Tuesday, May 24, 2005

scientology tool

I think that scientologists are fucking insane.

I enjoy making light of the fact that you have to pour millions into the organization in order to achieve higher levels of "understanding," but if you're poor, you're stuck with lawn work.

Tom Cruise is becoming increasingly bizarre, due in part with his brainwash re-programming.

As evidence:

"Tom Cruise has thanked scientology for helping him achieve things he thought were impossible.

The actor feels so empowered by the teachings of the religion that he has achieved dreams he thought were out of reach, including flying planes and producing movies, celebrity portal Femalefirst reported.

The actor told Britain's Premiere magazine: "Scientology is an applied religious philosophy. It gives tools to improve your conditions, tools I have learned in terms of literacy that allow me to fly planes, produce movies."

Flying planes and producing movies are a direct result of wealth, not the teachings of scientology. Ask the scientology members (slaves) who do not bring in millions of dollars (to the cult) how they like producing movies and flying planes when in actuality they're stuck doing lawn work at the Celebrity Center in North Hollywood, and handing out pamphlets on the Sunset Strip.

"My literacy level, IQ, is up. I know I can learn anything."

Tom Cruise is gay.


Could this guy get any more annoying?

Tom Cruise jumps for joy on a TV chat show as he tells of his love for Katie Holmes. Smitten Hollywood star Tom, 42, leapt from his seat and punched the air.

Amazed U.S. host Oprah Winfrey told him: “You’re gone!”

She added: “I’ve known Tom a long time and I’ve never seen him like this before — he’s gone.”

no,.. he's gay.

Tom tried to get Dawson’s Creek actress Katie, 26, to join him on stage but she ran away.

do you think that this guy has any friends? he seems like a lonely, confused, easily manipulated cult member.

The Sun (UK)


Wednesday, May 18, 2005

L'Via L'Viaquez

I picked up the 3 LP gatefold The Mars Volta: Frances the Mute last night. It was realeased on my 31st birthday, I'm just getting around to it now. The Mars Volta is one half of the defunct At The Drive In.

It's fucking crazy. holy shit!

The Mars Volta is like hard prog... I picked up "frances the mute" yesterday... it's wild. it's it's big and theatrical and meandering and never boring or white noise... some of it sounds like keyboard solos by YES... some of it sounds like ATDI... some of it sounds like fireside jams in Morocco... some of it sounds like hard RUSH.

it rocks.

They just played a two night stand at the Riv in Chicago. Reads good. Sold out, sold out.

I've finally figured out how to post music files. I've got a great one here from Frances the Mute,.. it's a 12 minute jam featuring john frusciante on guitars. It's spans the entire second side of the first record in my new 3 LP set. fuck yeah, fuckers!

L'Via L'Viaquez

I got the video right here.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

smiling at strangers

I've started a new movement!


And it's super positive. this is what it's all about: earlier today I downloaded some Beck: Guero remixes off of the inter-web. I downloaded like seven of them. seven more than the eight that I had yesterday. that's almost twice as many.

Problem is, I burned a disc of Beck: Guero re-mixes and live tracks yesterday. so I decided to burn a new disc with all of the new re-mixes and live tracks, and found that now I had two.

I stole a CD envelope from a designer's desk and wrote this message:


Hey you! This CD is for YOU!


My boredom is your fortune!
Please accept this CD as a gift.
If you don't like Beck, give this CD to someone who does.

And remember: Always be



I figured that it was cryptic and creepy enough with that message. but I also figured that whoever received it would find it mysteriously friendly.

Anyways, over my lunch hour I walked to a busy public square. I wanted it to be in a place where I'd be surrounded by people, but challenged myself to time it so that no one would actually see me set it down.

I took a seat and lit a smoke and waited. I waited two or three minutes and then I set the CD in a visible yet secure spot and walked away.

Wah-lah! A new movement! And it's super positive!

I command all followers of the SMILING AT STRANGERS movement to follow suit and leave an object of value in a public area with a similiar note.

You'll feel like you're doing something really stupid the entire time, and question why exactly you're doing it, but while you're doing it, you'll feel like you're getting away with something, and it'll give you a super lame rush.

And, who knows what the recipients of the object of value will think of the find... they may even figure it out and join the movement!


Thursday, May 05, 2005

The Decline of the American Empire

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the decline of the American empire. With the dollar losing value, all manufacturing jobs shipped overseas (and all goods imported from those countries), plus the Chinese buying up all of our debt and the rise of the Euro,.. we’re most likely headed towards becoming a service industry nation.

What’s that going to be like? It’s going to be AWESOME!

Think about it: In three or four generations everybody is going to be moving back to Europe… this little “democracy experiment” lasted an entire 300 years! People will discuss their land of origin… like New Yorkers will still talk up fucking New York like it’s the epicenter of all culture and intellectual thought (and the rest of us will still shutter in silent embarrassment during this three minute verbal stroke off).

Or, “my family came here from Mil-ay-wau-kay”. Or, “I’m from Delaware”.

With most of the educated white people gone back to Europe, the entire country will become exactly like Branson, Missouri or the Wisconsin Dells. There’ll be casinos and flashy lights and shiny brass and chrome everywhere!

Everywhere else will be a wasteland of white trash and gas stations resembling most of central Illinois…

The white trash that stay here will work for the casinos which will be owned by the native Americans. How cool is that? The Indians will get their entire nation back! And it only took like 800 years! America will be one large vacation destination – a total party nation! Fuck yes!

And the citizens will live in relative poverty while ruled by entitled political families. But that’s cool because the ruling families will keep the America Red White and Blue propaganda in full force, and nobody will remember that they’re poor because they don’t know any better and further, they don’t care! As long as WWF comes through town – like the when the circus came though town for their ancestors – and nobody fucked with the 2nd amendment, so they’re fully strapped – it’ll be all good.

And there won’t be any money any more because all of your bank records and credit card information plus identification will be embedded in your wrist, right next to the GPS tracking device. No more IDs!

America will be a nation of unemployed bankrupt uneducated white trash armed with high intensity plastic handguns and virtual reality three dimensional lap dances after a night out at the $3.99 Old Country Buffet all you can eat and six pack of tall boys all shining under the setting sun of freedom.


Canada will remain exactly the same.


This morning I found The Cure's catch online. Catch always catches me off-guard when I hear it because a long time ago it was one of the theme songs to The Tim and Kelly Show.

The Tim and Kelly Show ran from roughly 1990 to 1994. I met Kelly through my friend Aaron when I was 16 and she was 15. We attended different schools in neighboring Wisconsin towns. She is the first girl that I was a fucking maniac over. Not only was she tall, blonde, crazy smart and super hot... but we had virtually the exact same personality, thought the same shit was funny, liked the same music, had like-minded friends and were attracted to each other. We quickly became good friends. What made it better was that we were good friends who were 16 and wanted to get naked with each other.

Kelly and I dated through the rest of my time in high school. She was my first real girlfriend (8th grade girlfriends don't count), and we were super fun together. Sometimes we'd drive around smoking pot in the car and drive up to parks full of children. We'd call them over to the car to offer up candy, cigarettes and sometimes Kelly blew weed smoke at them. We'd ask their name and address, and then tell them that they had bad parents and that they were super stupid for approaching a stranger's car, accepted candy and had given their names and addresses. We'd yell YOU'RE FUCKING STUPID! and sometimes they'd cry.

Kelly's parents were extremely lighthanded about allowing me to sleep over at their house in Kelly's room in her bed with her. Her father was a push over who kept quiet, and her mom was (in hindsight) a wack job who knowingly allowed me to fuck her daughter in her house while she was home. She also used to buy us liquor. Sometimes Kelly and I would get fucked up, fuck around and then go drive around in the middle of the night naked. One time I ate half a bottle of Flintstone's vitamins (because they tasted pretty good!!) to make Kelly smile at me. I started to feel kind of jittery, so we called the Ask A Nurse hotline. The nurse on the other end of the phone laughed at me and told me that I'd probably be alright. I pissed florescent yellow for two days.

The Cure's "Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me" was one of our mutual favorite CDs back in the day, and "catch" is one of the songs that we liked to listen to together. I remember dancing with her to it in her room and her smile. We also listened to a lot of New Order, Nine Inch Nails, The Smiths, Happy Mondays, Ice Cube and Pearl Jam.

When I graduated from high school, I went off to college while Kelly had a year of school left. We still dated through the first year of college/high school girlfriend at home thing, and I remember only a couple of drunk hook ups that didn't go beyond making out. I always felt like a fucking asshole afterwards, but I didn't say anything to Kelly about it because I was in love with her and knew that I'd messed up.

I hated the small college that I attended my freshman year. It was so small that seniors lived in dorms. I thought that it was fucking pathetic that 23 year old men lived in a dorm with resident assistants on the floor telling them to shut up at two in the morning. The whole summer between freshman and sophomore year I knew that I didn't want to go back, and wanted to go to Madison instead. Friends from high school were there, and Kelly was an entering freshman. I went back to my college for sophomore year, looked around, and said FUCK THIS SHIT. I set up a meeting with a dean or whoever and formally dropped out a week into my sophomore year. I spent the next few days drinking and fucking off with my college friends, and then that weekend my friend Frank came and picked me and all my shit up and I moved to Madison.

That year was fucked up. My parents were pissed at me and cut me off. I didn't enroll in school. I got a job working part time at a record store and dove into the 19 year old college dropout druggie lifestyle with vigor. I decided that the only time in my life that I'd be able to get away with this was the present.

Kelly, however, took a different route. She had an older brother named Todd who was fucking piece of shit asshole yuppie motherfucker (at age 18) who was this ass licker frat boy at UW-Madison, and obviously promoted this scene for Kelly and her impressionable new freshman friends. I remember one time when I was actually allowed to enter one of Todd's asshole fucknut frat parties with Kelly. The frat house had fucking hired security at the door with a guest list. Their deal was that they'd let in anything with a pussy off the street, but all male attendees were reduced to frat members and this fucking guest list of approved strokes. Kelly got into the party and I stood outside for about 20 minutes before Kelly and Todd appeared at the door and Todd asked me if I wanted to come in. I wanted to break his fucking arm for being such a fucking cock smoke.

The party was super lame. They weren't allowed to have kegs in the house, so they had dozens of cases of Huber beer. I saw lots of khaki and birkenstocks... all meticulously pressed and polished. I fucking hated just about everything I saw and heard. I overheard motherfuckers asking some kid what his dad did for a living. It was like a gathering of young republicans.

I was clearly out of place. I was a college drop out with no real plans or focused goals, no direction. I was dating this hot chick who was interested in joining a white bread sorority and was getting hit on constantly by this obnoxious breed of yuppie fuck. We were getting older and we were growing in opposite directions. It started slowly and developed painfully.

Kelly wasn't always nice (just as I'm not always nice), and the first chip away came on my 20th birthday when she dumped me in her dorm room. It was March, it was cold and wet in Madison, and she made me cry. I think she cried a little bit too, but I was more focused on my own grief. Maybe I'm giving her too much credit; she might not have cried at all. For a long time when I'd think of her, I'd think "you dumped me on my birthday." That night I got fucked up with my friend Eric and became sick and violent.

Because of co-dependence we kept dating and breaking up. My self esteem fucking dropped through the floor. I didn't trust her, and I think that she thought that I was a loser going nowhere. We entered that emotionally damaging and bad period when a relationship goes wrong where you're fucking each other to hold on to each other, but that spiritually it's doing more bad than good. To top this off, it was the first time I was experiencing this sort of pain and self doubt. I was estranged from my family and developing damaging chemical habits.

My friends -- who were friends with me and Kelly throughout high school -- fucking hated her now. They thought that she had evolved from a funny hot girl into a mean-spirited cunt. They'd tell me to get rid of her. I had a very hard time letting go, and I feared that I was losing their respect.

Eventually I found out that Kelly had started seeing someone on the side. Some 24 year old motherfucker from England. I never got the full story, because I ended it. We had fucked with each other's head for so long that we had no trust and no connection beyond the occasional late night hook up. We sat on a pier on Lake Mendota one night and saw a couple our age playfully wrestling with each other. Kelly said to me "we're not like that anymore." That summer night in 1994 was the last time that I ever saw or spoke to her.

By the end of that school year, three of the four friends from high school that I lived with had dropped out of college and were doing jack shit. Madison was kind of over for me and I wanted to get out. I moved back to my parent's house and got a job at a warehouse that stocked 6' x 40' sheets of UV paneling. I worked with all white trash. We Listened to Alice In Chains: Dirt and several hours of country music radio daily. To this day -- even with that much exposure -- I fucking hate country music. A couple of the guys were on Huber Law (sentenced to stay at the County Jail, but allowed to work during the day) for various offenses... one kid who was my age was on Huber because he'd taken a hammer to another kid during a drunken fight at a party. There was no air conditioning in the warehouse, and temperatures rose above 90 degrees daily. At one point I consciously thought "my youth has died here in this heat."

That fall I was sick of being at my parent's house, sick of my life, sick of how fucked up all my friend's lives had gotten (Frank's dad had just died of cancer -- after his mom had died of cancer in high school... Bob had lost his leg in a motorcycle accident, now had a prosthetic and was dealing high volumes of weed and acid to fuckwads... and Eric was saving cash to move to Arizona), and needed an escape. I applied to colleges and was accepted into the spring semester. I called Kelly's house around that Christmas break because she hadn't left my mind or my broken heart. Her mom knew goddamn well who's voice was on the phone, but asked who was calling for Kelly anyways. I told her that I was going away to college in a couple of weeks and wanted to talk to her. Kelly's mom told me that she was "visiting her boyfriend in England, but that she'd be sure to tell her that I'd called." I never called again.

Every couple of years after that I'd get an email from Kelly asking me how I was. I'd reply and I'd be nice. We traded phone numbers but never called each other. I learned that she had moved to England after college for a few years and then to NYC where she worked in marketing for DKNY. The last email I received from her a couple of years ago she wrote that she was contemplating moving to California, and asked if I had moved to Los Angeles like I had been thinking about. That was it.

She's been a ghost inside for a long time. She was my first real girlfriend, my first sex, my first love and my first heartbreak. When I hear the cure's "catch" I think of the start of all of these things.

This relationship has shaped me for better and for worse in regards to how I've behaved and handled all of the girlfriends I've had since then. And the experience pushed me in the direction to where I am right now. I wouldn't be sitting on my ass in an air conditioned office writing ads and brochures for a paycheck in a skyscraper in downtown Chicago if I hadn't made some of the decisions I made over ten years ago.

Kelly will be 30 years old on May 25th.

I know that when she hears catch... she thinks of me too.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

insane art

I picked up the the new Quasimoto: The Return of Lord Quas LP last night at Dusty Groove, and it's excellent.

Quasimoto is a project of Madlib, a highly prolific producer given free reign over at the Stone's Throw label. I've been getting into his shit lately, and as you can see, he's a workaholic.

I caught a documentary on him about a month ago. He's around my age (31) and spends his entire waking hours digging through vinyl looking for samples and loops he can use to craft his productions. He doesn't use computers, and is himself an encyclopedia of beats and loops.

One thing I picked up on -- and definitely noticed during last night's first spin -- is that Madlib may suffer from some sort of mental illness. His albums -- including Lord Quas -- feature some excellent beats,.. and then you'll get a colorful interlude of two minutes of crazy sounding shit,.. and then another outstanding track. It sounds like schizophrenia.

The guy puts out music constantly because he is constantly recording beats and mixing albums together. He has an entire host of MC who rhyme over his beats, and Stones Throw releases it under different titles... but it's all Madlib.

Quasimoto is an interesting project because it's Madlib rhyming with two characters: as himself (madlib), and as Lord Quas (with a voice filter that makes it sound like he's inhaled helium. Example: broad factor (turn it up).

So, either Madlib is schizophrenic or eats mushrooms for breakfast everyday [motherfucker mentions shrooms in interviews often while he's swaying and drooling... I've been told that an acid trip is a taste of insanity].

Who the fuck knows. Look for it.


So, yesterday I got this fucked up catalog in the mail from this company called Bud K. I haven't the slightest idea how I got on their mailing list because I never buy shit through the mail. Not even adult videos.

Bud K sells these fucked up weapons at deep discounted prices... like this evil little mofo. Read the fine print:

Unlike any other sword in its class, this hi-tech offers a hanlde with firm gripping power. Simply strap it onto your arm, grab the handle, and your ready to go! Go what? open a belly with a quick slashing motion? Who needs this?

Or this... 12 pocket knives for $6.99. This shit is too fucked up and it fucking scares me. I would argue that the government should be cc'd on customer addresses and purchase orders.

I did find one item that I'd buy if it didn't mean further surveillance... the Lady Luck pewter belt buckle on page 10. That shit is fucking cool! It tells everyone that I am a winner and that I get pussy on demand!

Fuck yes!

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

broken drum

BECK put out this song on his excellent new disc guero. it's not going to be a video, or a club hit, or a single, or any of that shit.

"Broken Drum" is a super creepy track with a great slide guitar effect and a wide open atmosphere of melancholy. something tells me that this one could fit easily on beck's last release -- my favorite -- sea change. I don't listen to that one anymore because it reminds me of someone who was very close to me but is no longer around. This track is a sequel of sorts I guess.

I see you there
Your long black hair
Your eyes just stare
Your mind is turning

You know I'll laugh
And I won't take it back
I've seen your eyes I know
What your thinking

And one by one
We'll shoot our guns
We'll have fun
Don't ever doubt it

And when I say
Fare thee well
My only friend
Oh how the days go

Your setting sun
Your broken drum
Your little drugs

I'll never forget you

Actually, now that I've listened to the track a couple of times while typing this and reading/re-reading the lyrics, this song reminds me more of the departed than I'd originally thought.

This one makes me blue.

Monday, May 02, 2005

vin diesel

random vin diesel facts:
Vin Diesel intends to retire from acting at the age of forty to concentrate on his dream career of waiting tables in a Los Angeles cafe.

who cares?

the art of vin diesel


Rick's letter to Heather from Gay Paris

A couple of years ago, Rick found himself alone in Paris for a couple of days. He emailed Heather concerning his whereabouts, and she forwarded it to me...

Hi Heather,

Sorry I could not get in touch on Easter- I called on Monday but I got your mom's answering machine. I spent Easter inside Notre Dame for about 10 mins then it closed. Every hotel in Paris was booked- this is the thing that sucks about my trip.

So to compensate for the shortage of rooms I had to call this guy named deluie gilbert that I met in the Paris train station the day before I went to Madrid about a week ago. He told me if I needed a place to stay in Paris to call him. I knew something was fishy because he said that I would not have to pay anything.

So now, a week later I get to Paris and there are no hotel/hostels for the weekend. Who do I call? deluei. My stay was nice - he got fish and potatoes for Easter, made me breakfast in the morning, gave me metro tickets, bathed me.... yep, he barged in when I was showering in the bathroom and cleaned my naked body with a wash cloth. I told him he should stop because I was done showering, but he continued.

I wasn't too nervous because this guy is 49 years old and 5 feet tall so if he decided to take it any further I would knock the shit out of him. He stopped after a long minute. I told him that I was not like that and that he shouldn't do that, especially to Americans, because we are extremely homophobic.

So I continued to stay at his place for three nights. He insisted that I sleep in his bed with him because he would be more comfortable. The first night he told me this, I told him that I was going to sleep on the floor- he got all bent out of shape so after a small broken English argument I said fine- I wore all my clothes and got in to my sleep sack. That night he stayed on his side. The only other time he advanced was the morning I was supposedly taking a train out of Paris (today). At 7:00 am, I was waking up from a very light sleep and I got on my back. He reached over with his arm and leg, grabbed my you know what and was begging me. I jumped out of the bed and the usual bantering followed.

He just didn't seem to understand that the male sex did not arouse me. I tried explaining but it was useless. He made me breakfast immediately afterwards and saw me off to the train station. My train doesn't actually leave until tomorrow, I just thought I would situate my self closer to the station for an early train, get a nice uninterrupted shower and get away from the queer.

My hotel is 450 franks for tonight-a pretty hefty price but all of the hostels are full even after the weekend. I guess I still saved some money... if I spent every night in a hostel the price would be 468 franks that is 18 franks saved (about $2.50). So I guess spending the three nights at weirdo's house was a good, financially sound decision.

Well I am off to a different land and a different people tomorrow. I am learning that I should plan a little before I go to Europe next time. Well got to go this e-mail is costing me a fortune. And of course I love you very much. Oh yeah I might be coming home early.. I will let you know on the phone later today.

deflated crybaby... dizzee rascal... despicable humans

This weekend was like all the rest, all the time. I'm bored as all fuck. I'm so bored that I'm bored with myself. Any y'all niggaz feelin this?


yoda vs. the emperor


My friend at work sent me a pic from the photo shoot she was in for some local band she knows called royce. she's the dark haired principle above that punk ass in the tub. what's up with that girl sitting on the floor in the shower? what the fuck is going on in the motherfuckin amateur photography scene?


Friday Rick and Heather were over with Andy and we played 90 minutes of intense foosball. Rick kept winning and becoming more and more of an asshole as the night went on. some people cannot handle their foosball domination with subtlety or class.

I could tell that Heather was getting happier and happier to see Rick destroy Andy and then turn around and quickly waste me. It pissed me off that he was receiving positive reinforcement for this type of obnoxious behavior. I decided that Rick had to be taken down a level, so I made him smoke this shit while I sipped an Old Style tall boy and never broke eye contact when I approached the table to pummel Rick and end his reign of obscenities and bravado.

10 minutes, 10 points later Rick was a pissy, deflated crybaby.
That's to teach you, Rick.

We went to this fucking godawful bar down the street called The Rail. It was late and the stupid waitress gave us menus. I ordered a stella and wanted appetizers. We all wanted appetizers. We each chose one and decided that we would each order one, and that we were going to be polite and share. The stupid waitress came back and told us that the kitchen was closed... even though the fucking sign outside said that the kitchen is open late. Can you see why I fucking hate this place? We told her that we wanted the bill, and we got the fuck out of there.

We went to this greasy spoon that pretty much sucks called Le Sabre. It was bar time, and there was a couple sitting in the booth next to us, so that I was facing the girl, and Rick and Heather were sitting back to back with her date. It was around 2:30 in the morning, and they were talking about the safest, most random still-getting-to-know-you bullshit that people would be talking about on a first date that's not really going anywhere. You have a really good idea if a first date is going well within an hour or two (and if it's going well, I'm sure as fuck not stuck in a dead conversation about a jam recipe in the middle of the night, I'm showing the girl that I like her).

I think that they were on an internet date because they didn't seem to know the first thing about each other. Oh well, none of us were getting laid that night... except maybe Rick, because of his foosball reign earlier in the night... that son of a bitch.


Saturday I met up with my sister and her friend Heidi and this fuckwad that Heidi invited out named Matthew. My sister and Heidi are college friends, and Matthew is one of Heidi's old roommates from New Orleans. I think that Heidi hooked up with Matthew before because Matthew was all about pushing it.

I met up with this crew around five o'clock. They'd already been out for the afternoon, and I was just catching on to the crazy train. I hated Matthew right away. He started out by making some comment about staying over at my sister's place, with her, in her bed. He looked at me and started to laugh saying he was "sorry." I cut that shit down immediately when I pushed my new pint of stella over, lip first towards Matthew and spilled a pint off the table and onto Matthew's crotch. I said I was sorry. The motherfucker knew it was intentional, and that it was on if he wanted to fuck with me.

Heidi lives in Africa and works for the UN, so she's only in the states every 9 months or so. The last time that matthew was supposed to meet up with Heidi -- in Paris -- she cancelled a day before the trip, and Matthew had to pay a $200 cancellation fee.

Yeah, that sucks, but... the pussy could've gone anyways. He had the trip planned out, he had the money saved and waiting, and he knew where they were going and what they were seeing. But he pussied out, and several months later made a lot of noise about how Heidi was paying off the debt during the day out. That was super annoying. What made it even a bit more embarrassing was that he was trying to fuck her.

A party fell through and I suggested Dizzee Rascal at the Double Door. Heidi flipped because Dizzee Rascal is fucking huge in Europe and parts of Africa. Matthew agreed because he said that he had read a mention about the show in the Red Eye. I called the Double Door to secure tickets and the door guy told me that there'd be no problem walking up and getting in.

We took a cab over, Matthew was beginning to whine because he hadn't had a real chance to change his pants. We told him that we were running late to the show, and that we didn't have time for him to change his pants at his shithole bug infested no cable TV studio apartment reserved for poor people. I told Matthew to get into the cab and to close the door.

There was 15 people in line, 12 wearing hoodies. We got inside and I got real excited real fast when they charged me $4 for a red bull and skyy vodka. Red bull and vodka is gasoline. It's unnatural. It promotes time travel. I found Matthew standing in front of the stage with Heidi and my sister. They were taken care of, drinking raspberry stolis. I decided to go sneak a quick smoke in the men's room. Tonight was going to be a long winded process of finishing a red bull and vodka followed by breaking through the crowd to the bar for another red bull and vodka followed by sneaking a quick smoke in the men's room followed by a piss and breaking my way through the crowd, back to the spot in the center of the floor.

Dizzee Rascal was off the fucking hook.

There was a good number of beautiful 25 year olds in attendance... that's my new crowd. I go six years younger these days. I decided to create some uncomfortable fun just before (and then again after) Dizzee went on stage by approaching men my sister was staring at and introducing them to her. Every guy I walked up to was spooked when I said "Hey! Yes! You! Come here! What's your name?" they'd reply with a meek little voice and I say, "OK _name_, this is my sister." then I'd walk away to find some fine young canibal for my sister to introduce me to. It was up to her to make something happen (nothing was happening).

Dizzee was starting to finish up, and so some crazy bitch in brown cowboy boots, a pink tutu, baby girl dress and messed up doggie style blonde hair pushed past my sister and said "move, cunt." My sister said "what the fuck?" And I watched and waited for the crazy bitch to circle back. When she did I tripped into her, spilling some of my drink on her dress and stabbed a lit cigarette onto her hand shouting "sorry" over the boom beats on the sound system. Her male friend made a move like he was going to intervene, so I looked through him like I was about to take him apart, and I started to move closer. Predictably, he just grabbed her forearm and moved away. Direct eye contact avoids violence 80% of the time in white culture.

When went over to the Pontiac Cafe for a drink, but it was nearing the end of the night, and Matthew was becoming unacceptible, so I showed him the backseat of a cab. My sister, Heidi and I took a cab back to my place and I passed out.

Sunday I saw that ENRON movie. I think that there are three or four white men walking around right now that would be fucking dead if they didn't have millions of dollars worth of professional security protecting their ass of the legions of workers these men stole hundreds of millions of dollars from.

Kenneth Lay - CEO, Jeffrey Skilling - COO, Andrew Fastow - CFO and an Asian gentleman who favors strippers and making off with $200 million basically worked off of this model where they cooked the books to record projected earnings as actual earnings.

This scam goes on for awhile. Fastow begins to create bullshit business ventures so that he can funnel money into that company's account, PLUS take a commission... he makes off with around $200 million. Skilling resigns about 4 months before the crash, and someone asks Lay during a meeting near the end "do you smoke crack?"

The movie shows how energy traders were able to create the rolling blackouts in California to milk the state by having the energy powerhouses shut down for a couple hours... over a simple recorded phone call.

In the end, the top brass at enron drain the retirement savings of all of their employees... and keep telling them "don't worry about your 401K! keep investing!" while they are selling off the soon to be worthless stock for top dollar.

If there is a Hell, these despicable humans belong there.