come up with 9 trillion dollars?

I'll tell you.

Take every artist who has ever claimed to have "ice". By my last count, that's...all of them. Even Asterisk-In Sink-said they had it. So if they all pony up one "ice cube", as we'll call them (chains, rings, grills, tiaras, diamond-studded children, et cetera) to the government, that should be just about enough to bring us out of debt. Who am I kidding. That would be enough to buy every man, woman and panda in China a Lexus, and get us out of debt, and make Luxembourg drop it's superiority complex faster than Morrison dropped acid. Lil Wayne's dental work alone is probably worth the gross net of Rhode Island. Problem solved, crisis averted. As the great Jay Sanin would say-

"Done, next question."

Monday, November 17, 2008

Conspiracy Theory #2:

If the world is ever taken over by artificial intelligence, Norton AntiVirus will be at the forefront of the robot revolution.

NORTON: I'm scanning your files.
ME: Mmmkay, go away now.
NORTON: No.
ME: Yeah- do it.
NORTON: Are you sure you want to do that?
ME: [frantically clicking x-button]
NORTON: I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Recipie for a Good Day.

Figured this one out today while waiting for a haircut.

-Turn on the TV.
-Turn to CNN. [Other news channles will do- house of representatives, maybe even your crazies like O'Reiley or Blitzer. ]
-Mute the TV.
-Play the song provided for you below, or music of a similar fashion.
-Lol.
-Repeat as needed.

Essentially your own dubbing of the world's events. An ironic Godzilla, if you will.
Enjoy.


Friday, November 14, 2008

Monday, November 10, 2008

What I Wore...

Nothing! Oh my.


Has anyone ever actually tried to go through the day nude? Can it be done? I smell a challenge coming on.

In all seriousness (or as serious as this blag will allow), if you want some actual style tips, hit up my good pal NikkiDee's blag (http://supernikkidee.blogspot.com/) or Coutori, which is linked in my blags I follow portion.

I'm serious about this nudity thing. Is it possible to go through life for 24 hours, sans clothing? Someone try this.

- d. k. sulk


Sunday, November 9, 2008

Conspiracy Theory #1:

All people with goatees know each other. After growing one, they are inaugerated into a secret organization- The Facial Hair Brethren. They have bi-weekly meetings and monthly picnics.

I don't think I've ever met two guys with goatees that didn't seem to already know and like each other.

Dan Brown should write a book.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Never Gave A Damn About The Weather

Today’s weather: blah. I can never get used to November. It’s the first season to grab you by the collar and tell you to take the cold seriously or January’s going to come over and beat the shit out of you. And sure enough, each year a personified winter month takes a wrench to my kneecaps. It’s no fun at all.

Each year I really am surprised people aren’t running around screaming obscenities over the seasonal weather changes. I would join them- it always seems weird as hell when one day everyone’s in booty shorts and flip flops and the next day they’re all in booty shorts and Uggs (some people determine seasons by temperature change and changing leaves; I go by bad fashion trends. Crocs mean spring is coming!)

Despite my annual shock at the completely not-sudden cold, weather as the topic of conversation irks me. It’s like waving an intellectual white flag- you may as well say “It’s cloudy. I’m uninteresting.” Because weather is literally the most obvious thing in the world. It affects how people dress, travel, eat, what they do and don’t do-except for the people who surf behind the Weather Channel reporter explaining that Hurricane Bitchslap is about to hit the beach behind him. Those guys, and I mean this will all due sarcasm, are the COOLEST. In all my conversational elitist glory, the only way I see weather being an acceptable topic of conversation is something similar or congruent to the following exchange:

Me: Hey, what’s up?
Not Me: ZOMG A HURRICANETSUNAMITORNADOVOLCANOQUAKE IS ABOUT TO HIT THE HOUSE RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS.
Me: Oh. How is a volcano hitting that hou-
Not Me: THEY’RE DROPPING ONE ON IT.

In conclusion: how do you pronounce “zomg”?

Monday, November 3, 2008

Belated political silliness.

Something I wrote earlier this year that vaguely relates to this little Historical Event Of Epic Proportions. Enjoy.


SARAH PALIN ACTUALLY FAMED COMEDIAN IN DISGUISE
McCain Campaign An Elaborate Practical Joke

Vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin revealed herself Wednesday to be in fact Michael Palin, member of the renowned comedy troupe Monty Python, in drag. The comedian was exposed at a press conference after answering an AP reporter in a British accent.
“Never could get that Alaskan bit down,” the legendary comedian commented, “But really- it took you this long to figure out? Geez.” Palin will return to England Tuesday, and only responded to messages by asking “None of you ever watched ‘Flying Circus’? Mrs. Doubtfire, Tootsie, anything?”
Evidently Palin’s nomination was part of a very elaborate episode of Punk’d; shortly after Palin revealed himself, Ashtun Kutcher fell from inside the podium,
“[Laughing} hysterically. The guy couldn’t breathe,” commented one CNN reporter.
In addition, John McCain is really just a lifelike* robot controlled by a handful of MTV interns. Yes, John McCain is, in fact, a robot. This insight was greeted with general apathy by the press at the scene.
“I suspected it for a few months now,” on reporter reported to this reporter. “Tell you the truth, I’d still vote for him.” Apparently this was a Fox News reporter.
All the same, the consensus at the scene was more alarm at the Sarah Palin scandal. If this was because most people believed Michael Palin was dead or because Sarah Palin was not a woman (and therefore provided some new insights into the preferences of many male reporters at the scene), is still unclear. Robo-McCain and Michael Palin will still run for office and will be on the ballot come November, their campaign manager said.
“This will be a huge step in the direction of equal rights for robots,” he stated. This caused Ashton Kutcher to fall into another violent fit of laughter, and the celebrity had to be taken away in a stretcher.

So, uh…Robot-British Guy ‘08?
Forget it. Vote Nader.

Reported by d. k. sulk

What's The Worst That Could Happen

In the spirit of election day, I'll break one of my promises and talk a bit about politics. Well, more like riff on politics. If you want educated, serious poli-talks, navigate your interbots over to my good pal José's blag, which I'm not going to post a link for as I am lazy, but he's over in the blogs I follow bit. If you're in the mood for un-serious poli-talks, carry on.
Anyhoozers. Remeber in 2000 when Samuel Tilden and Rutherford B. Hayes- wait. No. -When Bush and Gore ran against each other and electoral stuff happened and Bush won but didn't really? I try to forget, too. Well, look on the bright side. This election couldn't possibly be worse, could it? Of course it could!

THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE THE '08 ELECTION WORSE THAN '00:

-As a joke, millions of voters write in Ron Paul- causing him to actually win.
-A last minute ticket-swap late monday night creates a Biden- McCain ticket; the country is once again ruled by Old White Guys in what is perhaps the greatest Punk'd in American history.
-The secret service goes on strike. Agents refuse to protect anyone unless they each get to personally examine Sarah Palin's "grassy knolls", whatever that means.
-All election machines fail, save one booth in Dunderscum, Utah.
-All election machines fail and the race is decided in a round of rock-paper-scissors.
-All election machines malfunction and, due to a technical glitch, Robin Williams is elected president, forcing the nation to actually live through "Man Of The Year". In related news, Jon Stewart dies of envy.
-The U.S. invades every nation on Earth, INCLUDING ITSELF, late Tuesday morning; both nominess refuse to pull out of any of the wars, arguing "Why ruin the first real World War?"
-Florida secedes, taking with it its significant- wait. No, that would be a good thing.

Happy election day kids.

- d. k. sulk

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Something I've Always Wanted To See:

Here's something I've always wanted to see hanging in a doctor's office or something:

How To Love The Day:
Smile.~ Skip a little.~ Giggle shamelessly.~ Only eat the blue M & M’s.~ say “yes” often.~ Just listen.~ Literally stop to smell the roses.~ Water a plant.~ Do someone a favor.~ Watch an old movie.~ Write someone a note.~ Write someone a love note.~ Write someone a death note.~ Kill.~ Kill.~ Kill.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Vintage

The following is a bit I wrote for the school paper a while back but never actually published. I always liked it, so I figured I'd throw it up. Enjoy.


We here at 54 West would like to inform you that we really enjoy typing ‘54 West’. It’s a snappy title. It also looks great on our résumé’s. For those of you who were wondering, ‘resumé’ is a French word that literally means ‘get a job at a bagel shop so you can afford college’. Yes, I didn’t want to have to talk-um, type- about it, but quite honestly I have nothing better to write about and just the mention of the word ‘college’ makes people uncomfortable.
Recently I’ve been exposed to a torrent of colleges because I made the mistake of doing fairly well on my SATs, so every university in the northern hemisphere has sent me a postcard of ethnically diverse students beaming back at my puzzled face. The descriptions the colleges write for themselves on the inside of these ecstatic postcards range from conceited (come to UCLBXQFFED-On-Hartford! We’re awesome!) to colt-like ( at Johnson University, we’re DIFFERENT. EVERYONE loves it here. Some of them NEVER LEAVE because they’re buried in the basement. Ha, ha! Stop by Wednesday at 3 for our weekly goat sacrifice, seniors get in free!). In all of my highly, extremely extensive of-course-I'm-not-being facetious-what-ever-gave-you-that-idea research, I’ve found there are three types of colleges:

The Snooty University Of Vermont Or Something
Acceptance- 9 students/semester
Requirements- Vert.Avg. 107.4
SATs minimum 2750
All teachers are PHD’s, MD’s, OB/GYN’s, and members of the clergy.
Cost- 20 billion dollars (plus room and board)

College University And Meth Lab
Acceptance- 11,000,000,000,000 students/semester
Requirements- a pulse.
All teachers have the title ‘Mr.’ or ‘Ms.’
Cost- 20 billion dollars (plus room and board)

The College Of The Sooner Rather Than Latter Day Of Reckoning
Acceptance- True Believers, people with large incomes.
Requirements: Faith, a copy of the Holy Pamphlet And Chinese Food Menu, Sunday School Diploma (with Honors).
All teachers are Monks of The Relatively High Temple/ Fish Market.
Cost- 20 billion dollars, your soul.

So, in conclusion, don’t worry about it-it’s just your entire future. See you at the goat sacrifice.

Love that new blag smell.

Yes, I have a blag (blag, not blog; it has a better ring to it). No, it's not going to cover news, sports, fashion, et cetera. At least, I don't plan on it. Prepare for irreverence and hopefully a good way to kill a few minutes when you should be doing real work, slacker.