NBA Finals: Heat @ Mavs, Game 1: fUGLY

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:00:02:00 06/09/2006)  In case anybody was making a big deal about the other day being 6/6/6, today is 696, which, upside down or turned around is still "The Nasty" anyway you look at it.  So people should go find some strange that will actually go down on you and you on them so you can make this dream be"come" a reality.  But I digress.

I have an online gambling (problem) account.  (It's not a problem because I play straight wagers and win more than 50% of the time when I'm straight wagering, not parlaying).  So, I'm thinking, Mavs, no defense, lots of offense, so I take the over.  I like the Heat as I've lived in South Florida since the first Bush election and I'm thinking this will be high scoring walk in the park type music worth taking the "over" and worth watching and gambling a measly sum.

The over was not to be had boyz in the hood.  It was not only not to be had but it was not even in the cards.  I watched the end of the game thinking that the Heat might start to foul or maybe get it to overtime but NOOOOOO.  They scored 31 in the first quarter and were ahead by eight or six but they could only muster 13 points in the whole second quarter and that wasn't even their worst quarter. fUGLY.  And the Mavs weren't much better.   Both teams would've played better blindfolded.  The over/under was an appealing 194.5 (I usually take the over whenever the MAVS play and get it) but the combined score was 170 points!!!  The next game o/u better be around 180 or I don't know ladies and gentlemen.

Speaking of over/unders, I noticed every major league baseball game listed (I haven't bet since March Madness) has an over under of 9 or 10.  I studied that for a sec thinking, golly-gilly-willikers that sounds mighty high, but then every baseball score there for a while that came rolling across the top ticker looked like the games were 15-14.  That's as much as a good Cleveland Browns vs Green Bay Packers game in the dead of mid-Autumn.  Maybe those pitchers aren't on Steroids.

Speaking of Steroids, Shaq completely gave Nowitzki a concussion in the first quarter and that was my first sign that the game was going to be low scoring.  One team needs to push the other to score points and the catalyst between these two needs to be the Mavs quick pace and Nowitzki draining and dishing and he was 1/7 in the first half and only really recovered for his daze long enough to drain a pair of decisive 3s in the late 3rd.  He was a presence but Shaq rendered him pretty senseless for most of the game.  He was probably feeling about the same as he did when he and Nash were pictured in that fabled drunken picture when they both looked completely rocked and stoned to the bone.  That Shaq forearm shiver would've made lesser men dead.

Bring out Your Dead

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:13:58:00:05/28/2006) Pictured above is the classic scene from the horror show known in Florida last year as Wilma Aftermath parts 1-7. This is scene a local boy wears his sweatshirt and survivor jeans as he pushes his maroon PT Cruiser to one of the only functioning gas stations for miles and miles. No one was working, everybody just stood on queue from dawn till dusk (until curfew) to get gas. Literally.

There were a few like me who would drive an hour and a half north to find civilization, working cell-phone towers, and starbucks internet cafes.

Amazing how there wasn't a hurricane to hit Palm Beach County for nearly a century and everybody took it as their annual right of slippage that because the gulfstream waters come so close to shore here that for some reason it acted as a facilitator of movement either north or south. And now how the worm has turned and now packs an Tomahawk Missiles. The Americans I know here all seem to want to gear up for Scud Patrol and the hurricanes are our now-annual event to brace for. I for one am trying to be somewhat good so that the Almighty may grant passage of my newly purchased screen-enclosed pool home.

Does that look fun (above)?

Good Morning, Good Afternoon, and Good Night

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 22:02:09:05/13/2006) Under dim light the smoke of frotuss billows weak and leary. Here I sit to write and to love the world, nearly. But clearly, I'm early like the burly Scottish bagpipes-aphonist who walks mean and nasty in skirt. His soul is hurt. Like me, he drinks and blurts. And like me again he never passes up the chance to flirt. I will circumnavigate city blocks for my rocks listening to the radio satellite waves as I misbehave just for a whiff while I ponder the sportstalk on the radio; the whines of the jock-sniffs.

Why early? It's only an excuse for not being famous or rich. Bitch.

For the price of a cup of tea

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:23:45:00:05/06/2006) Belle & Sebastion kicked me in the head with the song title above. Just a recommendation. I enjoyed the quick guitar reggae riffs, the falsetto, the vocal harmonization. A toned down, less masculine version of The Specials, so far, I could surmise, but more in the vein of Travis; English and poppy and fun. Great for cruising in your car through vistas gazing.

It's Saturday and if you're still awake at 11:30ish eastern that means more oft tired than not Saturday evening comedy show is on, Saturday Night Live. Yeah, that one. So, I'm going to go watch and see if Hanks can't make it funny.

Before I get too Drunk

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 20:31:23:05/05/2006) Bonjourno potsmokers and potstickers. Deal? Or no Deal? That show is certainly nice to look at if you like Boobies. Watching Howie Mandel gives me an irresistable urge to stick a rubber glove over my head and inflate it using my nostrills.

Looks like my buddy Steely has started a'bloggin and I read it and it is good it's called pickandroll.typepad.com. He alludes to some funny things about jackasses, basketball and fucking. No, just kidding about the fucking. That's what the rest of the internet is for. Pretty amazing how little news there is being reported but you could print out a stack of pages that could reach beyond Uranus on a daily basis of fresh internet porn... shhh... I can hear Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World" on the pschyzoid radio station that plays about the first four words of every song I've ever heard.

I'm watching my 1 year old son orbit about the kitchen and living room, wobbly on his two legs.

Fake Plastic...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 21:49:51:04/21/2006) Guten Morgen Frotifyers. Actually, if you are having a "good morning" you have drunk too much and are in need of a good puff on a log of frotuss. If you're lucky you found a fembot like the one pictured above to help you ease your existence. If you're a woman who looks anywhere near the above pictured femme fatale, well, then you're having more difficulty sifting through your willing participants than what is true if you're a man. We won't contemplate on such issues here. That's for a blog for people who don't frotify. The essence of this sight is Frotuss and Feeling. Feeling Human and Not Human and all those polarities betwixt that make you feel ill and happy.

I get happy when I get a chance to commune with you humble reader of frotific scripture. I am but a scribe elected by the electricity of the heavenly ONE. We can call it The Light. Scientifically speaking this is an accurate assessment of the driving heavenly force that binds us, guides us and certainly at times blinds us. In 6th grade biology we learn about "photosynthesis" and then learn that whatever we eat is photosynthetically enhanced unless it's a fungus but there's little nutritional value there unless you're talking about surgically restructuring your own brain with a swingset and the moonlight and the fog and some guy everybody calls Moses or Jimmy who speaks in tongues then disappears and never really existed. Maybe he plays drums.

Shakespeare was undoudtedly guided by such random force and it's sublimility.

Random Thoughts:

Tonight I was listening to Michael Penn: No Myth and Terrence Trent D'Arby: Sign Your Name Across My Heart (he also was well known for Wishing Well).

Earlier on, with my son, we danced to many a Bob Dylan classic, like the 9 minute version of Hurricane. Boy did I sweat my ass off. Leapard Skin Pill-Box Hat. It's all right ma, I'm only bleedin. John Wesley Harding. Tangled Up in Blue. Like a Rolling Stone. Quinn the Eskimo. Don't think twice it's all right.... He screeched with such joy. Boy, it's great to be a dad. Everybody should give it a shot.

Nothing is more perfect than the bottle of Scotch upon the Bar (my own Bar) that I forgot and didn't notice was there.

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 21:49:45:04/20/2006) Happy 4:20 Earth Day Frotifiers. I've been telling people that I've been smoking weed all day. I think I'm almost ready for it actually. I've gone through an intense last 5 years where I've gone from absolute nothing to almost something. I'm no Donald Trump but I don't sweat while I sleep anymore worrying about those things that keep you up all night.

But when I saw the scotch I got an erection the size of a statue of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted to ejaculate, but I honestly hadn't experienced an actual erection and it's difficult to skip that friction and hardness part, but honestly, since I'm being honest I think that I could return to those carefree days of frotuss and irresponsibility because at some point I've gotten a lot of shit covered. It might go with every now and then waking up in the morning and having a happy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have a son. A wife, who right now is elbow deep in two stacks of catalogues and I've got this glass of golden scotch on the rocks that's licking my brain like some happy whore. Make that two dirty hookers. Why not.

We Don't Care What Happens

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:22:29:56:03/31/2006) I got drunk and I fell down.

Well. At least not yet. But I'm looking forward to that happening for some reason. It must be Friday in the year 2006. Many years from now, I'm going to be excited to get drunk and stay alive. Many years from then, my kids will be arguing about whether or not to keep me on life-support. If they're referring back to this, none of them are getting shit and they're going to have to remove my brain from my body and insert it into somebody else who looks just like me at age 30- but had a weak brain- and sign all my money back over to me "as well" or they won't end up me obtaining new bodies for them. Punkasses!!

As far as the world and frotuss and the orbit of things goes, I'm sick of the news entirely. So slanted and political. Put me in the "who cares" category because they're the same. The news, the parties, the bullshit. If one says "x" THE OTHER SAYS "y" and so it goes. Just say the opposite, but doing, seriously doing is for people who actually have jobs. That's the rest of us and we should all just take over and install computers. It would eliminate national debt immediately, poverty gone. My idea is to create plantations for the poor to come and live on and work moderately for food and shelter. Just an international option for them. Drug tests would be mandatory, but if they failed, they would just have to face counseling for their problem. No arrests or loss of food or shelter. What's wrong with that?

No Depression

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:23:25:54:03/28/2006) Early in the mornin. Sometimes late at night. Sometimes I get the feeling everything's alright... When you're by my side......

This album or this band or these bands (Son Volt/Wilco) comes highly recommended from Frotuss.com.

Many other good songs too.

Track listing

1. "Graveyard Shift" (Jay Farrar / Jeff Tweedy / Mike Heidorn)
2. "That Year" (Farrar / Tweedy)
3. "Before I Break" (???)
4. "No Depression" (A.P. Carter)
5. "Factory Belt" (Farrar / Tweedy / Heidorn)
6. "Whiskey Bottle" (Farrar / Tweedy / Heidorn)
7. "Outdone" (Farrar / Tweedy)
8. "Train" (Tweedy)
9. "Life Worth Livin'" (Farrar / Tweedy / Heidorn)
10. "Flatness" (Tweedy)
11. "So Called Friend" (Farrar)
12. "Screen Door" (Farrar / Tweedy / Heidorn)
13. "John Hardy" (traditional / Leadbelly)

The Remembrance of Today is the Sad Feeling of Tomorrow

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:22:12:45:03/25/2006) Certainly on this day in Rasta history Marley who was half-european half-african burned some frotuss. Let there be little doubt of that. What year is probably not important nor was anybody that I know sitting around taking notes but he did have that many great lines in his songs including the one above from "African Herbsman".

Just remember that shit.

NFL FANS: GAY MICHAEL IRVIN/TO?

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires:14:40:00:03/20/2006) And we thought all the NFL was very hetero. Now we find out that there was more to TO and Michael Irvin's love affair than a little crack. The picture above seems to indicate otherwise.

It could've been me, It could've been me...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 09:26:57:03/18/2006) Like Humans always do... My, curiosity and honesty has left me in a tough spot with regard to jobs but with regard to my websurfing I've never been in better shape since I discovered FindADeath.com. I must say that I'm fascinated by looking at things that could've been the last thing that a guy like, say, John Belushi saw for the last time in his life. I never knew that DeNiro and Robin Williams stopped in to hang out with him ON THE NIGHT that he died (seperate from one another) but both split because his scene was just toooooo fucked up. And we're talking about the 80s here. Everybody in Hollywood was on coke. But injecting it John? Injecting?

That site got me interested and searching and I actually saw River Phoenix in his caskett and that was truly strange. What a crazy family. Anyway, people chime in who knew the person or know more information so the site is always growing. There is another one, too, that elaborates more on the stories here: John Belushi dies at the Chateau Marmont. It's all some crazy stuff, but since it's not football season, you might as well get freaked out by weird shit. If you're puffing frotuss right now, you might be in heaven.

Enjoy.

Touchin fists with the evil empire...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 21:42:34:03/15/2006) "Beware the Ides of March Ceasar."
"Ah, fuck the ides of March. Nobody needs fortunes told anymore. The trainer of insects is crouched on his knees, frantically looking for runaway fleas. The lion tamer's whip doesn't crack anymore. The bears, they don't bite and the tigers don't roar."

Not enough rose colored glass out there these days. A perfectly contented cynical world being happy with its own shortcomings. What a sad world really. I was curious to know if there was anything good going on. So much death being dealt around to players they always show losing on the news and in the newspapers.

Where is the impetus to push us all on out into knew directions? The man in the creek who caught a fish. The little girl who learned to tie her shoe. I hate feeling alone in all of this pro-humanity talk but Frotuss has always been a home of such hope. You've hung out with your friends before and wondered these things. This is nothing new.

I was essentially fired the other day and I can't recall being happier. See. Things like this happen and as the Catholics that taught me back in my years before what could have been seminary school; we are punished but then we are rewarded. Many solo-people bombers feel it is necessary to wreck there mortal, earthly emmissary just for sex but if they knew anything at all about sex they may stop and recognize that having a few virgins in heaven for the rest of eternity isn't going to solve all their problems. Sluts might be a better idea anyway, but we digress laughingly....

Moonshiner: Uncle Tupelo

I've been a moonshiner
for seventeen long years
and I spent all my money
on whiskey and beer
and I go to some hollow
and set up my still
if whiskey don't kill me
Lord, I don't know what will

and I go to some barroom
to drink with my friends
where the women they can't follow
to see what I spend
God bless them pretty women
I wish they was mine
with breath as sweet as
the dew on the vine

let me eat when I'm hungry
let me drink when I'm dry
two dollars when I'm hard up
religion when I die
the whole world is a bottle
and life is but a dram
when the bottle gets empty
Lord, it sure ain't worth a damn

(the lyrics do nothing for timing or the beauty of this tune)

MonkeyLinx:

Don't play tetherball with anyone over 5' 5".

I was Feeling insane one day and...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 02:18:26: 03/09/2006) It was more of just a passing thought but I knew that my Blackberry was good for something aside from connecting to my yahoo account to hassle people there. I could take wonderful and brilliant notes in it.

Since I'm a fraud and no longer partake in the frotuss my epiphanies strike far less often than was once the case back in the glory days of the original unpublished Gunter Chronicles. My epiphanies strike usually after a long workout at the gym or the driving range or when I'm thinking about committing mass murder. None of this happens very often but thank goodness for my Blackberry because I can take down notes of what it is that I'd like to say some day. The other day I was reading through my notes and two of my titles were "T-Shirt idea" and "Jokes". One was "Weed all about it" and the other was "I do my own stunts" and the second actually made me laugh out loud to myself. I'm pretty sure that was my one good idea for 2005. If you want a shirt or something that says what the above shirt says click the link as I've recreated frotuss.com's cafe-press store to the new moniker/

A Drunkard's Dream if I ever did see one...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 23:42:20: 2/24/2006) If you like guns and violence and futuristic fucked up shit, well, you've been ignored. Equilibrium will rock the fucking shit out of you. It's come to my attention recently that not everyone is familiar with my brother from another mother. Christian. Not my bro Christian from Switzerland, but my bro from Wales, Christian Bale. Dude rocks. He's our modern day Deniro. For our generation. The Machinist will also rock you as well as American Psycho, which has a special place in my heart- the move, certainly not the book. The book is petrifying.

Sorry for all these personal thoughts but what is Frotuss if it is not personal. That's the point isn't it?

You smoke a little frotuss with someone and you're friends for life. In fact, this is what Frotuss teaches us. You don't have to have smoked it with someone at all but you can pretty much lay it on down the line for someone and be honest with them and let them know what kind of real deal you are; how honest you are if you're a frotifyer. I've given up thousands and thousands by just being honest and looking out for my brother man this way. Heaven is much more important than the here and now and I do believe in heaven. You should too. On the other side of that coin you shouldn't just let every tom, dick and asshole who ever smelled of ratsasses walk all over you because they are cool enough to have frotified once or 40 gazillion times. Life is life and we're all real people and because somebody has a surfer accent doesn't exactly make them Jeff Spicoli so be ware. Real world rules apply and so does common sense regardless of triptovan levels... (Pause... ... Have you ever heard St. Stephen begin wailing after a long frotific pause... sounding so old... genuine... so 1972). (Wherever he goes the people all complain...Stephan would answer if he only knew how...)

Goin' for Brokeback: Dancing With the Stars

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 21:31:00: 02/23/2006) That career builder monk-e-mail has been fabulous fun. I'd advise you waste a good several hours pranking friends with it. When you're done doing that enjoy yourself by browsing other people's personal messages to others by just altering the numbers in your URL bar. Funny how everything now has that interestingly hilarious brokeback tone to it. Anything is better than dancing with the stars. That TV show wives and girlfriends are forcing many people to watch is ridiculous so thank goodness for laptops and Cisco's Linksys wireless routers because it makes the TV room tolerable for everyone except for wives who attempt to talk to their husbands.

Good money could be made if there was a drug that people could take that made it seem like we were actually paying attention to our spouses as they talk aimlessly, endlessly about those least favorite subjects. Granted, research should be helping out the less fortunate, but the dollar knows where the dollar flows and I know about 400 million people off the top of my head who'd pay money to just seem like we were paying attention.

What would we call it? "Nodalot" "

I'm Goin to Plano

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 21:50:57: 02/22/2006) It's called "Escalade" and it's written and read by The Gourds and it's on the above album. It must be recommended to all frotifiers as well as those who've merely walked by a crew of frotifiers wondering what the hell was just so damn cool anyway; just another way to figure it out. I wouldn't lie to you. "... touchin' fists... with the evil empire... you'll still be drivin' yo escalade........ meanwhile..."

Actually, the whole album is great. Lower 48 rocks right off the back. Twangy; just so you know. But it makes me want to go to Plano. Plano, Texas. Has a nice ring to it. Like there's no fucking way some terrorists are going to blow up your city and for 400k you could probably buy a mansion with a pasture. Betcha.

The Black Scuba Club Strikes Again! Ricky Williams and that old addictive substance: Frotuss

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 22:54:45: 02/19/2006) Zulu Puff and other members of the Black Scuba Assiociation, a group that routinely takes part in puffing the magic dragon has issued a statement today accepting rumors that it was them who influenced Ricky's decision to burn the frotuss once again.

"It was an unbelievable event," Zulu Puff said remorsefully. "Ricky had been on the bottom of the ocean, about 50 feet, (off the coast of Miami) wrestling playfully with a 15 foot stingray. Well, the stingray shocked him and my friend, Alpha Blondy (the Reggae Singer) and I had to swim with him to the surface. We could think of no other way to revive him than to take a giant hit off a spliff and mouth to mouth him with it. It was the only thing he'd respond to!"

After Ricky came back from near coma conditions he purchased several kilos of dutch grade pot and made the most of what decision had already been made for him. When reached for comment Ricky's website had no apparent comment at this time.

A Dissident is Here

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 07:51:58:02/18/2006) The waiting drove me mad. You're finally here and I'm a mess... Can't let you roam inside my head...

Ach, those were the days of a youthful waste of time. Does anybody remember the 90s? Glorious times of reckless abandonment stranded sometimes along cold highways. Cut up and half dead. Alone and at the beginning of finding something. Also at the end. We found out that there was nothing worth really finding after of course we panicked as the chart above us indicates, perhaps, one too many times.

Shakespeare's little jokes about the liver and the longer liver were not completely lost on Friar Lawrence and his cell. Alone, listless, breakfast table in an otherwise empty room... young girl... went temporaril3y insane. Now we are inane.

We used to not trust anyone over 30. Now it's 69 and you got to hide your love away.

Bonjour and frotuss!

Only the ridiculous survive...

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 22:55:49: 02/17/06) Who killed Saturday Night? Give me a squeeze. I was just looking as she opened the door. I just said, "Oh yeah" as DJs were spinning from morning to night. I said, "let's hold on," till we get who killed, "Saturday Night."

Big tits on the screen. She said, "Hold on, we gotta keep on looking.... Find out... Find out... Find out... Find out... Find out... Who killed Saturday Night..."

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh... Just okay... Another stolen idea from Earl Zinger, the British DJ... But his song, "Song 2wo" might be the best song of all time, this, I swear to Jehova. Without it, I wouldn't be the german-english-polish american/swede I am to this day. My head would probably be blammed between two metaphorical thunder thighs the size of yellow 1970s toilets from my grandparent's guest house- not worth mentioning.

It's all unintentional. Like drugs. I'm not on them, but I'd try them one time, or until 12 the next day but not the rest of my life because it is the rest of my life... like a buddy waking me up asking me if I'm done. Yeah, I'm done....

And the bridges go north to south, and the music goes east to west....

Frotific Delight

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 02/07/2006: 23:01:00) The news is oppressive. Everywhere you look it's always the negative that's getting pointed out. Perhaps it's necessary to know that a dead man was found underneath his garbage bags and some other people up the road got killed in a shoot out with a mad man. Maybe a soundbyte about some radicals getting bent out of shape because of a cartoon would be okay.

Let's just hope that people are still rolling up big doobers and watching the superbowl; that college kids and dropouts alike are standing on greasy, stale ottomans doing that bong hit from eight feet in the air while their best friend, at least for the next few hours, helps give them a light. That's what living is about.

Breath the air. Stick your head out in the sunshine. Flirt with people that you should not flirt with. Bend the rules within reason. Let's hope people are still doing that stuff because the news will get you downright oppressed. Depressed right on your couch.

Maybe it has to do with technology. The great unhinging force has actually had quite the opposite effect. At every stoplight I read something on my blackberry because it's not enough to enjoy the sunshine and wonder if that hot milfy looking babe in the car behind me is actually as good looking as I'd like her to be. The sunshine beeds down on me at 8am. My sunglasses on and my satellite radio spewing news television signals at me. The information is constant. I ignore it all and hear it all at the same time.

My mind is frozen in fear and I'm scared about making money and about the Iranians launching nuclear bombs on my head and Osama bin Laden cutting off my family's heads. Yet somehow I manage an erection that has something to do with something very vague which is just a passing thought. I take it all in and ignore it at the same time. It's ridiculous and everywhere. People on the roads are all racing to beat me around the slower traffic that's only speeding by ten mph.

"Shit." Another red light.

Naked Dinner

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 02/04/2006: 08:58:25) Amazing Grace, How sweet it is that in all the universe there is only one planet that contains intelligent life and there is one God that lights the path and everything is beautiful. Everthing except for cancer, ignorance, stupidity, AIDS, bird flu, SARS, Nuclear Weapons and surely quite a number of other things.

The rampage we are on is terrible. The nuclear age is upon us. The news is tearing us apart. Everyday. Life is like that email that arrives and it is a mix of jumbled up words. You keep hoping that it's Penolope Cruz and she is secretly stalking you and in love with you. If you are a woman, well, then you are probably scared to death, but men; men are twisted.

Jumbled. Jargon. Eloquent.

But in our minds each one of us is a God. Right. Pure. Capable of Evil. Clean. Confused. Masturbatory. In our minds we are leading the anthem. We are lead singing for Coldplay (what kind of band name is that?). We are able to put down anything and anybody because it puts us above them in our minds. If I were as messianic as I used to be I'd say that perhaps it was putting us further and further below the ones we put down. (But I'm not as much so much anymore.)

I used to be insanely focused on the minutia and the tentacles of what I could see as a striking hand of God, but my mind or He played me mildly. I saw things you would not and could not believe. Inarguable only to me.

Imagine being part of a conspiracy. Imagine being programmed to perform your task in your sleep every night. Imagine updating that software every night so that you could keep on killing yourself slowly by listening to the melodies of the news. Slowly hating yourself into oblivion. The world keeps growing and you keep getting smaller and smaller. You just drift off to nothingness and nobody-ness.

Some days it is like the world is sticking its tongue out at you. Telling you to lie still and die. Don't you just hate that?

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 01/31/2006: 21:45:09) The following was excerpted from Police Reports in the Akron Beacon Journal. This jerkoff used to be the manager of the country club where I parked cars for several years in college and then he left and opened a restaurant where I parked cars until one night he pissed me off because I didn't "run" to help him do some jackassish bullshit. I hung my valet jacket up and walked out because the guy was short and thought a little too highly of himself for my liking. I had three jobs and went to school full time, drank a lot, frotified a lot and had some girlfriends. Those were desperate times.

Robert LeFever, 49, of Blackstone Avenue was charged Jan. 13 with using criminal tools, complicity to trafficking in methamphetamines and manufacturing drugs. LeFever's house was subject to a search warrant. Reports said police found tools used to manufacture meth.

This is Not Real Man

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 22:22:22: 01/24/2006) Adjusting to modern chaos has its difficulties so if you must know that's not really Jack Nicholson's spliff. It's a fake one but don't doubt the idea of its veracity. Once again, this brings us back to Michael Jackson. He's dressing up like a woman in Dubai or so the hot girl named Claudia says on the news. Who knows how old Claudia is but she looks even better than Vanna probably does for her age. And we all know why Michael likes living in Dubai. It has absolutely nothing to do with the dubious laws about feeding weirdly gay celebrities from America virgin 12 year old boys from factories.

And that's not enough to simply acknowledge the news. Nothing ever good really goes on there. We wouldn't watch if it did. Claudia's lips just flap with the breeze and we watch those glistening happy things and mute the TV when the news becomes to dull or depressing. Channel 29 rocks. But its all not completely real. The only thing real right now are your eyes and what they perceive; the temperature of where you are; the quality of the air you're breathing. Nothing to be scared about because you're in control. The fear that the news is spreading is contagious. Have a few drinks and watch for five minutes but no more because if you keep watching long enough you may never exit your living room.

"Don't go outside, it's dangerous."

"Don't stay inside, it's dangerous."

Why such danger? Well, if you use a slight amount of insight, you realize that your biggest fear should be stupidity.

Don't run a generator indoors. The carbon monoxide will kill you.

Don't stick your penis into the electrical outlet because that could kill you.

Keep your head above the water while taking a bath because if you don't you might just die.

Just a few simple rules, really, but the news is mesmerizing and it doesn't let you go. The lips of Claudia wrap right around your neck and freeze you in fear until your head explodes. You'd like to explode, too, but it's all not real. Your neck aches and you wonder if there's any real quality porn on the web that's completely real and free, but, shit man, come on. Nothing's real.

In fact, the Egyptions had this real cool concept that allows you to really part with your own flesh if you must with great ease. It's in their translated Book of the Dead and I picture it like some kite. In a land far above this one. The idea is that your body is on earth but your "Ka" or "Soul" is actually some place else. This material that is matter and mass and mathematical, so we think, is here, planted on the green, mountainous earth. Sometimes, when I'm dreaming, I think that the real me is on the other side and that this one is here learning lessons. Sometimes I think perhaps I'm really somewhere else in a state of incubation dreaming this. There's no real way all of this madness actually exists.

Mars Attacks?

(Associated Frotuss Press Wires: 23:11:55:01/24/2006) You may remember a time when you coveted Michael Jackson and his crazy jackets but surely you've forgotten all that by now and if you haven't, thank goodness fo r the internet because after a couple of more decades perhaps you'll discover your very own style that is replete with pornograffiti, death threats, miniature Santa Clauses and tiny devils. Nothing could be finer than a Santa Clause pierced vagina.

My heroes have always caused me great pain. It's sad but my friends from the 90s will never get over my obsessions with the lifestyles of Jim Morrison and Syd Barrett and anybody else who ever came within 5 feet of a hit of acid. Neither will I, but I worry more about them. I'm fine now. Nothing a few long trips to an honest to goodness nuthouse won't cure. Just witness true psychotic people a couple times and you'll never wish that on yourself again. Morrison and Barrett be damned (Barrett actually is, if I'm not mistaken).

The tortures of fame are not worth it. What with the evil demon that is the world wide web these days who needs to confront their own mortality like James Bond everyday anymore anway. If it is all done for sex then we are sorely, and I do mean sorely, misguided because, well we al know how over rated that is after about fifteen minutes no matter.