Back in ??? Minutes

Dear readers/friends/family:



For those of you wondering where the hell I went, I have recently been abducted by aliens and will return soon with all new stories and writings -



Until then, hang in there, keep your fingers crossed that I'm able to hang in there, and know this: I'm alive and well... where am I?

How to be an idiot:

1. Look at calendar, make sure the day is Friday January 21st 2005.
2. Glance outside window, verify that yes, there is a rapidly growing 2' high blanket of snow on the ground, note that visibility beyond 30 feet is little or none
3. Get in car
4. Drive

That's all it takes, folks! The few times I went out last night, what should have been 20 minute car trips were stretched into at least 4 times as long as they should have been. Sitting in traffic. Waiting. Watching the wipers as they did nothing but accumulate slippery, snowy globs of mucky ice and smear water all over the windows (of course mostly on the driver's side)... Feeling my colon tighten frantically while watching some dumbass fishtail and almost smack into the side of my car. Sometimes I wish cars were made out of pillows. Not just because they would provide greater cushioning during impact. Take a moment to imagine how pretty it would be if you were just in a horrible a car wreck, but were able to look up and see a spectacular display of goose feathers flying around everywhere. It would be a tremendous sight indeed, not to mention it would keep you calm, cool, and entertained until the ambulance arrived.

Pardon my wandering mind... back to the topic at hand: driving in hazardous conditions. Of course, one cannot possibly follow all of the above steps accurately unless one had a time machine (see: step 1), as it is now January 22nd as I type this, and calendar days do not go backwards. So to those of you who wish to try being an idiot, don't worry. For one thing, I'm sure we'll have future snowstorms in which you can take a stab at it. And secondly, we're human beings. That means for many of us by default (including yours truly), the second we wake up every day and feel our feet hit the cold floor, the idiocy has already begun.

p.s. - Attn: Local news media

I know you're just doing your jobs, and gawd bless you, but I think at this point we're very well aware that yes, it snowed a lot, people got stuck at home or on the roads, and anyone having anything to do with airports are not very happy right now. No need to take precious minutes off the lives of worry-wart grandmas and grandpas sitting at home in their recliners glued to the television and shitting their pants in fear.



Although to give credit where it is deserved, last night in between the non-stop Twin Cities Blizzard 2005/Everyone Hide Under Your Beds news coverage, they threw in a buffer. A news reporter indicated that the snow is bringing out the best in people with things like shoveling and pushing stuck cars out of snowdrifts. My body may be cold from the weather, but my heart is now warm with delight knowing that the world is filled with such selfless acts of love and generosity.



I just read what I wrote and realized something:



Q: Who took his smartass pills today?

A: *raising my hand* I did! I did!



Anyhoo, I'd be willing to put money on it, if I had any, that tonight on the 10pm news, the token buffer/calm-down snowstorm enlightenment will go something like this:



[Robotic news reporter with subtle grin on face] "And on the lighter side, not everyone is inconvenienced by the snowfall!" (insert by fresh, whimsical money shots of children sledding and long lines at now busy snowmobile shops here)



Just you watch!

"Mallory" from the book of strange overhead coffee shop conversations

Man.. I hope I can type as fast as this lady is talking...



"Mallory? Mallory? Mallory?"

"What?"

"What's this, Mallory?"

"It's a dollar, you know that. Now put it back in the tip jar."

"I'm hungry Mallory!"

"No we have to wait until later."

"What's this, Mallory? Mallory? What's this Mallory?"

"It's a can of Coke."

"I want to go to Perkins, Mallory."

"Yes, honey, we just have to wait. Drink your Coke."

"I want more coffee Mallory, more Coca Cola."

"Look at my hat, Mallory! Uh??"

"I'm done, Mallory."

"More coffee, Mallory? More coffee? Uh?"

"Want to go shopping, want to go shopping Mallory?"

"hey Mallory, I'm done. I'm done. Uh. Uh. More coffee. More coffee. Uh? Uh? Can we go to our house Mallory? Uh?"

"Mallory come here."

"I wanna go, Mallory. Wanna get a pop, Mallory? Wanna get a top Mallory?"

"I'm done. More coffee Mallory. More coffee. Want a newspaper?"

"Nope, I've got a newspaper."

"Let's go, Mallory, let's go! I want small coffee, more coffee Mallory."



(exit poor little old Mallory & her "friend")

Food is my mama.

Hello. My name is Devo and food is my Mama. I can not stop thinking about it... never have, never will. Food is my favorite thing in the whole world. If I had to choose between air and food, I'd pick food, because food tastes way better. DUH! Food is the most important thing ever to me. Oh, and Mike is too, because he has thumbs, and thumbs help you open refrigerator doors and twist can openers. I guess can openers are the most important thing ever, too. Those thingies are awesome... they open up my cans of slimy meat paste.



One time when I was a kitty, Mike was trying to feed me and my roommates at the time. He kept putting me on the floor, but I would keep jumping up on the counter while he was giving my roommates their food first, because they were being good and staying on the floor. So what... why should they get fed first and not me? It's not fair. I'd jump up to try and get to my can, and he'd quickly pick me up and plop me back on the floor. This must have happened about 10 times. I didn't mean to come off as desperate, I was just sort of hungry, you know? In order to finish getting my roommates' food ready, he moved my open can of food to that big white cube with knobs and 4 fire circles on top of it that makes things like fried chicken and maccaroni and cheese. That didn't scare me one bit. I jumped right up on that sonofabitch and started helping myself. Yeah, that's how important food is to me. Is that such a crime?



I love scones. If you come over to my house with a scone, you had better be prepared to fight for it. I will try as hard as I can to knock it out of your hand. Just throw me a crumb. Please. I love McDonalds shakes. Did somebody say "Asparagus"? Sign me up! If there's anything that smells remotely appetizing in the trash, you can bet I'll try my hardest to find it, because there's no sense in anything going to waste, especially Saran Wrap with turkey juice on it. Yum. Even if something is at my disposal that I don't like, I'll at least sniff it for a bit and try it, because when you don't have opposable thumbs, you've gotta take what you can get.



Try as hard as you want to hide your food from me in hard to reach areas, I will find a way to get to it. On top of the fridge? No problem. In a coat pocket? Easy. On an upper bookshelf? Even my grandma could do that.



What's that I smell? I think it's coming from the kitchen sink.. there's a garlic toast pan in there from last night that must have been forgotten about. I'm so there it's not even funny. See ya!



Editor's note: Happy Birthday Joe Berkman on bass!

If it's abstract you want, it's abstract you shall receive.

I usually don't do requests, but one was put in for me to do some abstract writing and I feel obligated to go above and beyond to deliver the goods. Enjoy. Contrary to what many of your assumptions will be after reading this, it was done in a 100% clean and sober state of mind; the side effects of going a little too far into the stream of consciousness realm can be deceiving ones indeed..



Once upon a time Ted the pheasant was out struttin' and stumbled across a giant pile of earplugs and dog poop on the trail. "Ah HA!" said Ted the pheasant. "Earplugs and dog poop!" He made a mental note of this small, smelly spectacle, feeling a peculiar yet calming sense of deja vu and 110% pod-ness, and carried on with his walk smoking like a chimney. He waved to his friend Frank as he walked by, yelling "Bread balls! Top of the morning to you! Bet you wish you weren't all covered in spit!"



Earplugs and dog poop. Earplugs and dog poop. What a most fascinating thing to deter my brain thruout this fascinating journey! he thought to himself as he got into his spaceship and took a long, titillating drive around strange body of water.



He then returned to his spatula sharpening shoppe and sharpened spatulas all afternoon long, looking very much forward to a nice sugary bowl of cereal at the end of the day in one of those special cereal bowls with a built in straw, and a side order of chewy steak.



And so the end of the day came, and after much sugary cereal and chewy steak was consumed and the last slurp of brown skim milk was sucked out of the bowl, Ted retired to his giant purple chair in the sky for a bit of maxin' and relaxin'. Ended up falling asleep, did he, and had him a dream about a white beer can, a little green man, and a strange crosseyed 1950's mama mixing up a bowl of cake batter.



He then woke up and made a kickass collage out of bagged salad trimmings and A1 sauce.



A face in the collage said "Can I have a glass of water with which to wash this chocolate down?"

"But of course," he replied softly, "Help yourself to all the water you need, my dear. "



Who's That Girl in the bathroom? Papa Don't Preach.



This is Smurf dawg, over, under, and out. And don't call me Shirley.

Holy LAME

Ripped from today's breaking news headlines: Singer curses onstage at inaugural concert



If you can't say the word "fuck" at a rock and roll concert, kids or no kids, president or no president, it's not a rock and roll concert. That's what rock and roll is all abouts, know what I'm sayin? I'm not familiar with that band or singer, and judging from the entertainment roster at this shindig, I'm probably glad I'm not familiar with that band or singer, but to that guy I say good for you, Fucker.



And here's the capper - the story ends with this important news tidbit in reference to Vince Neil on New Years Eve: "That incident is still under investigation by the FCC. "



And what, exactly, is there to investigate?



FCC Guy No. 1: "Did Vince Neil say 'Fuck'?"

FCC Guy No. 2: "I don't know... let's check the tape."

(rolling up sleeves, sits briefly to watch tape)

FCC Guy No. 1: "Yup.. Vince Neil said 'Fuck'."

FCC Guy No. 2: "Case closed."

(wiping sweat from brows)

-----



Eeediots.



This just in: Micycle uses word "fuck" 6 times in journal entry. Looks like it's time to call the FCC and tell them their work isn't done just yet.



ps - 10 bonus points for you if you actually went through and counted how many times I used the word "fuck"

I almost just killed myself with an iced mocha.

Was just sitting at the computer in the coffee shop reading today's entertainment gnus on YAHOO! and attempting to sip an iced mocha out of a straw. While reading, I felt something poking my brain.. lo and behold, I looked down only to discover that the straw was half way up my left nostril. Talk about bad aim... no wonder I was never good at sports.



Close call, man. These are the times when you realize just how precious and small life is.

Photos/review from aforementioned Area 52 show

My brain hurts... yet another interesting, very late, beer pitcher-filled evening at the Terminal Bar open mic took place last night. One of my favorite local guitar slingers/homeboys Nick joined in and made what he told me was his debut as an acoustic fingerstyle guitar player, something this town needs way more of in my opinion. He busted out his brand spankin' new Alvarez acoustic, got up there and did his three tunes like he's been doing it for years. He did a phenomenal job, methinks, and I'm excited to see what else this chap's brain and fingers have in store for that guitar & our ears.



Yet another great set of pics/review from Area 52 Godfather David Slam can be peeped here: http://www.area-52.org/phpbb/viewtopic.php?t=1525 David's a great guy and hilarious writer, talking about selling his gear after seeing us play and such.. he summed up my stage presence perfectly with 1 word: "swoopyness". Love it!! I am indeed a swoopy dude. I often find myself bumping into the edges of doorways and hitting the sides of my arms on stuff due to being a bit of a space cadet... that's what sobriety will do to a person, so I've been told.



Now pardon me while I swoop the Hell out of here and take a nap.



Sssssssssswishhhhhh....



Coming soon to meatsmoothie.blogspot.com: How to eat bacon, ham, apple rings, energy drinks, brownies, donuts, cereal, chicken, orange juice, ice cream, pickles, and rice cakes all in 1 sitting... or shall I say... "standing"?

Skittles N Beer

Our Saturday night Area 52 show rocked like a bowl full of Quarry breakfast cereal (only you old school SNL fans will get that one.. if you're not, sorry - please substitute the comparison with something else which is plentiful in heavy, rock-like substances). Playing in bands with people that I know can carry the ball is a luxury I will never take for granted.. it enables me to completely space out with 110% confidence, leave the planet for that 45 minute set, and just let my fingers and sticker/sweat-encrusted Stratocaster do the work.. FYI bandmates VomitGod and Scara: just you watch yourselves when you drive that minivan over the border whenever you decide to move... I'll be waiting in the bushes to shoot out your tires, knock you both out, and throw you into the back of the Pinto to head back to Minneapplesauce!



The lineup consisted of the always entertaining and all around nice dudes Silly Little Nothings, and both my bands Iced Ink and She Might Eat French Fries (see links beneath my profile to the right). Was probably one of the best shows we've played.. Iced Ink probably didn't go on until well after 12:30am, and there was still nice big crowd that stuck around until the bitter end; some even far after the music stopped. Kudos to all the folks at Area 52 for the support and great night. Some photos courtesy of A52-er Heffay can be seen here... Most of them are of the audience members, which I like, because it is evidence that on occasion, more than 8 people show up to see us play (hehe!)



Now onto the real reason behind the title of today's entry, Skittles N Beer. I have what some might call a bit of a sweet tooth. Some people like crack, some people like heroin... I happen to prefer sugar. I had me a bag of Sour Skittles I was munching on thruout our performance, and came to realize that those combined with Newcastle makes for the ultimate performance enhancer. I was bouncing around like a caffeinated monkey hooked up to a car battery - so to all you musicians; classical, rock, metal, opera.. whatever it might be you do, or even if you're an athlete, be sure to try a steady intake of Skittles N Beer for the duration of one of your performances to test it out. Sure, it's not very good for you and turns your mouth into coarse sandpaper, but damn.. holy buzz, Bat Man.



On that note, I can't feel my tounge and my teeth hurt.. maybe I'll opt for standard issue red bag Skittles next time - I think the intense sour coating on the green bags burnt the insides of my mouth off. All for rock and roll, man.

Where's Derek?

In the early 90's, I worked overnights at Target with Derek for a number of years. Derek was funny, although he wasn't ever trying to be. It was all due to the fact that he'd fried his brain on chemicals all through high school. He would sit and watch us play cards in the break room and start muttering the word "Scurvy" over and over again, and phonetically mutate it to the point where it sounded like he was saying "SCAR-VAY! SCAR-VAY!" "Crikey" was another favorite of his, which he'd repeat over and over and eventually add "Walter" as a prefix.. "WALLLTER CRY-KAY! WAL-TER CRY-KAY!"



Derek ripped open packages of red gummy coins as we were unloading the trailers and packed them away in his yap like a squirrel preparing for winter.



One time the usual group of us were at Perkins after a long night at the store.. Derek opened up a ketchup bottle, coughed up a big glob of snot in his throat, and ever so carefully spit it into the bottle. He screwed the cap back on and continued eating his eggs.



Yeah, he was a dirty fucking slob, but damn, that kid was funny. Where is he now?

Fer Fuck's sake! Robot Barista, part II

That's right. For the sake of fuck. Of all things relating to the sakeness of fuck.



1-14-05 9:30am



Robot Barista sat in the coffee shop in the wee hours of the morning like the little old lady who lived in the shoe. He had so much time, he didn't know what to do.



In walked chatty regular, chatting about nothing in particular, Beatles this, Beatles that, I-IV-V chord progression, or was it a I-II-V, oh, that Gary Larson was a funny sonofabitch. Robot Barista sat twiddling his robot thumbs listening to chatty regular.



Suddenly, as if it were planned, the phone rang and in walked 4 customers. Robot Barista answered and terminated phone call, started customer 1's drinkie. Phone rings again. Phone is answered, caller put on hold.



Customer #2: Multi drink order with several requests for additions like flavors, decaf this, skim this, blah blah that. Done.



Customer #3: Bitchy Mom. Bitchy Mom was illegally parked with her permit only-wielding son behind the wheel, and notes po-leese car pulling up behind her vehicle. Bitchy Mom scolds Robot Barista, saying had she known she'd be standing here for 20 minutes (looking at customer #2), she would have kept going. Bitchy Mom orders espresso, then says NO, I wanted a triple! Robot Barista complies and kills her with his eyes.



Chatty Regular continues to talk.



Customer #4: Plain coffee. Aaah! Easy one! Transaction complete in seconds flat.



Customer #5: Triple espresso. Robot Barista hands Customer #5 cup with great pride and feeling of accomplishment, only to see her remove cup lid and say "oooh, this is espresso? Can you put water in it or something? It's sooo strong!" Hm. Espresso. Strong. Didn't see that one coming, did she? Robot Barista grabs cup, fills empty space with water, Customer #5 walks away happy.



Chatty Regular left at some point after losing patience with lack of Robot Barista's attention span.



Robot Barista tiptoes to basement like a Secret Asian Man to relax, regroup, and have some "fresh air". Robot Barista consumes too much fresh air in too little time, becomes slightly dizzy. Hears BEEP which tells him yet another human is violating the premises.



Upon walking upstairs, Robot Barista spots serious looking human holding official looking clipboard and briefcase. Not good. Official looking human introduces himself as Wang Chung, Inspector 111 from MN Dept. of Commerce (name and number changed ever so slightly to protect his anonymity. Why should that be a concern? Don't know.) Robot Barista experiences extreme difficulty processing Wang Chung's communications, but understands this: Wang is a weights and measurements inspector and has discovered, that sadly, coffee shop's bean weighing scale is not qualified as a "legally approved" scale.



Wang threatens to shut store down, but first returns to his giant illegally parked state vehicle (note absence of po-leese car that was there minutes ago busting Bitchy Mom's ass.) He returns minutes later with several forms for Robot Barista to read and embellish. Wang leaves, but orders that scale is replaced, or he could shut store down "like this" *snapping fingers*



Robot Barista was tired and suffering from severe internal malfunction. He retired to the basement for absorption of more "fresh air", only at first breath to hear entryway door beep again.



Robot Barista scanned entire basement surface area to find sharp object with which to penetrate his cranium and inflict a permanent, yet relieving end to his existence, but a 4' segment of garden hose was all he could find. He returned to the main level of the premises, looked at the clock, took a deep breath, and carried on in a comatose state of mind.



One hour to go.

My cat poops binders!

Wow.. I was just strolling past Devo's litterbox and spotted a rather peculiar item laying in there:







The boy is a license to print money, I tell ya. If he can make these come out clean to the touch like this, I'm gonna start feeding him shredded money and wait by the litterbox with baited breath...



And a pair of tongs.

The Anti Perspirant Conspiracy Theory

[Setting: Me at a crowded press conference. I walk up to podium in my tuxedo tee shirt, put on bifocals, take out a piece of paper and begin reading the following language into microphone to captivated audience.]



Hello ladies and gentlemen.



I have noticed something over the years that maybe you have too. Either that or I was born with mutant armpit bacteria that survives and adapts itself to whichever brand of deodorant/anti perspirant I happen to be using:



I've done it a million times, and you probably have too. The all too familiar act of standing in the deodorant/anti perspirant aisle of Target popping the caps off and huffing away trying to find a stink that suits your fancy, all the while hoping against hope that no one walks by catching you sniffing the stink sticks.. Because although it's obvious to passers by that one is taste testing the bouquets, so-to-speak, a dude standing there sniffing deodorant is always a most peculiar thing to see.



After a few minutes of sniffing, I find The One. It is usually dubbed with a very bizarre, far fetched flavor name like "Mountain Breeze" or "Cool Sport". Deodorant flavors never represent what the stuff actually smells like, but I reckon it's considerably more romantic to consumers than real ingredient names such as "Fragrance No. 3" or "chromium hydroxide green". Excuse the digression. Anyways...



I take it to the counter, fork over the $1.97 deodorant adoption fee and walk around for the following week in a mild aura of what a mountain breeze evidently smells like. I'm happy. I can raise my arms in the air at any given moment with little or no concern of unpleasant underarm aroma paying the noses of standers-by a visit.



And then it happens.



After approximately 30% of the stick has been used, it seems to stop working. Don't get me wrong, the fresh mountain scent in my armpits is still in tow, but the breeze just isn't as strong as it once was. My armpits are now at the bottom of the mountain rather than at the top of it being aired out by swift, clean mountain air. And it just goes downhill from there (no pun intended).. the soothing aroma eventually disappears altogether, I am back to my body's regular perspiration/funk agenda, and the smell I fear, underarm onion, returns with a great vengeance. No matter how much of the product I apply, in spite of the fact that I just bought it a few weeks ago and there's a lot left, it is rendered completely useless. I am smelly once again and have to get out the daily planner to pencil in another inevitable date with Target's deodorant aisle to start the charade all over again.



So, the Anti Perspirant Conspiracy Theory goes like this: The companies fill the sticks 2/3 full with throwaway garbage that looks like deodorant. Then they top if off with the real stuff to fool you while you're huffing away at Target. During shipment to stores, the real stuff mingles, as Emeril would put it, with the fake stuff beneath it, so it adopts a subtle amount of the fragrance and makes you think, hm.. it still smells okay, there must be something wrong with my pits. At which point it's that time to go to the store and buy... you guessed it: more deodorant. All this to save a few bucks at the pitstick factory and move more product. But I'm on to them. And now you are too. They can't rip us off anymore. If I'm paying $1.97 for a stick of anti perspirant, then god dammit, I want my $1.97's worth!



Perhaps naming my band Iced Ink was subconsciously inspired by that there theory, yes? That's yet another conspiracy theory for you, because I'll take it to the grave with me and you'll never know.



Thank you and good day.



[insert thundering applause here]



ps - Attn. spray can users: before you suggest it, I would try that route, however the spray cans are highly combustable, and I would prefer not to burst into flames should I be spraying my pits down and munching on Wintergreen Lifesavers. (see my safety tip from a few days back)

Robot barista: a day in the life

"BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEP. Welcome. What can I get for you today?"



"Yeah, I’d like a dark roast, a latte, and one of them scones."



"BEEDEEBEEDEEp, what size would you like? *sigh* For the love of C3-PO. You humans are not particularly fond of size specification. BEEDEEP."



"What size you got?"



"12, 16, 20 ounces. BEEDEEBEEDEE. Or if you operate on a pound only system, 3/4 pound, 1 pound, and pound and a quarter, sir."



"Okay, I’ll take the medium."



"Room for cream in the coffee, sir, or do you take it black?"



(talking on cell phone, looks over) "Aah.... yes."



"Please specify now if you have a preference of skim, 2%, whole, or soy in your mixed beverage. BEEDEEDEEDEEDEEP"



"Uh, just give me whatever."



grabs 2% milk out of cooler. thunka thunka, click click.... Clunk... Zzzzzzzzzip. Pour. Swish, swish.. thunk thunk thunk... as milk is steaming:

"Actually, could you use skim in the latte?"

grabs skim milk out of cooler. thunka thunka, click click.... Clunk... Zzzzzzzzzip. Pour. Swish, swish.. thunk thunk thunk...



"There you are sir, that will be $6. BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEP"



"Do you take credit cards?"



"No sir, I apologize. There is a cash machine across the street that you will have to try."



Sounds like fun, huh? You can do it too! Work at a coffee shop. Rinse, lather, and repeat about 100 times per day, and this, my friends, is the recipe to get yourself a into robot barista coma of your very own.

3 minutes of nonsense

My brain is racing today and I need to organize my thoughts. What better way to do so than disconnect from reality and just let my brain control my fingers on the keyboard... just sort of vomit up whatever they want to?



Here comes a 3 minute stream of consciousness brainstorm session. Same rule applies as last time I did this: 3 minutes of just typing whatever the hell comes to mind (although last time it was 7 minutes, methinks). And I'm feeling poetic today, so whenever my brain spots a chance to make a rhyme or twist a phrase into some sort of encryption, I will sit back and let it happen. Fun fun fun.



Ready... GO:



Bibble bobble, bibble bobble. Muckamuck, 3 men and a duck. It makes as much sense as the change in my pocket or a lock of kitty fur in an overpriced locket. Break a mint in two, it's an apartment. Apartments should really be called togetherments, don't you agree? Got a bass guitar? Does it have bad breath? Give it a basement. Rubiks Cube, a bottle of lube. Typing, wiping, Cheeto residue. Pencil shavings, chocolate cravings. These are a few of my favorite things. Carpet gets a little smelly as it ages, I remember the smell of Love My Carpet powder, the green one was my favorite with a bowl of lamb chowder. Donut for breakfast? I'd rather have breakslow. Iron jaw, iron your jaw, because it's wrinkly. Or be like Burt Reynolds and cover that wrinkly jaw with a scarf of some sort, much like he covers his bald spot with a hair lid hair port.



Float like a balloon, Sting like the Police. Plural form of mouse on the cartoons is known as meese. I like cheese, Weezie from the Jeffersons Starship Enterprise with a puddle of water before my eyes as ridiculos as it sounds, I once walked beside a circus clown. How noun brown gown? I like blike on a Zebulon pike spike JOnez spike lee Spike a drink in an ice skating rink on



Time's up. Don't worry, beat poets... I'm keeping my day job.

Micycle-angelo

Attn. fine art connoisseurs: I have never really tried my hand at it before (other than in high school), but I've recently taken up painting... Consider yourselves warned.



1) "Won Ton" (2005) Medium: acrylic paints, silver Sharpie and glitter on cheap-ass 4X6 canvas board





2) "Snails Are Crunchy" (2005) Medium: acrylic paints, black Sharpie and glitter on cheap-ass 6x8 canvas board



As Napoleon Dynamite says, "There's a lot more where that came from." Coming soon: Tennis Ball Ice Cream Cone.



I'm gonna crank out as many of these ridiculous things as possible and sell them off when I'm done. You think I'm kidding, don't you?! All I have to say is take a good long look at my profile pic. I'm dressed in red jammies and holding an iron to my noggin like it's a telephone... that there is a no-nonsense bona fide businessman if I've ever seen one. If I sell enough of these, who knows... maybe I'll own my own personal helicopter and get to fire attractive people on national television someday.

Only because I care: An important safety tip

The following language was taken from http://www.exploratorium.edu:



Do It Yourself Science: An Aurora in Your Mouth (Oral Borealis)!



Here's a strange one to try. Go out and buy a roll of wintergreen-flavored Lifesavers (in the green roll). Find a room that can be made totally dark and take a mirror with you (or use the bathroom at night.) Sit in the dark to allow your eyes to adapt and then bite down on a Lifesaver while looking in the mirror. The Lifesaver will spark and glitter as you chew!



Okay, I know many of you are saying "DUH - we learned that in grade school!" Well, Mr. Knowitall, some people out there not as smart as you may not have tried it yet. And I'm about to burst your knowledge bubble even further with a safety tip that could someday save your life:



You know how when you have even the most faint notion that there's a gas leak in your house, you're supposed to leave right away? They say to not do anything such as pick up the telephone or turn any electrical devices on/off lest you want a spark from the aforementioned devices to cause a gas explosion.



Maybe you see what I'm getting at now: if you walk into your house, smell a gas leak, and happen to be masking your halitosis by munching on a refreshing wintergreen-flavored Lifesaver, you're fucked.

Have I seen me lately?

Why yes I have, thanks for asking. I'm on a bottle of Jones brand sugar free ginger ale sodie-pop!



Actually, I confess. It's not me on the bottle. But I'll be damned if it isn't an evil twin of mine that I wasn't aware I had... that bottle of sodie-pop ended up in my hands through a very unintentional set of circumstances: I was running errands, one of which happened to be at an establishment which offers Jones bottled beverages. I was incredibly parched and there was a plethora of flavas at my disposal - I thought to myself "hm - ginger ale sounds nice!" and without any further thought brought it to the counter.



The girl said "Oh my gosh... is that you?"



What? says I to myself.. Yeah, it is me, girlfriend. Standing right here in front of you trying to buy a bottle of refreshing liquid with which to quench my undying thirst. Now ring it up, yo!



I realized she was looking at the bottle. I took a looksie at the label and saw what she was getting at. It bears an uncanny resemblance to yours truly. The pic I provided doesn't do comparison much justice, but if you do an A/B in person, you'd swear it was me.



I'm going to email this here journal link I'm writing to the Jones sodie-pop company and try and find out who this Micycle imposter is. Mom, is there something you're not telling me about a certain somebody that you may have sold off when I.. I mean, we, were born?



Do tell.

KISS knowledge vs. Stuff I should actually know

I received a KISS trivia game for the holidays (thanks, Cookie!) and have it on display at my "place of employment" as a conversation piece (#1 response to comments thus far is "no, it's not the lunchbox from 1978"). Lance: stop by sometime to nerd out with me.



A regular customer who is a teacher came in and busted the box open to test my KISS knowledge, and I was rattling off the most difficult of questions with ease. After a half dozen or so, I sarcastically commented on how proud I was of myself that I retain information like that, but he could ask me something as 3rd grade as state capitols and I bet he'd get a deer-in-the-headlights look out of me. So he did, and I failed my "name the state capitol" quiz with flying colors. Hey, at least I knew Minnesota's capitol. Thankfully. Ain't that American of me?



So.. I came to this conclusion: if I ever was put in a situation where my brains would be blown out if I couldn't name the capitols of at least 10 of our fine United States, I had better hope against hope that the brain blower-outer has a KISS Trivia game in tow as backup, and that he or she would be kind enough to offer that as an optional lifeline. Or at least let me answer some KISS Trivia in lieu of state capitols and let me walk away with only a severe limp.



If Mom and Dad are reading this, they must be so proud!

Lego-tar

I just had an idea... what if I made a guitar body out of Legos and somehow harnessed a real guitar neck and electronics onto it? With the internet at my disposal, I promptly executed a Google query with the words "Lego" and "guitar" to see if anyone has taken a stab at this highly fragile idea. I actually did build a Lego-tar one time with my brother Chuck's Legos when I was a kid and obsessed with owning an electric guitar, but it was a piece of crap. Not to mention eventually we needed those Legos to build Torture Town (I'll explain that can of worms in a future journal entry).



Looks like this dude was one step ahead of me, name and all, gal-dammit.. there goes the information superhighway fucking up my sense of originality again. He even has the same Les Paul that I do, although I replaced the pickguard and knobs with much more bitchin' ones. He done real good on his Lego-tar, but it looks like he only made a non-functional guitar body just for looks. Plus it's a Les Paul body - I'm more partial to Strats. Actually - with a little careful planning, I could pretty much make just about any damn shape I wanted to (see: Lego-tronic Bootsie Collins pic above), providing I had the $7,000 of Legos at my disposal with which to do it. If you've ever taken a gander at the hefty price tag of Lego sets on store shelves, you know very well that an addiction to Legos is almost more costly than a cocaine or hooker habit, providing you go for the good looking hookers and high quality coke.



So. I'm going to do a few sketches, and when I get out of the severe financial drought I'm in, I'm gonna find me some Legos and get to work. "But Mike... Lego sculptures easily fall apart!" you say. Well, there's a little tube of something called Super Glue that will easily take care of that problem. My brother recently reminded me that I used to glue my fingers together with that stuff as if it were a magic trick. Yeah, I was pretty smart when I was a kid. But anyways... if Super Glue can hold a construction worker to an I-beam like it does in the commercials, it can certainly hold a massive guitar-shaped glob of Legos together, yes?



Just you wait.. this thing is gonna kick ass. Factoring in the cost of Legos, my lack of knowledge with guitar electronics, and the mountain to climb of building a Lego-tar with decent action, I figure my Lego-tar will be done in oh... about 10-15 years.

Haircuts are a pain in the ass.

Those of you who know me remember that I once sported a hairstyle not unlike Cousin It from the Addams Family. Before I hacked it off, it went down to my waistline and was constantly kept back in a ponytail to avoid it becoming entangled in my food and caught in my fingers whilst playing geetar. Not to mention there were many nights when I'd nearly suffocate from rolling around while sleeping. I could only wash it every 2-3 days as it would take 3 hours to dry, and it became more of a hassle than it it was worth. 1 trip to Hair Police and $30 later, I looked like a boy for the first time in 16 years. Aaaah - such freedom!



What I didn't realize is there's a downside to short-hairdom, that being maintenance. In the world of hair care, I can define the word maintenance for you in 4 easy, short words: 1) spending 2) lots 3) of 4) money. You're supposed to get your hair cut every 6-8 weeks to keep it healthy. Or in my case, to keep it from looking like my 8th grade school picture. Where I go, it's $30 for your basic run of the mill cut. Every 6-8 weeks comes out to approx. $210 a year when you include tips. Plus, you need jars of hair goop and shampoo to maintain a lovely looking haircut, and those will run you about $10-15 a pop if you want to get the stuff that doesn't fry your follicles. I know - I shouldn't complain too much, I've heard financial horror stories about perms, dreads, and coloring.. and at least I don't need to have that stuff done. I loves me my short hair, just hate paying for it.



I bring this haircut thing up because it seems like I just got one not too long ago and am starting to look like a shaggy dog.. wasn't that just a few weeks ago? Nope.. now that I think of it, it was a couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving. Crimeny.



Fuck this, I'm gettin' me a beard trimmer, setting that sonofabitch to the lowest setting, giving myself a crew cut, and washing my hair with a bar of soap from now on.

Dance Dance Revolution Spin Spin-offs

My nephew recently purchased a Dance Dance Revolution rig for PlayStation 2.. it consists of 1 game and 2 floor pads (sold separately). The floor pads are plugged into the PS2 console and act as controllers; you stand on them and press arrow buttons with your feets that correspond with arrows that fly by on the TV screen in sync with bad techno music. It's a good time and the closest anyone will ever come to seeing me dancing... Before you know it, the people watching are laughing at you, you're all sweaty like a sexy Backstreet Boy, and the calories melt away. This is quite the contrast to other fine PS2 games where you do things like carjack, slit people's throats, drive around as Bart Simpson in a rocket, etc. while sitting on your arse and eating Cool Ranch Doritos. Don't get me wrong - those games are all needless to say just as fun, healty, and educational.



So, I got to thinking. This sort of interactive Dance Dance Revolution gaming could open a lot of new doors and possibilities for us gamers. Here's a few of my own personal ideas:



Sandwich Shop Revolution Would come with a countertop-shaped controller pad. Objective: properly assemble sandwiches in a timely fashion as the ingredients are spewed out by a mumbling customer on the TV screen



Watch A Bad Movie Revolution Comes with controller pad you put on your couch or chair. If you get up during the movie, the pad detects it and you lose, fucker.



Dentist Dentist Revolution Comes with life sized human head controller. Objective: Clean, floss, perform mild orthodontist tasks; try not to make the virtual head on the TV scream.



Shave a Monkey Revolution In this Revolution game, you take your controller, a plastic razor, and hold onto the included stuffed monkey which is also hooked up to the PS2 and wiggles around via Dual Shock technology like a... well... like a monkey being shaven. Advertising slogan can be something like "You can do what you need to, but don't cut the monkey!"



Flapjack Gravity Revolution Controllers: 1 tightrope and 1 spatula. Objective: Carry a spatula stacked full of pancakes over a tightrope line without losing your balance or any pancakes.



Mail Opening Revolution Hours of entertainment as you open and read your giant virtual pile of snail mail with your controller - a letter opener.



Ice Skate Sharpening Revolution Controllers for this one would be a giant spinning wheel and a fake ice skate. Try to follow arrows on screen for optimum ice skate sharpening without cutting your hands. Every so often the game throws you for a loop by making you sharpen a pair of scissors.



Revolution Revolution Revolution Pretty much same as Dance Dance Revolution, but the TV screen would show somebody playing DDR. Objective: follow the person on TV playing DDR and their mistakes.



This is just the tip of the iceberg, folks. Attn. Konami, EA, and other game makers: I'm available for a position in your concept development departments at any time, but don't think these ideas don't come without a substantial price tag... call me some time and we can negotiate.

Coffee Shop Freak of the Week, aka "Anyone want a bloody Walkman?"

lo·qua·cious (adj.) Very talkative; garrulous.



HI, I'M LOQUACIOUS BOY, I'M VERY LOQUACIOUS, DO YOU KNOW WHAT LOQUACIOUS MEANS? IT MEANS VERY TALKATIVE, IT’S WHAT MY PSYCHIATRIST SAYS I AM, THEY SAY I’M VERY TALKATIVE I’M IN A COFFEE SHOP AND THIS DUDE WORKING THERE SEEMS NICE AND MY HANDS,



THEY ARE PRETTY BLOODY BUT THE BLOOD IS MOSTLY DRY NOW I’LL ASK HIM FOR A GLASS OF WATER AND HE JUST GAVE ME ONE AND THEN I ASKED HIM FOR ANOTHER GLASS AND HE GAVE ME ONE, I TOLD HIM ABOUT HOW DIRTY AND NASTY THE CITYPAGES PROSTITUTE ADS ARE, DUDE, MAN, AND HOW I SAW THAT PAGE WITH THE PROSTITUTES ON IT WHEN I WAS WALKING PAST THE AIRPORT,



THAT’S JUST WRONG WHAT AM I GONNA DO, SPEND ALL MY CHRISTMAS MONEY ON PROSTITUTES??? HEY, THESE GREETING CARDS ARE NICE, HOW MUCH ARE THEY, OH THOSE ARE REALLY COOL PICTURES, BUT YEAH, PROSTITUTES ARE DIRTY AND ALL OVER THOSE CITYPAGES ADS, I DON’T THINK SO, THAT’S JUST WRONG, THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG WITH SOCIETY TODAY, OH, MY HANDS HAVE A LITTLE BLOOD ON THEM I BETTER GO GET ANOTHER GLASS OF WATER FROM



THE GUY BEHIND THE COUNTER HE JUST REFILLED MY CUP, YEAH HE’S A PRETTY COOL DUDE, PERHAPS I’LL TAKE THIS BOOK ABOUT KITTIES AND SIT AT A TABLE AND READ IT OUT LOUD, THAT’S WHAT A NORMAL PERSON WOULD DO



I AM READING THE KITTY BOOK NOW., OH, HERE COMES A MAN WITH A LAPTOP I WILL TELL HIM ABOUT THE CITYPAGES PROSTITUTE ADS TOO, THOSE ARE JUST WRONG, I’M WORKING ON MY ROUTINE, YOU KNOW, I’M GONNA FIND OUT WHAT WORKS. OH, I WONDER WHAT THE GUY IS LOOKING AT ON HIS LAPTOP.. I’LL PULL UP A CHAIR RIGHT NEXT TO HIM AND FIND OUT, OH, THIS GUYS AN ASSHOLE, HE TOLD ME TO BACK OFF, I’LL SHOW HIM, I’M LEAVING THIS DAMN DUMPY ASS COFFEE SHOP.. I’M IN THE DOORWAY NOW, I’M LEAVING, BUT FIRST I’M GOING TO THROW MY CUP OF WATER AT HIM AND HIS LAPTOP BECAUSE HE’S AN ASSHOLE OH I JUST THREW IT AT HIM NOW I NEED TO RUN LIKE HELL BEFORE HE GETS UP AND CHASES AFTER ME, UH OH, I THINK I LEFT MY BLOODY WALKMAN AND HEADPHONES THERE, AW, MAN, AW, MAN, I GUESS I’LL JUST GO BACK AND GET THEM TOMORROW.



I’LL

JUST GO BACK AND GET THEM TOMORROW. RUN RUN RUN!