The Maniac Savant

On to the next one.

2010-04-21T20:33:00.002-04:00

This is my new blog. You'll probably hate it.

End times.

I Can Do Everything. I Have Done Nothing.

2010-04-13T02:07:00.004-04:00

Change gon' come.

New York Is Killing Me.

2010-04-10T15:04:00.001-04:00

For the heroes. Somehow found the dirty verj of the vidjo. Fuck a VEVO!

LOOK AT ME!

2010-04-09T16:44:00.003-04:00

I get the feeling that a lot of you are lamenting the passing of Malcolm McLaren to establish some sort of cred. To, perhaps, rub their noses in it, if you will. No biggie. The internet brings out the hipster in all of us. I know that there are some music phreeks who may be legitimately saddened. I just don't get in the habit of mourning deads that I didn't know personally. Just sayin'. I'm a bastard.

dude, life's been over since Partners, or, brevity is the soul of shit. been here b4.

2010-04-01T01:56:00.005-04:00

Nothing profound here. Just wanna know who's down to get bad out this tweekend... It's good to know at least one understands. Deep in this anatomy. Buried.

Leeds Or Bust.

Anybody Wanna Go To Warped Tour And Cause Problems?

2010-03-28T22:09:00.005-04:00

There are few things that get me foamin' harder than the very notion of the City of Baltimore and non-Chainsaw Diaries iterations of The Real World. Thus, combining the two is a guaranteed Level 5. Sure, it has been confirmed that a season of the (shit)show is to be filmed in Bmore. But this shit right here gives me one more reason to long for Death To Man.

Video of the walking abortions responsible for this super-funny video getting their dicks sucked (unfortunately, not literally) by 14-year-old know-nothing cunns is found below.

You Could Find Me In The Streets, Even In A Drought, My Mattress Is Full, Why Shouldn't I Be Out?

2010-03-26T10:17:00.004-04:00

Degrees won't mean shit when we're eating each other, man. When we're, when we're fucking burning our CHILTRIN to stay warm in a post-9/11 dystopia. Mannnnnnn. BURN YR CHILTRIN. On to blackout. I suggest you do likewise. Who's to say there's enough left?

Live Through This.

2010-03-24T15:04:00.004-04:00

It is inadvisable to black out with yr Mac out. Yet, it could be argued that it is equally as foolhardy to nod out with yr rod out.

Niggas just tryin to scam on some craw, Breau. From downtown. Nothing to say really. Nothing to report broh craw lee. Real shite.

We Are Baltimore.

2010-03-19T14:46:00.003-04:00

I can feel the ludacrity leeching into my lymbic system. Subcutaneous seepage that lets me know I'm still here. But for fuck's sake! Danny Glover beatin' the shit out of a Predator?! How you gon' sleep on that?!

Why Do You Overdo It?!

2010-03-18T06:11:00.000-04:00

WHY KNOTT?!

Children Should Be Scene And Not Herd.

2010-03-17T11:08:00.006-04:00

I have a disturbing imagination. If I could draw, I would make art. I would make a sketchbook out of the things I dreamponder and I would call it art. I would sell the art to make money, which would allot me the time to create even more sketchbooks. I would become known in various circles for my art, which I would be making money off of. If I could draw.

"Metallica. Meadowlands. '92. Front Row. Shoulda Seen It Bro. Put My Tongue Down This 16-Year-Old's Trote!"

2009-01-15T00:01:00.007-05:00

Bill Hicks doing Bill Hicks.

For you bitchbabies, substitute Debbie Gibson and Tiffany with Hannah Montana and uhhh, I don't know, some other OVERexposed, UNDERaged cunt that every hetero American male secretly wants to humiliate sexually.

Taboo SNAFU!?

It'll be o.k. Maybe you can justify the depravity in your mind with your countdown-to-18 clocks and your fantasies of snorting lines off her back-tat in one of the stalls in the Viper Room, then spitting into her gaping asshole and shooting her a smile that says, I'll always be here for you. When she's 18 of course.

You are no better than me.

There's Always Room On His Broom.

2009-01-07T01:59:00.006-05:00

Hmmm... Sit on my lap. Grind on that shit. 2am and rising. Niggas in trouble.

Today, I ate a Baconator value meal, large (three times as gnarly as it sounds)... drank about eight or nine sodas at work (they're free)... smoked half a pack of reds and now I'm drinking skunky, warm beer, trying to pass out. Listening to "Plaster Casts of Everything" on repeat, full volume, won't help with that though, will it? Sleepe wenn ime ded ya herd?! All this and I still look better naked, staring wistfully into a full-length mirror with a raging hard-on, than you do. Munhfuckas can't see me. Big Up the Macey Massive!

I am THE portrait of American Virility!

In Consideration of the Future (Fuck 2009).

2009-01-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

"If/when I move in(to a certain local living space that shall remain unnamed), I'm just gonna save up a bit and quit my job, chain-smoke Reds, shadowbox, pound liquor-n-hollywoods, lift weights, blast "Intro" by DMX on a shitty boombox and J my D (in the nude) in the hallways and elevators all day and night".

- Kasai Rex to The Cheeseburger Man no more than 2 seconds ago. Tomorrow.

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid.

2008-12-29T17:34:00.003-05:00

The Twelves - "When You Talk"

Bio:
I spent much of my night out after the game wallowing in the existential nightmare that is Federal Hill, sharing anecdotes about NYC lunacy with kids who graduated from Gilman one, two and three years after me. At one point, I was told that I owe it to myself to finish college. At another, that I totally belong in NYC, but that I just had to take care to run with the right crowd. And at yet another juncture, I ran into an old football coach (prickish metrosexual weirdo who was featured on the 2005 edition of the Bachelorette). "Staying out of trouble?", he asks.

Never That.

This Piece Of Shit Blog > Hipster Runoff ||| Soulwax > Justeece

2008-12-24T01:08:00.006-05:00

KracK from Davvyk on Vimeo

Mo' Better Maths for that Aths...
Part of the Weekend Never Dies > A Cross The Universe

I can't pretend I didn't pay 75 bucks for a ticket to see them at MSG in March (didn't end up going though). I can't pretend that "Cross" hasn't fueled some of the more savage benders of my time. But still.

What's right is right.

And while we're on the subject of bloated-with-adulation, overhyped, soup du jour entities... I need soldiers for a concerted and consistent frontal assault on Hipster Runoff. Fuck that site. Is anyone (who's on the team that is) feelin' me here? HRO = wack city.

Can't wait for the backlash...

epilogue...
I'm bleeding. And it feels goooood.

Blogs are over.

2008-12-21T04:01:00.002-05:00

Notes:
I have become detached.

98% of the people I come into contact with nowadays bore me to tears.

I look damn good in skinny jeans.

I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to write.

I haven't treated my nose in the longest.

The only thing keeping me upright and above ground lately has been thinking of the day during which I accosted Kyp Malone of TV on the Radio on Bedford Ave., face covered in (fake) blood, crashed Grave Digger I into a New York City cab in broad daylight on Houston with a head full of intoxicants and got a super sloppy, impassioned blowjob from a sketchy dominatrix (who dated, but did not fuck, Mickey Rourke mind you) I'd just met at 6am in the Party Bunker bathroom. For the record, she went on to fuck TimeMachine in my bed not 10 seconds after driiiiinking my milkshake and then stole my MacBook charger prior to a hurried 8am Sunday morning exit.

They say one shouldn't make a habit of living in the past, but Jesus. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go. If only I could say with a straight face that all this encompassed the most insane/intense day of my life.

Gonna go J my D and think about the end of days.

Suck Those Toes. She Off That Diet Coke, She On That Coke Diet.

2008-11-30T03:25:00.003-05:00

To TimeMasheen...

If I go along with this whole Club Super Sexe vibe, you gotta promise me and mine that things will end up nearly, if not entirely, identical to what's depicted in this "screamo electronica" video. Bitches getting choked out, rented Ranges, poppin' bottles of sparkling cider, and more fake E than you can shake a giant black rubber cock at. Ya heard me!? Make 'em say unh.

Like the '80s never happened.

But on the real, this is everything that's wrong with society today. To think that the people involved with this shit will someday grow into decision-makers or managers of some sort maybe. Possibly even parents. Actually, wait, yeah def parents. You see that one Asian broad? Total teen preggo stat. Chalk it up. I would bet my unborn daughter's life on the fact that these fucks are either from Jersey (how many Jersey Shore soundtracks is this shit on?), Vegas/New Mexico/Phoenix or Orlando, home of the Backstreet Boys.

Thanks-Shivving. Double Consonant Double Penetration FTW.

2008-11-27T00:20:00.003-05:00

"Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons, destined
to be shit out through wholesome
American guts.

Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Thanks for the KKK.

For nigger-killin' lawmen,
feelin' their notches.

For decent church-goin' women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.

Thanks for "Kill a Queer for
Christ" stickers.

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.

Thanks for a country where
nobody's allowed to mind the
own business.

Thanks for a nation of finks.

Yes, thanks for all the
memories-- all right let's see
your arms!

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams."

E Pluribus Unum, Or, The Ruler's Back.

2008-11-04T03:30:00.002-05:00

"Nahh, see, cuz if they clip Obama, Ima just be on my roof with an AK and a pound of weed, pickin' off white people... It's not like that shit in the '60s. Munhfuckas ain't have guns back then, so they just got to smashin' and burnin' shit. Every nigga in the hood got a strap now!"

-My Barber, about two weeks ago

You probably want or need something brilliant here, but you've got to forgive me if I come off as uninspired. After what can only be described as the most harrowing year of my life, what lies before me and you lot but the culmination of the 2008 presidential campaign... I can fully admit to playing the cynic, the Grinch Who Stole The Election (or will that be Johnny Mac?) as it were, during this epic(ly boring) journey. But who can blame me... the guy I was adamant about voting for months back ended up being a philandering shithead liar.

So it goes.

Over the past year or so, I have seen the very manifestation of white guilt in the form of Obama stickers plastered onto the backs of every Volvo and Volkswagen throughout this great state of mine. I have seen a black community completely unaware of (or unwilling to acknowledge?) the phenomenon of immobilism(e) and its place in modern Western politics. And I have seen "them" all draw a blank on how thoroughly evil the Amerikkkuh Machine can be when it wants what it wants (if the past eight-or 80 years-haven't proven this fact to you, nothing will). Time to find out exactly how masochistic this great nation of ours truly is, yeah?

"And though it seems Heaven-sent, we ain't ready to have a black president..."

-Pac

We Shall See.

I Bought You A Hamburger, Now Give Me A Handjob: Reprise, Or... Keys Open Doors!

2008-09-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

"So many different things make me trill/Start with that "B" with wings over the grille/Maybe how my way with words make me Milll$$$/Or maybe it's my way with birds that's just too SKILLS..."

I don't have to explain myself to you...

Maybe I do...

Kasai fucking hates lists and is certainly not one to wantonly throw rap lyrics down, but shite... To whom it may concern:

Back to being a real person and shit (More so than ever actually)... Fighting to keep my mouth shut about the dirt that's been done in the last 12 months (Someone has to think of the children dammit!)... Falling in love with hip-hop/rap all over again... Sharing anecdotes about the Crack Mansion with complete strangers... Funding terrorism via Online Piracy (Come and get me Jake!)... On some ole Ezra Ledbetter shit, fitted up, 2 Legit 2 Quit... Too much for one cock to handle.

A certain Clipse verse comes to mind...

"Reminds me of how I applied myself, and why I now ride with TipTronic help".

When the new album from the Clipses drop?
It's too many ellipses Up-In-This-Bitch...

I make me sick.

This was an exercise in formatting, brought to you by blowhan's pussy lips and all that, yeah. Had this been a real emergency, you'd be fucked.

FOOOOD FIIIIGHT!

2008-08-19T15:54:00.004-04:00

In the words of Ogden Nash,
Words Are Very, Unnecessary, They Can Only Do Harm...

If I Ruled The World... I'd Free All My Sons...

2008-08-16T12:50:00.007-04:00

FACT: 98.5% of blogs are utter shite, poorly written and conceptually flawed.
FACT: There isn't much point to this when things are so one-sided.
FACT: I had no idea there were so many fake titties in Bmore.

A Time To Be So Small...

2008-08-14T12:49:00.006-04:00

Nota Bene... from the Chairmen Of The Bored...

When Kasai says he has that "Spirit Of Ecstasy Dick", he means that his dick puts these skeezers into a state of, well, ecstasy, NOT that his dick is, when erect, the size of the little winged lady on the hood of a Rolls Royce. Just thought we'd clarify for the shine-killing haters out there.

By The Power Of Greyskull!

2008-08-06T11:59:00.004-04:00

This is some ole bullshit!

Won't tackle Vampire Weekend on the cover, for now. Christ himself knows that Blogger doesn't have the bandwidth to contain my hatred of these fucks and their music.

I'm just curious as to when American music stopped being cool. Maybe it was around the time Klaxons hit their stride and NME nearly shit a brick over nu rave. Nevermind that the fantastic First Impressions Of Earth dropped around the same time. We've certainly had our share of wackness over the years, but everybody gets a little goofy from time to time.

I just find all this a bit funny when I think about the fact that so many of the UK's rock icons are nothing more than shameless biters, many of whom looked to all but forgotten American masters for their source material.

I think I'm more upset about these nerds on the cover than the other bit, but as I said, that's for another time. Who the fuck reads this shit anyway? Any Brit music fan worth a damn has a subscription to MOJO anyway. Fuck NME.

Tings Fall Apart II.

2008-07-30T10:02:00.004-04:00

This vid from GOOD Magazine is prolly the slickest shit I've seen put forth by a magazine in a while. Excepting, of course, that Gigantic Clit pictorial Hustler ran a while back.

This goes out to all those in denial that we're witnessing the End. Especially that shithead who tried to dissuade me of this fact at that Pourhouse on 81st and Lex last year. Fuck I hated that dude. Here's hoping that I'm long gone before the jumpoff.

Cheers.

That's Metal.

2008-07-26T02:45:00.002-04:00

Heavy Metal Monk yeah. Milan's Fr. Cesare Bonizzi and his outfit, Fratello Metallo ("Metal Brother").

Metal gets a bad rap yeah. Resigned to the droves of meatheads who undoubtedly enjoy it the world over, it's surely got its valid uses. The hipper-than-thou bespectacled vegan masses will find that metal is indeed the perfect soundtrack for: Fucking shit up and general problem causing; War; Laying down the Daddy Dick on some goth broad who at least looks 18; throwing your life away; Evading arrest; working your way to a .491 BAC; Even-more-horrific-than-usual DMT trips; peeling out in the Black Widow at 5am after being booted/banned from a certain Brooklyn "metal bar" ('Spirit In Black' being the order of the day on that occasion, thank you.); etc., etc., etc.

With that said, verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi motherfuckers! Or something to that effect.

you are my tiny in my heart.

2008-07-25T02:44:00.005-04:00

nippon.
show case.
nin.
god given.
year zero.
tokyo*kids.
marilyn.
an overflowing creampie in my heart's vagina.
so you think you can dance the downward spiral?

[]\[] [] []/[]
two in as many days.
for a reason.

Black Eye For This Black Guy.

2008-07-24T07:31:00.004-04:00

Nine Inch Nails - "The Great Destroyer" (live in Bratislava)

When I was a child, my mother blessed me with the affectionate nickname of El Destructo, per my penchant for getting into her jewelry box and destroying her earrings and things.

If only we were to know how fitting the name would become down the line, as accelerating my own entropy (and often that of the flimsy, ingenuine spheres of interaction I've established) is all I truly care about, all I truly excel at... when we get down to it. Worry.

Trent Reznor is so dreamy.

Long Live The Club Queen...

2008-07-22T09:14:00.003-04:00

R.I.P. K-Swift...

"I Met The Walrus"

2008-07-06T14:43:00.002-04:00

From the Horse's Mouth:

"In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan, armed with a reel-to-reel tape deck, snuck into John Lennon's hotel room in Toronto and convinced John to do an interview about peace. 38 years later, Jerry has produced a film about it.

Using the original interview recording as the soundtrack, director Josh Raskin has woven a visual narrative which tenderly romances Lennon's every word in a cascading flood of multipronged animation.

Raskin marries the terrifyingly genius pen work of James Braithwaite with masterful digital illustration by Alex Kurina, resulting in a spell-binding vessel for Lennon's boundless wit, and timeless message."

Everyday Is Fuckin' Perfekt!

2008-07-05T06:00:00.008-04:00

The Brighton Port Authority - "Toe Jam" feat. David Byrne + Dizzee Rascal

Hot Bod contests in the sun and all that. Making sure you got it, before you get it that is. More DUIs than you can shake a stick at Mrs. Misdemeanor. You're missing our point mah dear. This ain't ova. Til it is kids. Fucking censors and Mike Ensor. Reprehensible.

She

Said

Me,

Stop

Making

Sense

Silly

Goose.

In The Year 2000.

2008-07-04T17:01:00.006-04:00

Thieves Like Us - Program of the First Part
by thieveslikeus

Thieves Like Us album teaser, via the good Big Stereo

Happy Fourth and shit Americans! My Fourth started with an inexplicable, painfully patriotic and deafening low-altitude formation flyover by four A-10 Warthog attack bombers. Living in a media-induced heightened state of fear (and a drug/mental illness-induced state of paranoia), I jumped to the conclusion that things were, well, jumping off. But as I cooled my jets (yeah that's right), I realized that all was well, and that when you get down to it, the future's only as bleak as you'd like it to be.

What?!

ii.

So tell us Mr. Laroquette...

Does Yr

User Have

Information

That Can

Make This

A FREE(dumb) System

Again?

Practice?! Y'all Wanna Talk About Practice?! Not The Game... But Practice?!

2008-06-29T04:00:00.009-04:00

The Question. For the real heads.

The Answer. The Slow Spin - so many summer days spent perfecting this shit on the garage court. Don't sweat the technique. I love how he's rocking the baggy ass shorts before cats got hip and realized it wasn't 1989 anymore. Bonus Fun Fact: my second cousin was the dude gettin' spun up in this A.I. advert.

Not even.

Hustlin' Man

2008-06-28T02:20:00.001-04:00

Is it just me, or does fat Tracy Morgan resemble Beanie Sigel a lot more than slimmed-down boozehound Tracy Morgan does? And oh yeah, this is my 300th post, but who gives a fuck?

You Should Feel What I Feel, You Should Take What I Take.

2008-06-27T01:00:00.002-04:00

MP3: Shinichi Osawa - Star Guitar feat. Au Revoir Simone
I have forgotten what it feels like to have my head in the vice, the wolves at my heels, the whining babes writhing in my abdomen. The demons are at the breach, chomping at the shit, but I couldn't be bothered, sitting here with ragged veins, sipping on a Jack + Water in a manner that could only be described as playful.

It is summer, and the coquettes are ripe for the ruination.

Choose Yr Own Adventure.

2008-06-25T15:39:00.007-04:00

Is yr life beginning to resemble a Matthew McConaughey/Kate Hudson romantic comedy?

Are you still fucking cheesed over the cancellation of "Night Court"?

Got yr fist up the ass of Fortune, but still no pot of gold?

Is there a My Lai Massacre jumping off in yr pants?

Feeling lonesome at the Junior Prom that is Life?

Has it all gone, Pete Tong?

- Don't SWEAT it -

I'll
be
there
4
you.
Always.
Like Herpes Simplex-II.

thug life.

Ulaanbaatar Stand Up!

2008-06-22T17:10:00.003-04:00

As the line goes, everybody wants to be black... until the cops come.

These Mongolian rappers are the sons of Genghis Khan though, so I guess yeah, that gives them some cred. And it's not as terrible as a lot of the "international rap" I've heard of late. You know what? I'm actually gonna start bumpin' this shit.

Podcast: Long Live The Kang v.1

2008-06-21T06:30:00.000-04:00

On some Egyptian Magician shit, I just blessed the interzone with the good podcast. As my giant clam is on the fritz, it's just a straight up, middle school mixtape, alphabetized for yr pleasure. Drink it up.

n.b. Player's on the right hand side of the page, in the sidebar.

Long Live The Kang v.1 Tracklist:

Alan Braxe + Fred Falke - Horizon

Alex Gopher - Brain Leech

Annie - Helpless Fool For Love (Patrick Wolf Remix)

Annie - My Heartbeat (MSTRKRFT Remix)

Asobi Seksu - Thursday (The Twelves Remix)

Atlantic Connection - Rocksteady (L.A. Riots Remix)

Baltimore Bass Connection - 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover)

The Bar-Kays - Do It (Let Me See You Shake) (Romeo Erotic rmx)

Bat For Lashes - What's A Girl To Do?

The Black Ghosts - Face

The Black Ghosts - Any Way You Choose To Give It

Bloc Party - 2 More Years (MSTRKRFT Remix)

The Bloody Beetroots - Dimmakommunication

The Blow - Hock It (YACHT remix)

Bonde Do Role - Caminhao De Gas

Brazilian Girls - Jique (MSTRKRFT Remix)

Buddy Akai - Cut Me Up (Villains Remix)

Cajuan - Dance/Not Dance (Digitalism Remix)

Calvin Harris - Merrymaking At My Place

Cansei de Ser Sexy - Music Is My Hot Hot Sex (KILL THE NOISE rmx)

Cassius - See Me Now (25 Hours A Day Remix)

Cerebral Vortex - 1980

Choreo - High Five

The Cinematics - Break

Claude VonStroke - The Whistler (Diplo Remix)

Crookers - My Penny

Crystal Castles - Courtship Dating

Crystal Castles - Crimewave (Crystal Castles vs. HEALTH)

Cansei De Ser Sexy - A La La (Gorky Remix)

Cut Copy - Lights And Music

Cut Copy - I Was Young And I Needed The Money

Cut Off Your Hands - You And I

D.I.M. - Is You

Danger - 11h30

Dead Disco - The Treatment (Metronomy Remix)

Digitalism - Pogo

DJ Blaqstarr - Shake It To The Ground feat. Rye Rye

DJ Mehdi - Lucky Boy feat. Fafi

Take acid, get drunk, get fucked, that's what's up, drop pills, take spills, J yr D, pop that twee!

2008-06-20T12:00:00.002-04:00

thunderheist - jerk it from thatgo on Vimeo.

It has not yet begun to bite.
Suzie Q,
make it a double.
dribble.
edmund tibbles put the scribble on hold for a little.
piece of the axiom.
isuzu joe made sure I would remember his face.
til the end of TIME.
magazines blow their load on full auto.
she told me she was well blotto.
so i made it.
swellllll.
put it in yr mouth like Akinyele say.
I am Iron-Man!

No really, I have TONS of black friends! I'm serious. TONS!

2008-06-19T11:05:00.002-04:00

Happy Juneteenth, from Sho Nuff!

I'm Just A Rock N' Roll Clown Baby!

2008-06-17T15:07:00.005-04:00

Rockzo.
An Ode To Joy.
Always Outnumbered and Never Outgunned and all that Yaz.

a deep pocket heavy weather sweetnighter head hunter with a taste for baby blood. gonna blow white christmas up my nose... for unlawful carnal knowledge...

love,
gawd.

Y'all So Stupid: Lady Pants

2008-06-05T02:10:00.001-04:00

This Bud's for you Bedford Avenue...

This Is Not An MP3 Blog, or, "Let's Call The Guy".

2008-05-26T15:27:00.001-04:00

Harassed by Hagglers night + day (with their pleas for me and mine to Wise Up), it could be said that there is blight at the end of the runnel.

Appears there is going to be a Real World Brooklyn. And as I am living in the existential nightmare that is Williamsburg, there could not possibly be a better opportunity to execute my Chainsaw Diaries MSTRPLN. If you don't know what the Chainsaw Diaries are, go fuck yrself. Or, peep THIS. Shit just got realz.

MP3: MSTRKRFT - Bounce (feat. N.O.R.E.)

Say It Loud, I'm Black And I'm Proud... Catch A Freeman What They Called Him...

2008-05-25T17:38:00.003-04:00

The legend of Catch A Freeman (nee Catcher Freeman), the greatest slave tracker who ever lived and shit.

Nacht Musik and Nilla Wafer Give The Yeast Infection Its Daily... Bread

2008-05-24T20:14:00.008-04:00

And they said to me, "when things grow too savage for the sake of saving, stand back and figure how to make them even more grotesque". Little did they know that I was already hard at work at my own personal Haunting. Slaggin' and Crashin' and Choppin' Bliggy on octagonal glASStABLEs. Yeah, generally Muckin' About. (Heath)Cliff Huxtable ain't got shit on me!

ii.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "You used to be beautiful". Whimpering and Malcontent like a chamber maid on bomb heron.

And my response?

Wouldn't

you

know

you

Live

Crew

Bugaloo

Let's just say...

I "silenced her with my

own

naked

self".

And that was the end of it, yeah.

Saturdays=Youth, Saturdays=Stress.

2008-05-03T05:05:00.006-04:00

Goya_Saturn_Devouring_1_Of_His_CHILDREN

Kasai REX kills what he builds,

fills what he kills,

with the love of his loins.

Makes you wish you'd been there,

when shit got drastic,

and everyone's trash suddenly became Pleasure Treasure.

Therein Lies The Problem.

2008-04-21T12:00:00.003-04:00

A toast, to productivity.

For the record:
Love Whiskey/Whisky
Love Mad Decent
Love Second City TV

and...

Fucking Hate Baseball

"If It Wasn't For Obesity In The White Female Community, Black Guys Would Have No One To Fuck..."

2008-04-20T05:06:00.003-04:00

The Good Side of Bad News - Obesity

Sometimes Virginia, genius needs to step aside and let the wizards work their wonders.

and p.s., I'm well aware that this is the first post in over a month; I have an ass-and-titties calendar in the doorway, yeah. so go fuck yourself G. Gordon Liddy.

I Bought You A Hamburger, So Give Me A Handjob

2008-03-16T01:46:00.003-04:00

I have friends.
We play pinball.
But only when we have time.
But when we do, man do we ball.
Literally.
I-am-a-disappointment-specialist.
I-have-never-played-baseball... PERIOD.

Cut Off Your Hands. Feed Them To Me. Let Me See Your Heart's Vagina.

2008-02-29T22:03:00.003-05:00

Some real blog shit. As told to Patrick Thomas Thompson. Born March 22, 1984. Native of Califon, New Jersey, Hunterdon County. Son of Don and Terry(sp?) Thompson. Brother of Don Jr. and Mike. Graduate of Vorhees High School and the University of Maryland, College Park. Member of the esteemed Delta Tau Delta Fraternity, Delta Sigma Chapter. Devourer of beauty, connoisseur of disturbing art. Late bloomer in the metaphysical struggle amongst the machines, "God", time, the Seven Seas, mankind, the elite and the desire to be as entropic as possible.

Remember the TimeMachine as he is, not as you wish him to be. That goes for all of us, p.s.
enjoi.

i'm drinking alone in my bed, listening to aphex twin in my boxers, occasionally watching the video for sebastien tellier's "la ritournelle" and crying my eyes out.

i woke up this morning with pretty sizable chunks of cartilage on my pillow and i stepped on a piece of glass in the gallery and now it poss may be infected.

my body all but rejects anything that's not a cigarette, alcohol, a schedule 1 intoxicant or an MAO Inhibitor.

my checking account is overdrawn by an obscene amount (378.23 to be exact; don't ask).

my mother is like legitimately afraid that i'm going to kill myself (haha).

i make enemies a lot easier than friends and have basically been living the last scene of cloverfield for the last three weeks.

yet as i sit here, in the UVA shirt i stole from their bookstore during my campus visit junior year at Gilman, watching this (possibly underaged) girl get brutally facefucked by an impossibly massive cock, i can't help but think that i am a bigger beast than 96% of NYC.

Shut The Fuck Up Mt. Heart Attack, Before I Beat Your Ass. The Drum Is Certainly Not Dead.

2008-02-27T16:58:00.004-05:00

Liars - Be Quiet Mt. Heart Attack (in an elevator)
Courtesy of La Blogotheque

They Should Have Put Him In A Glass Jar.

2008-02-26T07:07:00.003-05:00

(Fuck You!)

"Well, fuck you, too. Fuck me? Fuck you, fuck this whole city and everyone in it.

Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get-a-fucking-job!

Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!

Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jiggling their dicks on my Channel 35.

Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?

Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from!

Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds!

Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe motherfuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco?! Worldcom?!

Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good.

Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their Pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.

Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart!

Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago! Move-the-fuck-on!

Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray-our-trust!

Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil.

And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity!?! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J!

Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass!

Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place. "

No.

No.

No, fuck you, Kasai Richardson. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb fuck!

Rome wasn't built in a day, but it fell in the blink of an eye.

This Is The Best Blog On The Internet. It's Indefatigable.

2008-02-17T23:55:00.003-05:00

Kasai REX is a product of private education. And despite this fact, he has seen humanity at its most severe, at its most pedestrian, at its most grotesque.

At its most... HUMANE.

And yet, in light of all the pulchritude concordant with modern strife, this fail-safe world of ours still refuses to step aside as he cuts a swath through the cosmos, killing red dwarfs in a manner not unlike the way you scatter dandelion spores, traversing the void, piling light year upon light year upon light year upon light year the way you try not to step on a crack, BREAK-YOUR-MAMA'S-BACK.

Have a butchers.

Keith Legend... Paris, Texas. Diazepine Tangerine. Dream.

2008-02-07T02:39:00.000-05:00

Nerve's Blog: Heath Ledger's official cause of death was ruled "acute intoxication by the combined effects of oxycodone, hydrocodone, diazepam, temazepam, alprazolam and doxylamine." In other words, he died of an "accidental overdose."

Diego: you can't be eating and snorting that much shit with the letters x and z in them

Well put my friend.

Well. Put.

I Wanna Make A Fat Girl Cry Tonight!

2008-02-05T00:24:00.000-05:00

Welcome To The No Spin Zone.

You Don't Remember Me Do You? Burbank? '83? Yeahhh! Good To See You! How's The Wife? Ohhh, Sorry To Hear That. Remarried? No. Yeah, Such A Trap Right?

2008-02-01T10:29:00.000-05:00

"... And after one-thousand-and-one years of anguish, the Harrier Of TRUTH finally sinks its obsidian talons into the flesh and marrow of the sexually sated Fuck-Titan, and things begin to begin again Mr. Finnegan, the slender ovipositor having posited something rather sinister."

"What Did You Expect From A Crakhead?"

- Revelations 11:16

God Bless Melbourne!

2008-01-19T20:58:00.000-05:00

what a fucking beast.

and what a fucking bitch (I'm sure she'll make a loving, infertile wife and make some banker really happy someday). not very australian of her. I'm inclined to think she might be a Britisher.

only a matter of months now before this kid is booking Modular parties and fucking Kate Moss.

parents just don't understand.

p.s. i update this thing when i fucking feel like it. cuz when you're down with the tray-five ghostbusters clique, you do what it is that you do when you do it.

Tweak That Geek!

2008-01-08T19:30:00.000-05:00

I've always been one for original content, but Jesus. From Rotten.com (my first visit in literally seven years; just as horrifying as always)...

"From Prairie View Prevention Services, Inc. in association with MAPP, the Meth Awareness and Prevention Project, a small instructional flyer on how to handle tweakers:

"If you notice that someone is tweaking, be careful how you handle the situation. Keep in mind these six safety tips for approaching a tweaker:

1. Keep your distance. Coming too close can be perceived as threatening.

2. No bright lights. The tweaker is paranoid and bright lights may cause them to react violently.

3. Slow your speech, lower your voice.

4. Slow your movements. The tweaker is paranoid and may misunderstand your movements.

5. Keep your hands visible, or they may feel threatened and become violent.

6. Keep the tweaker talking. A tweaker who falls silent can be extremely dangerous. Silence often means that his paranoid thoughts have taken over reality, and anyone present can become part of the tweaker's paranoid delusions."

epilogue.
"Meth is the shortest word in the English language one can lisp while drunk and underage at a gay bar".

"Their entire lives revolve around this. There's nothing but Gatorade in the refrigerator and candy all over the house. I saw a guy freak out, just yelling on his bed". - Graphic designer Chad Upham to D.C. MetroWeekly

That Pandemic! That Plymouth Rock! TM

2008-01-04T20:32:00.000-05:00

I remember when "they" started making ("urban") public school kids wear clear backpacks so that security and law enforcement stooges could see what the kind of heat/drugs/stabbing weapons the little nappy-headed tikes were packing. Even more hilarious is that it was just then that the Columbine jump-off, well, jumped off and school shootings at "suburban" places of learning became en vogue. Natch.

The Jake Gyllenhaal film Bubble Boy reminded me of all this madness, because you see, once he's broken out of his medical-grade-plastic tomb and strikes out in his personal isolation sphere to track down the woman that he loves, he has this thing called the decontamination chamber on the side of his bubble that is, in actuality, one of the clear backpacks I was on about sentences before.

Synchronicity. Pachinko Tiffany.

As I sit, broken stem in hand, about to tumble headlong off the precipice of that Plymouth Rock, I'm reminded of a hate crime recorded in the exurban neo-yuppie fuckpit that is Howard County, Maryland:

"Jews Rule"
"Go Jews"
"Swastikas with Xs through them"

Not sure of the exact details, but who gives a fuck.

A bit of pro-Semitism for a change. And from the looks of him, the victim's Jewish. How can I tell? Let's just say I have some experience in the field. Wink-Tink.

Man I wanna fucking join a cult. Like yesterday. Get some of that brainwashed trim before it drops dead in a bright blue Nike jumpsuit.

BE Aggressive, Not So Depressive.

2007-12-31T01:18:00.003-05:00

Monster.

I mean...

Monsta.

Shit. Hold up...

Monster.

Fuck yes!

The

Last

Living

Dinosaur

Of The Congo.

kasai rex.

Who You Calling Boy, Boy?

2007-12-30T20:26:00.000-05:00

The Presets - My People (dir. Kris Moyes)

It truly is something that this video makes me want to eat massive amounts of both Ecstasy and DXM. Two wildly different animals.

Blood In, Blood Out. (Reasoning).

MDMA: The Presets' Pussy-Pounding Pulse

DXM (b/k/a cough suppressant): Terror-soaked MoonView visuals

Wascally Wabbits End Up With Their Chests Blown Out. Period.

Also interesting is that the last time I dropped pills (after a Cage show), I drove from a club to an apartment party at 6am, rolling my face off, listening to, you guessed it, The Presets. "Are You The One" to be exact.

(Pseudo-)Synchronicity. It's What's For Dinner And Shit.

So yeah. In summation: The Presets, dope; Modular, dope; Anything that significantly and permanently alters my brain's chemistry (for better or worse), super dope.

Reach for the lasers, Safe as fuck.

P.S. For those among you who may be new to the nightmare, further insight into my epicly horrific, rehab-inducing experiences with Dextromorphan can be found HERE.

Garnett Mims Ain't Got Shit On Me.

2007-12-28T14:56:00.000-05:00

Dear Diary,

Last night before Morelandshire tucked me in, I found myself strangely stricken by a feral urge to hurl a shrieking newborn baby (a docile infant would do as well I suppose; as with most things I'm not very picky) into the corner of an unfurnished room.

This isn't strictly an anger thing (nb: it would moreso be a light toss than a throw), nor is it as simple as being a matter of wanting to satisfy reprehensible violent urges. I am, after all, the first to admit that my reptilian brain has gotten the upper hand on the mammalian from time to time, often in inappropriately sanitary and highly public contexts. But a bit of the hyperviolence does a body good I always say. And I do know when the RAGE is presenting itself, and this didn't seem to be one of those special moments.

The Freud Noid would posit that this is possibly a sexual thing, a matter of rePRESSion. They love to play that card, yeah? Maybe an urge stemming from formerly latent recollections of seeing interracial gangbang porn at a particularly perverted neighbor's apartment at the wee age of three? It's all connected somehow. Someway. That's what the leapfrogs say.

Whatever the igniter, the fire's been raging for no less than 12 hours now. So, as the great Warren G. Harding once said while fellating the French ambassador behind his solid oak desk: "Ain't nuttin' to it but to do it!"

Way I see it, it's a metaphysical thing more than anything else. Charity even. Let the little bastard child know from the jump that "the world is a cruel place" and that "life's a bitch and then you die." It'll thank me later.

I can see it now... 30 yrs down the road, I'll be laid up with a stoma in my throat, miserable, penniless and alone, about to fucking kick it and suddenly, a visitor. An eight foot tall, shirtless, buttfucking-werewolf-party-monster with stunna shades and 10 strippers in tow. He'll mumble his gratitude in between guzzles off his metal flask of engine degreaser, then he'll spit in my creased, Hep C-ravaged face, finger fuck one of the strippers on top of my respirator and ManDump all over an elderly nurse, just for good measure.

Practice. Theory. Practice. Theory.

Always willing to help, my equally sociopathic sister suggested that I consult a local unfit mother and, by dubious means, to be sure, procure her infant for said tossing, so as to insulate myself from the otherwise inevitable prosecution that fulfilling this deranged whimsy is sure to bring.

A good old-fashioned frame-up, yeah. Shouldn't be tough. Plenty of unfit mothers to go around. Like macadoni and cheez at olliday times.

Nothing like family to spur on a derelict. Nothing. Look for me in the news.

I Heard He Smoked Joints Dipped In Embalming Fluid.

2007-12-27T22:32:00.000-05:00

Follow the Bleeder.

He has a wonderful sense of direction I'm told.

Shit's gotten all post-meridian and all is quiet on the Western Front. Yet, the aforementioned empty pouch of Medellin Magic won't go down without a fight. (See the previous post if you don't know what the fuck I'm on about).

Reaching into my pocket, mulling over plans to hitchhike to L.A., my fingers fondle what I, until recently, believed to be a guitar pick.

But the heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of. Just be glad that for once in your colorless (RGB) life, a contiguous and captivating narrative is thrown at your feet.

You're Welcome.

Next Episode: How best to dispose of the (appreciably vacant) bag and avoid further exacerbation of drug-related interpersonal and familial crises.

Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

i fucken pwomiss. or they can throw me in gaol.

Finders-Keepers Fear the Reapers.

2007-12-26T18:44:00.000-05:00

prologue:

Old Business: What did her pussy ever do to you?

New Business: What didn't her pussy do to you?

Q: When does it end?

(dramatic pause, mild inertia)

A: Sometimes it never ends.

Autobiographical for once.

In a day spent mostly trying to download the Kim Kardashian sex tape, a thing of beauty emerges but a few hours after sundown.

*Expose The Nose*

I sit atop my dais, shivering in solitude, leafing through the "Harvester of Sorrow" issue of Vice Magazine (procured from the Williamsburg American Apparel store during a cracked out excursion with TimeMachine; very cute footsoldiers working there, ps).

Though the cover and pages are unreasonably weathered (stained with the joys, sorrows and general heroics of all that have passed through Shooting Gallery Studios in the past three or four weeks), this is the first time I've made an effort to actually read the thing. Flagged long before this little reenactment of the that now infamous Seinfeldian vignette. Natch.

I arrive at the Guitar Center advert/"Vice Guide to Bands" bit, taking the time to read the bit on Chromeo's gear tips, internally decrying the ubiquity of the Vice/American Apparel hipster-industrial complex, when what should I see but a bit of terror. The beautiful blonde mistake, straight from the belly of the beast, in the home my mother raised me in.

A first. Honest.

There it is, a twenty-bag of Devil's Dandruff, lying dead before me, completely empty, at once a disaster and a blessing. What would possess me to tuck away a decidedly empty bag of flash deep within a magazine? The world may never know. All that matters is that we're here now, so there's no point in leaving just yet, yeah?

Sit your ass down and have a drink. We've got a lot to catch up on, yeah? The Killer in me likes the frosted side, but the Automaton in me likes the Killer in me. Go figure.

Who Gives A Fuck About An Oxford Comma?

2007-12-24T19:41:00.000-05:00

Radiohead - Everything In Its Right Place

Exactly one year ago, in the midst of my greatest existential crisis (to date),

My balls literally went from blissful paradise to panicked peril in a matter of minutes.

I blame that skank's hurricane tongue, those overlarge (if sensual) lips.

Maybe the copious amount of whiskey and amphetamines, keeping me in the dark and out of the race, dulling me to the pain.

That agony. A creeping thing that would make itself increasingly relevant as Christmas Eve/Christmas Day 2004 wore on, drove on behind a train of hellhounds

Like some sort of endless fucking nightmare ride, with Daniel Day Whomsoever holding the reins.

Strange.

A name's a name of course. But is the Butcher's Apron really necessary? Seems to kind of fly in the face of an "America for Americans" yeah?

Well Tangential, but I make no apologies.

Just let it be a lesson.

Though enthusiastic blowjobs may look good on film, in the cinema verite that is the real deal, they can indeed land a body in the emergency room at 2am on Christmas Eve, vomiting into a well used bed-pan, cursing every Tom, Dick and Harry around because you're forced to wait 30 minutes despite the irrefutable fact that it's Christmas morning and you're the only miserable fuck in the waiting room. God knows ya lonely soul.

Pain so thorough it leaves no opportunity to consider an end, a resolution. No escape. Only the solace of a deep enmity towards all who aren't you in that moment. Own it. Nurture it. Be it.

All these fucking degrees and the best you can come up with is a kidneystone? Word? Keep in mind that this scumbag-criminal-manipulator-genius-crackhead-walking emergency-sage writhing in agony before you is a tender 19 years of age.

Sink to the subterranean and succumb to "scans" of all sorts. Let the Indian Professional ultrasound that black sack, cos' kid's all doped up on commercial grade pain-murdering-pulsates, so it's not gay or nothin'. Doesn't feel the sensuality that's filling that tiny room second by second.

We're goin' in.

Because you see, the man who stands by and does nothing in the face of the commission of evil... Well that would make him a sinner all the same.

And for all intents and purposes (nee, "all intensive purposes"), our man's right testicle trying to strangle his left testicle qualifies as evil in this context. Without emergency surgery, the execution would be complete and amputation of said testicle would be necessary.

But as there are two colors in my head, so to speak, I'm here to assure the curious heart that everything worked out rather well. Made it in for surgery, in time, got a nifty gauze diaper thing, and came away with a pretty sweet (if short lived) hydrocodone prescription (a thing of note as it was preceded months before by some rather dangerous OxyContin experimentation). Though, to be truthful, their medicine, so-called, only detached me for a few days before it became utterly and painfully ineffectual.

Bollocks.

But.

Life's hard.

Making the shit interesting is even harderer. Your best is all we can ask for.

Fear Is On Our Side. Oh Yes It Is.

2007-12-10T23:32:00.000-05:00

I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness - "The Owl"

So which will it be Rextaford?

The Raven? Or The Owl?
The choice is surely yours.
But if we're truly honest,
It's a Simple Question really. With an even simpler answer.
All you've gotta do is look down at your hands.
Now tell us, how haunting have those hands become?
Since you've been here that is.
Oh yes Rextaford, The Hands have it.

Division Day and the kids are all atwitter.

Somewhere in New Mexico, at or around the time of the 2000 U.S. Presidential Election:

Chlamydia test was negative. Doesn't comfort as much as I'd hoped it would.

Joy and Pain, Sunshine and Rain,
Meted out like so much petrified Christmas candy,
Commiserating over Jack and Waters, pounding stale cigarettes and
Dissecting bar-top peanuts with a brass cocktail sword from La Perdrera,
Pretending they're the tiny beige bodies of prisoners of some undeclared yet inevitable war.
Sick, Sick, Sick, So Sick It's... Sick.

She leans in, well close, breath hot with the unmistakable scent of complimentary drinks:
"Not easy to make it through a minefield carrying all the hopes of an entire Boom".

Settles back into that raggedy fucking chair, all warm and smug.
Stares up at the TV, smile wrapped around her straw.
Knows something none of the rest of us seem to.
In for the tempest though. Always has been.

A moment of science,
Then a plunge into those hazel eyes that confirms It,
Once and For All:
It's about who strikes hardest,
Not who strikes first.

"Oh yes," she says, grinning maniacally.
"The Owl and The Raven need each other more than either of them would care to let on."

There Would Be No Public Television!

2007-12-07T21:31:00.000-05:00

"The World's Worst Singer"

If there's one thing I heart about Web 2.0, it's how extensive and accessible it's made humiliation. Cheers to that. I'd still fuck though. Just sayin'. Off to the boozah, yeah.

New York's Alright If You Like Tuberculosis.

2007-12-06T15:43:00.000-05:00

Fear - New York's Alright If You Like Saxophones (Live On SNL)

"It's great to be here in New Jersey".
Hahahaha. Perfect

"New York's alright,
New York's alright,
New York's alright,
if you like saxophones!

New York's alright if you wanna be pushed in front of the subway!
New York's alright if you like tuberculosis!
New York's alright if you like art and jazz!
New York's alright if you're a homosexual!

New york's alright,
New York's alright,
New York's alright,
if you like saxophones!

New York's alright if you like drunks in your doorway!
New York's alright if you wanna freeze to death!
New York's alright if you wanna get mugged or murdered!
New York's alright if you like saxophones!

New York's alright,
New York's alright,
New York's alright,
if you like saxophones!"

Fucking perfect. Infinitely relatable, so why belabor the point any further?

I'm Gonna Fuck A Spice Girl: Ancillary Involving Anthropomorphic Teeth.

2007-12-05T21:43:00.000-05:00

Three 6 Mafia - Sippin' On Some Sizzurp (feat. The Munchers)

In case you're not all that strong at visualizing horrific scenes, this YouTube video more or less sums it up. Though there wasn't any Codeine-infused prescription cough syrup or anthropomorphic teeth involved, the level of madness is about on par with the last six days of my life. I like to picture myself as that bizarre Cavity-Vampire character, if I do say so myself.

As if the track isn't Gothic enough, someone saw fit to make things super sketch and mash it up with this bizarre cartoon. Claymation has always scared the shit out of me, but if I had seen this coming up, I would've gone absolutely apeshit. If parents of the echo boom ever have to wonder why we ended up the way we did (read: all fucked up and real shitty), look no further than shit like this. Have a nice day!

I Wanna Fuck A Spice Girl. No Fuck That... I'm Gonna Fuck A Spice Girl!

2007-12-05T21:22:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to make any apologies for being sporadic. When benders last from one Wednesday night into the following Tuesday night, these things are to be expected. At a juncture such as this, it becomes necessary to consider how badly you want it.

Are you able to shake the memory of inadvertently drinking your own urine? Should you apologize for throwing a pint glass at a stranger's head, seemingly unprovoked, at a favorite local boozer? Does it make sense to consult a psychiatrist after hallucinating (in the midst of the aforementioned bender) that you discussed the possibility of a war with Iran with your long dead grandfather? Should you be worried about pneumonia after spending four hours in a broken down SUV with the windows down, cracked out in the financial district, awaiting help? Should you fear retaliation from the number of customers (and proprietors alike) who were utterly offended by your savagery? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself. Don't worry. Things can only get better. You love it when I'm bad.

I'm Going To Put You Into Premature Menopause After That Remark My Dear!

2007-11-29T00:16:00.000-05:00

another wonderful transmission. depending on how you look at it.

Paul Pagliaro: dear god
Paul Pagliaro: you realize we need years of therapy and medication right?
Kasai REx: yeah
Kasai REx: decades
Kasai REx: all of us
Kasai REx: of course i realize that
Paul Pagliaro: just kidding, fuck all that hippie bullshit!
Paul Pagliaro: the only thing i need is a doctor that's gonna prescribe me whatever i want, whenever i want

end scene.

"Who The Fuck Got Them E Pills?!"

2007-11-27T21:57:00.000-05:00

Guns N Bombs - Nothing Is Getting Us Anywhere

Videoclip from Angelenos and Kitsune soldiers Guns N Bombs, shot with friends in and around Echo Park. Directed by Jeppe Laursen (Senior from Junior Senior) and filmed with 70s-era video gear. Starring the musicians (IMAROBOT"s Filip Turbotito and Chicago DJ Johnny Love) and their wacky California friends frolicking about, evoking a scene of some sort of cocaine-soaked, Reaganite Rococo daydream. Now that you have background, let's get back to me. Because it is, after all, my show Ed. Don't you FUCKING forget it you senile FUCK. I'M JOHNNY FUCKING CARSON GOD DAMMIT!

This track makes me wanna get all fucken MadCHESTer and eat like 25 Es (and maybe blow a few more for extra credit) and fly across the river to Manhattan, just to cause some ELE-grade problems at Stereo, yeah. Maybe play some kickball, go visor shopping. Smoke a little weeeeeeed. I know how much you kids love your marijuana. And why not keep the party train runnin' and shoot over to London City for a bit, on the wings of MDMA? Up for a Green Light Test yeah? 225 BPM or die. Safe as fuck.

epilogue.
Where my E pill bitches at? Cos ya need to give me a call around Thursday or Friday. Your country needs you. And by your country, of course I mean the seratonin and dopamine receptors in my rapidly deteriorating brain. Semper Fi.

Jerk Church.

2007-11-26T11:45:00.000-05:00

Death From Above (1979) - "Blood On Our Hands"

As the REx has been in digital hibernation for some time, it's only courteous to play a bit of catch up, yeah?

The scene is the Borough of Kings. Somehow.

God knows how long ago the Saturn's Day in question was.

God knows what transpired the Friday before.

But you see. That's the trip with this set. Days become nights and weekends never really die. This is all far beyond any song lyric or party Polaroid on Last Night's Party. You Talk It, We Live It. Which ironically, is part of a song lyric. So there you go.

A Saturday morning not all that spectacular in and of itself. Oh no. Quite normal really. A head full of fire, megalomaniacal thoughts and more than a bit of dust. Plenty of "You Go Grrrrl!" Overdrawn accounts all around. Like some House Party 3 shit, yeah?

Let's move. Coked-Up Werewolf and the Ultimate Warrior are made of sterner stuff that morning. TimeMachine, however, breaks out the fake blood, a full week before Halloween, methinks. Not putting that shit on my face. Sensitive skin. But once again, emotion overwhelms logic and something beautiful is the end product. Two banshees, braving the cold steel rain, bleeding profusely from the head, awaiting the opening of our favorite boozer, Williamsburg's CYN (Lounge). Just down the block from "home".

Drive around a bit, stretch out those Aquatreads. The GraveDigger hydroplanes about Greenpoint, and by now, I'm on my way to taking an entire can of highly lethal Dust-Off to the face. Gotta be economical, yeah.

Eventually, the potential for vehicular manslaughter becomes too much for even TimeMachine and I, so we park the GraveDigger where we damn well please and take a walk. A long walk. Bloodied, soaking wet, well mashed, sketching out any and all who happen to be in the blast zone. One concerned Brooklynite stops me to ask if I'm alright (on account of the blood), even offering to help fuck up whatever vato done did it. My reassurances of a lack of injury don't seem to calm his murderous rage. Perfect. He's on the team.

A short time afterwards, I've found an umbrella, a child's, made in the P.R.O.C. All purple and My-Little-Pony-cute. Time to make this thing grotesque, cos' that's what the REx does best, yeah.

Within the span of a few blocks, I've destroyed the umbrella to the point that it consists of little more than a mangled revision of its flimsy metal endoskeleton. Occasionally, I hold the eye-poker at arm's length, squatting in the middle of Bedford Avenue for long stretches of time, horns honking left and right of me, all the while making any and all attempts to pick up a transmission from those pesky fucking Scanners. It's a war so futuristic it has but two combatants and one side. Nervous stares all around. No NYPD for miles.

Time's gone. CYN's on, with a dear friend manning the bar. L.A. Guns and blood-soaked Roses will be the vibe. Lots of Death From Above 1979. Tour Support. In spades. And so much blood on our faces and clothes that we'll most likely develop skin cancer 10 years from now as a result of the cosmetics. Everyone is worried about us.

Frequent dashes outside with my former-umbrella cum interstellar listening device. And on one such occasion, who should I see ambling down Bedford Avenue but Kyp Malone, guitarist and vocalist for Brooklyn indie supergroup TV on the Radio. Not unusual in and of itself, as he's often in the neighborhood, along with lead singer Tunde Adebimpe. But this is special. I'm feelin' strong and the world is mine, so to speak. Literally. Shhh. Here he comes...

And it go a little somethin' like this:

kasai REx: "Big fan Kyp, Huge fan. Great live show man!"

Kyp Malone: "Jesus dude, you're bleeding!"

...end scene...

Mission Accomplished Mr. Hawke. Return to base for some Jack-and-Waters.

Mumbled through a mouth full of peach Skoal, TimeMachine proposes a jaunt to Manhattan, seemingly out of nowhere. On the hunt for some trim. Two guns up! Terrible idea. kasai at the wheel?

Across the bridge without mass death. Somehow, someway. Not so lucky from there on out. A mingling of sheetmetal interfaces. on Houston. a yellow cab and a narrow escape, courtesy of a now freshened Ultimate Warrior. if only it had been one of those mobile paternity test centers, like the ones I see in Bed-Stuy. Then maybe I could have cleared up some, uncertainty. Yo well.

Though the night would continue from that point (approx. 5pm Saturday) through 9am the following Sunday, this story does not have a happy ending. This denouement is one of parking tickets, the petty theft of Apple products, empty wallets and empty hearts, "how do I taste", the death of the fake blood gag and epicly savage coke crashes. So for your own sake, you'd best stay behind the yellow line. And please do mind the gap.

Pretty Pink, Baby Blue

2007-11-24T19:12:00.001-05:00

i. I've got a 9mm bullet casing hiding between the blue and pink layers of my reversible BoxFresh jacket. Funny, as I have no idea how it got there. I don't own a gun (n.b. - given my professed derangement and past outbursts of warrantless and excessive violence, probably for the best), so that's out.

Most likely, I found it somewhere and was carrying it around, fully in the throes of TOUGH GUY Mode. And it's highly possible that someone in "The Circle" advised me to put it in of the "Keep New York City Clean" trash cans on some Brooklyn corner, so as not to draw unnecessary police attention. Holding, you see. Funnier still is the fact that, short of cutting the jacket open, which I'm not fucking doing, there seems to be no way to get it out.

ii. By around 4pm this day, I should've been fully prepared to hang myself. To think that my drug counselor (and former addict) uncle visited the family home, well mashed, driving around my young cousin and her friends, advising me to stay away from the "drug scene". Farbeit for me to stop a drunken sermon. Let him run. He'll wear himself out, with lots of talk of how the mental illness/savage drug problems that plagued him and my grandfather "skipped" me. Assuring nods, yeah. Guess that's my M.O. Case ya didn't know. To paraphrase, The Spark In His Eye Belies The Apocalypse Inside Him (thank you TVOTR). And don't you fucken forget it.

But hey. I did gain some insight through all the Newport haze and Jack Daniels belches. A sober-eye view of what cats look like when totally mashed. Not enough to shut the lights out when I get back to Brooklyn though. The Fatal Flaw. Drag the Waters.

Epilogue... Bullet troubles aside, it occurs to me now that the aforementioned uncle in Article ii. was the same uncle who gave me my first beer. At age three. And apparently, getting toddlers wasted has been his M.O. for quite some time. The More You Know...

Real Compared To What?

2007-11-23T22:47:00.000-05:00

Panties for men
Match.com
Pussy tattoo
Dust and Peyote, but not in that order
The Maytag Man's illegitimate black son
Flatbed trucks carrying other flatbed trucks
Monster truck video games (in 2007)
Dreaming that Pervez Musharraf was dead
Lindsay Lohan's head on Eminem's body
1991 BMW (E30) M3
The 201 area code
The Coked-Up Werewolf
God damn skylight!
Being referred to as Miranda Richardson on some blog
Trying to steal my own identity
Glock 19L
Spanx
"This is the game of LIFE!"
Point Break, thrice in one day
Cranberry shortage
Euros under my tire
Eddie Harris
Talk of the Nation
Noodles
"I want that inside me!"
Jim Palmer rookie cards
19-year-old twat
Holland Tunnel's "suicide squad"
MLK Jr.'s funeral
Filial disappointment
Midgets drowning on inflatable rafts
Yu-Gi-Oh
Sobbing mother
Baltimore Street
Phantom 20s
19th Pregnancy Scare
Lifetime (bans)
The Scourge
CYN
"One Day The Children Came"
Flight Simulator X
Coke-covered MetroCard
Pissed Jeans
Live Free or Die
Logitech
Flashers
Peter Jackson
"Because Heart Care Can't Wait"

This is the nightmare. Lived every day, all day, 1/30th of second slower than it actually jumps off. Melding a somnambulist's fuckwittery with a Reaver's perpetual anguish. We'll drink to that. Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again. And Again.

KASAI Rex is ALIVE 2007!

2007-11-23T02:07:00.000-05:00

Finally. A thoroughly haunting, hyper-accurate, post-Barye representation of what KASAI Rex looks like at the height of his Brooklyn-based raging. "You've never seen me very upset". London has its own definition for this icon, but we'll settle for the biographical, yeah? Love you!

Go Home, Get Down, Again MotherFucker!

2007-11-15T13:57:00.000-05:00

Imagine my shock when I discovered that the most dangerous, most elusive, most mysterious drug on Earth, scopolamine (or Devil's Breath) is available in the form of some sort of prescription(?) motion sickness treatment. Smiles all around. It's only a matter of time yeah. Further info can be found here.

Go Home, Get Down

2007-11-04T21:49:00.000-05:00

Let it be known that from here on out, KASAI Rex (a newly acquired moniker -ed.) shall be acknowledged as the hardest partier in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Far beyond braggadocio, this "statement" is a matter of empirical fact, and shall be, upon request, verified by the vanquished, possible contenders for the crown.

Angels With Even Filthier Souls.

2007-10-25T17:46:00.000-04:00

Home Alone. A definitive film in our time. All the shit that happened to those sorry bastards was so fucking funny back in the day, but looking back, there isn't anything hilarious about a man being shot in the balls by a kid with a BB gun, especially considering that he also steps on a nail, has an iron dropped on his face, and gets his scalp burned off by a blowtorch. MERRRRY CHRISTMAS you mutts!

Courtesy of the Wikipedia entry for Home Alone

Harry (Joe Pesci):

Gets shot in the crotch by Kevin with Buzz's BB air rifle in the back door.

Slips on the icy front door steps twice.

Burns his right hand on the red-hot front doorknob heated by an electric charcoal starter heating element, leaving an M-shaped brand on his palm (the knob was presumably monogrammed for the McCallisters), that is seen in the next movie.

Sets his head on fire by a blow-torch activated by a string tied to the back door, ripping his hat open and burning his scalp.

Runs into a piece of plastic wrap coated with glue/caulk, then gets blasted with feathers blown from a large fan; effectively being tarred and feathered.

Gets tripped by a string stretched across the upstairs hallway.

Gets hit in the stomach by Marv with a crowbar when the latter was trying to kill Axl, Buzz’s tarantula.

Marv (Daniel Stern):

Gets shot in the forehead by Kevin with Buzz's BB air rifle in the back door of Kevins house.

Slips on the icy stairs leading to basement door.

Gets hit in the face by an iron falling down the laundry chute while trying to turn on a light.

After losing his socks and shoes, he attempts to climb a staircase covered in tarmac, about halfway he stands in a nail. Which goes into his foot, shouting in pain; he falls backwards landing on his back.

Slips on the icy basement stairs again while leaving the basement.

Steps on glass Christmas ornaments while trying to sneak in through a window, hurting his feet.

Kevin places Axl (Buzz’s tarantula) on his head which, although not seriously hurting him, scares him silly.

Gets hit in the left arm three times by Harry with his crowbar after failing to kill Axl.

Both

Slip on Micro Machines toy cars laid by Kevin in the main entrance.

Get hit in the face with 2 paint cans, sending them backwards into the main entrance floor (Harry loses his gold tooth in the process, which infuriates him).

While the two are trying to get to the tree house using a zip line connecting the tree house with the main house, Kevin cuts the rope causing them to swing into a brick wall and fall on the ground (Harry gets a black eye in the process).

Get knocked out by Marley with a snow shovel in the Murphy's house.

It's Like Getting Your Ninth Telemetron After You've Lain Out In The Sun Too Long and Your Shoulder's Fucked, But Everything Just Makes Sense. Ironic

2007-10-17T15:29:00.001-04:00

kasai (10:54:24 PM): p.s. i was just "smoking with the band"
friend (10:54:32 PM): hahashaha
kasai (10:54:32 PM): i'm soooo stoned
friend (10:54:41 PM): hahahahahahhaa

kasai (10:57:47 PM): it's pathetic how high i just got
kasai (10:57:51 PM): i'm like ashamed

kasai (10:58:02 PM): i feel like i'm literally in 8th grade

friend (10:58:09 PM): hahaha
kasai (10:58:16 PM): i'm wearing this big allover print hoodie and a zoo york shirt

kasai (10:58:27 PM): and looking at my bank account and wondering where it all went
kasai (10:58:28 PM): haha
kasai (10:58:42 PM): just resisting the urge to go to cyn [the bar i spent 15 consecutive hours in a few sundays ago -.ed]

kasai (10:58:43 PM): haha
kasai (11:00:23 PM): and the lenny kravitz glasses are on.

kasai (11:00:24 PM): here we go
kasai (11:00:33 PM): ps i'm taking the plunge and getting a macbook wed [haha what? -.ed]

working... working...

[picture is introduced by Kasai]

kasai (11:01:54 PM): the girl is like "i'm just gonna slouch over here cuz there's no way i can compete with THAT!"
kasai (11:01:55 PM): haha
kasai (11:02:42 PM): "like are you kidding, it's a maserati mc12 corsa. get the fuck outta heah!"
kasai (11:02:54 PM): "go fuck your mutha!"

friend (11:04:53 PM): 'haha
kasai (11:04:59 PM): ohhhh. i'm on a roll
kasai (11:05:10 PM): that's literally what she's saying in that photo
kasai (11:05:33 PM): she probably did like the blue steel catwalk thing, draping herself over the long, sensuous hood, for like 15 min

kasai (11:05:47 PM): and then realized that not ONE SINGLE GUY was looking at her

kasai (11:05:52 PM): or even close to her
friend (11:06:02 PM): hhahahah
friend (11:06:11 PM): i used to see that all the time [Ibid.]
kasai (11:06:30 PM): see what
kasai (11:06:35 PM): spot run?

friend (11:07:18 PM): seen girls do that

kasai (11:07:29 PM): oh yeah
kasai (11:07:31 PM): but
kasai (11:07:34 PM): this car
kasai (11:07:37 PM): like 2 mil

kasai (11:07:55 PM): and you can only drive it when maserati sponsors these racetrack days
kasai (11:08:35 PM): then after you're done driving, you have to sit down with engineers and discuss how the car performed, how it could be improved, and what you hated most about

kasai (11:08:38 PM): it
kasai (11:08:40) and there's only like 4 of em and they belong to the 4 richest kings of Europe! I'M SUPER SERIÅL YOU GUYS!
kasai (11:08:41 PM): haha i'm sorry
kasai (11:08:47 PM): all this just really fascinates a stoned kasai

kasai (11:11:34 PM): (spoken in that quick, nasally 1930s radio announcer voice) "a rare breed, the stoned kasai can often be spotted on epicly toxic 3 night benders in any one of the five fine boroughs of the majestic gem that is Glimmerin' Gotham. though he may ramble on incessantly and shoot you the deuce now and then, when he pinches your girl's ass and punches you out preemptively, don't take it personally chief."

kasai (11:12:01 PM): ps i'm archiving this convo
kasai (11:12:04 PM): cuz it's priceless, like a beer bong
“friend” signed off at 11:12:06 PM.
bye. byeeee. bye. byeye. buhbyebooptit! bai. bahhhh. late. the moops have come hoome to roost.

epilogue

1: "sir, sir! SIR! needtaseasumeyedeepreese!"

2: "yeah don't worry about it, i'm a stoo-dye at the scrole, over on mashmen, they got a good whim over there, it's peeshable, nite right?. yeah yeah yeah yeah right up there on the hirl. now uh, go shit in a hat, mail it your mutha."

MEANWHILE, IN THE BOY BAND: ONE sulks away in gleeful shame as TWEW triumphantly scratches his balls.

Get To Da Choppa!

2007-10-15T18:57:00.000-04:00

Predator making of 1987, on spanish TV, with Arnold in a hawaiian
shirt, probably stoned, fresh off a steroid-addled sexual rampage. The exchange between the translator and the pol is prolly the funniest shit i've ever seen.

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger:
"I train every day, I train with weights, I do bicycling, and I do
running, play tennis, and a little sex... in that order."

Awesome

Squeeze Them Hammers.

2007-10-15T18:51:00.000-04:00

Scene from RoboCop where ED-209 murks the shit out of some junior VP during a demonstration of the robot's capabilities.

Never has horrificly traumatic violence been this hilarious.

Put Your Dukes Up, Hope She Pukes Up, Semen, Feenin', Henny Got Me Leanin'!

2007-10-15T18:47:00.000-04:00

Frank Dukes (Jean Claude V.D.) in the final showdown in the cult classic, "Bloodsport"

Not to be too crass, but Jean-Claude's scream at around 5:05 is precisely what happens when I bust a nut, so uh, you know, ladies, uhhhh, get in line ova heah.

Boy Soprano

2007-10-15T18:37:00.000-04:00

Steven Seagal before he got tied up in mob extortion, wife beating and the GOP.
circa '93.

apparently, this video was posted was tired of hearing people make fun of Steven Seagal. sorry dude, shit's just therapeutic at this point.

nota bene...
watts18269 on youtube
"They ARE falling deliberately because the pain of the technique is
more than the pain of them falling or rolling, so they roll to save
themselves in essence, you dickheads."

Steven Seagal is... KID FURIO!

2007-10-15T18:33:00.001-04:00

Will Sasso and some other dude doing a hell of a job playing Seagal and Van Damme. And as a bonus (as if the roundhouses and wanton neck-snapping wasn't enough), there's time travel and patriarchal revenge.

Silly Rabbit, Splits Iz For Kydz

2007-10-09T23:29:00.000-04:00

Eric Prydz - Call On Me

This video is what comes about when KASAI starts craving handfuls of E pills and be-spandexed Eurotrash named Olga, like some kind of buttfucking, amped out werewolf. Call On Me. yeah. that's right.

Bloody Social (Constructs)

2007-10-09T19:09:00.000-04:00

And they say sex doesn't rule the Advert Biz...

It really doesn't get much better than this. Blacks on Blondes, Under Armour style. Yeaahhhh!

Gah-Tahs! Butros Butros Gah-Lee!

2007-10-08T23:23:00.000-04:00

Edu K - Gatas Gatas Gatas

nothing clever here, yeah (Kasai is emerging from a three day bender and needs his rest dontchaknow). just good to see the '80s are making a swift and thorough return.

I Been Awake Since '78!

2007-10-03T15:52:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, while walking in SoHo, i happened upon a man.
But he was no less a man than a force!

Diminuitive, yes.
Mentally retarded, yes.
Homeless and without gainful employ, oh yes!

All the better, yeah.

And as a woman of no more than 55 traversed his plane of being, what would happen next would blow the minds of an entire metropolis, whether they realized it or not.

For no real reason (though i'm sure there were plenty of artificial justifications), our man, our Legend, bow-legs and all, waltzes up to said female and spits in her face.

As she hurries past in the wake of this terrible, unprovoked assault, Hewie (i've decided to name him Hewie), gives her "the finger," the ultimate insult, and calls her a "stupppittt BITCH!"

Walking past this scene, I lock eyes with the maniac, and after a nanosecond of uncertain tension, he is on his way.

Perhaps his eyes saw someone that wouldn't stand for such brutality. Or maybe he'd just blown his load on Maria and decided that it'd been enough action for one day. Back to sorting the jars of stolen urine in the 'ol shopping cart.

But surely a thing of this sort of beauty knows nothing of fear. Surely.

As Illusions Pass

2007-10-02T15:31:00.001-04:00

Reading about the formative years of HST by candlelight, I came to a near epiphany concerning one of my most precious (if oft-delayed) creations. The revelation, being, of course, that the 4/5ths completed manuscript i've toiled at on and off for the last three years shall be transmogrified into a screenplay.

I'm hardly pretending it's brilliant in the traditional sense (it is, after all, unfinished and mostly neglected), but at this point, the switch is just a fucking necessary thing. The movie in my mind becomes the movie in their theaters, yeah?

And the only reason i'm putting this up on the small screen is because months, nay, years from now, I want to be able to look back and figure out exactly when the entire project began to unravel and fester.

Thanks for listening sweetie.

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? Probably To Rodeo Bar. Just A Guess.

2007-09-29T22:18:00.001-04:00

Steve McQueen is... Bullitt

The Bad Old Days, The Hard Days. Oh how I long for them.

Manna Festival Toe? Naw. Man-I-Fester, like somebody's long-dead uncle. seven feet deep, creep creep.

2007-09-27T15:03:00.000-04:00

To the "men" of Williamsburg, Brooklyn: fucking eat something, stop wearing your 13-year old sister's jeans (yes, that means the cut-off joints too), and STOP critiquing my clothes out loud as I walk out of CYN to get drug money from Mr. A.T.M. Lest you wanna get wasted in front of a sizeable crowd, with the JUSTICE being administered by a modestly sized, yet tenacious, cracked out, deeply troubled hooligan with no fear and no hope. Know Yourself.

To the women of Williamsburg, Brooklyn: take off those ridiculously large sunglasses, stop getting those gargantuan chest-piece tats (think about your menopausal years for christ's sake!), get the stick outta your ass, and stop dating/fucking/marrying the aforementioned twinks. Actually, you know what, yeah, stop breeding altogether. Your virulent gametes are tainting an already suspect gene pool.

I fucking hate you.

As you were.

epilogue: for the unlearn-ned, the parties mentioned herein, despite their protests, both verbal and non-verbal, are about as "cool"/"hip" as a hairy, elderly gay couple sunbathing in the nude in St. Tropez.

yeah that's right. it's like that! Funeral Music type shit, yeah.

All You Need Is Love. And Money. And Health Insurance. And In Most Cities, A Vehicle. And An Internet Connection. And Don't Forget Shelter...

2007-09-26T00:55:00.000-04:00

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

Excuse the repetition. Just had to get that out. What have you done for Him lately?

Better Living Through Chemistry... We Just Need More BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD...

2007-09-25T21:58:00.000-04:00

A change has come over me. I don't know how to explain it. But it's like this:

If you're a really garish looking (read: cancerous tan, fake nails/tits/hair, too much make-up, etc.), high-maintenance, preferably JAPpy chick, maybe toting some gaudy, overlarge piece of mobile technology (e.g. iPhone, SideKick) and constantly driving around drunk in a car with a retractable hardtop and a leather interior, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you into next year actually. I wanna knock the dust off that pussy.

This is a strange thing, if only because I've spent so many of my post-pubescent years fucking hating your god damn guts. But now I have seen the light, the guard has been lowered, and previously-held standards have been all but vanquished.

And if you're Lindsay Lohan, even better. Flat out fucken fantastic actually. Call me Linds. My door is always open babydoll.

Consider the script Oh-fficially flipped...

Hey, Hey! There's a 15 kegger not too far from here!

2007-09-23T22:02:00.000-04:00

I met these cats from greenpoint yestahdai who(m) showt me the video up theah. it's pretty fucken high-larious. basically, an experiment to get to the heart of the drunken frat dawg ethos. but soon, the student becomes the teacher (or sumthin like that), as a harmless round of 99 bottles of beer on the wall turns into a pagan ritual amidst faux wood panelling. My sides were aching after i watched this last night, and i thought it was only because i was stoned, but i watched again, and it truly is classic. and being a former frat dawg myself (to whom this seems all too familiar), even i can appreciate the beauty of this "bit."

check out more of this wonderful ish at Honor Patrol

Still Reigning

2007-09-20T18:29:00.000-04:00

Slayer - Raining Blood

are you metal? didn't think so you fucking pussy... sleep? food? sunlight? move over beethoven... we got it... 4 reap!

It's My Wife, And It's My LIFE!

2007-09-15T16:07:00.000-04:00

The Velvet Underground - Heroin

one of my favorite pieces of fiction posits that those of us who prefer to drive on the wrong side of the road suffer/benefit from a wholly unique, if inexplicable condition...

to paraphrase, a veritable lifetime of perpetually fucking up, followed unconditionally by a string of unwarranted, illogical second chances.

why is all this happening for us?

as is the case in the matter of figuring out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop (TM), "the world may never know..."

p.s. if you put the pieces together, i mean really give it a go, the name of the aforementioned fave piece of collected sheets of paper will become evident. now sod off while i polish your mama's slit.

you know who it is!

2007-09-12T23:51:00.000-04:00

given the circumstances, i guess i'm expected to go on at length about both the nature of the 50/Kanye showdown (which apparently Kanye is winning both commercially and critically), as well as my own opinion regarding said pseudo-beef.

while i'm into both artists pretty heavily and definitely got wrapped up in all this pre 9.11.07 bruhaha, my shit right now is Swizzie the Monsta.

of course, i fucked with Swizz Beats when he was making zee, um, beats for Ruff Ryders albums. how could i not have? but given all the neon print hoodies and BAPE and bandanas and Bimmer nonsense, i wasn't feeling the solo shit at first glance.

oh what a difference a day makes. or more accurately, what a difference some yay makes.

chillin in my Bimmah, listenin to Ether!

should be our new national (club banger) anthem.

it's just a trick of the light she says...

2007-09-12T19:13:00.000-04:00

it's like the feeling of a big-face 50 note hardening between your fingertips as you prepare to get the party started.
is this what they meant by mortal coil? this rolled up transmitter that's as evil as it is pure?
someone suggests that all of it's so bad for you.
but if loving you is wrong, i don't wanna be right.

no one else really cared. like so much wisdom, it's fallen on deaf ears.

the Grand Education aside,
i've found that given ample time,
things tend to accrete into these whirling planetesimals of fury and lust, glory and dust.

lots of DUST!

undeniably striking, indefatigably powerful bodies of Blindsighted Light.
he walked down 11th st. and took out 300 dollars from the automatic teller that night.
for no reason at all.
steam machines and pneumatic dreams got a hold on the lot of us.

and they won't let go...