(Color!!! The Budget Must've Been Increased! Hooray!)
…I haven’t made any posts for some time, mostly because I’ve had nothing to say. Not that this has stopped me before, mind you, but I haven’t even had anything unimportant that I felt like writing about lately…Still, there are a few things that are on my mind, none of which warrant their own page, but that I feel the need to express…hence, this chaotic little page…
Ravage retires. Goodbye, sir. May you return to us soon. Preferably, with a shirt, this time. But I’m sure the same complaint has been made against me in the past. Anyway; a good guy. I wrote him a haiku.
...Tried to quit smoking
But you gave me cigarettes
Thanks a lot, asshole.
Ryuji Yamakawa and Tomoaki Honma returning to japanese indy promotions—particularly japanese garbage indy promotions—can only be a good thing.
Most people don’t properly appreciate the humor in a good bit of animal abuse. If I were pressed to lay the blame for that somewhere, I’d have to point the finger at the negativity of the media, which always seems to put a cynical spin on everything.
I want to live in a country where every film released needs to be prefaced with “Sexual acts depicted in this video may be medically harmful. In addition, they are NOT necessarily healthy, safe, or suggested.” If that’s not your determining factor for what movies are good, then you’re probably a fairy.
Kangaroo Jack was a real let-down.
Someday, I’m going to write a book. It’ll be a tale of courage, passion, and victory. It’ll be a moralistic piece, chock-full of whimsical musings on the meanings of life, the emotional implications of our actions, and the insignificance of everything we do. It’ll be an erotic tale of carnal lust, and an epic romance for the modern day. It will be everything a book should be; a great American literary classic. And it’s protagonist will be a mean-tempered dwarf who rides a pogo stick. Just you wait and see…
I heard Brandon Prophet retired, too. Everybody seemed to be pretty hard on him for it. Sure, becoming a man of god is pretty gay, but you can’t blame him for quitting this business. He seemed to me to be a decent guy, albeit with a few problems. I don’t doubt that he got screwed around on money, though…that happens a lot in this business. It’s the kind of thing that’ll disenchant you pretty fast. I wish him luck in his stupid new calling.
I read this quote from a murderer once that read, “I know it was wrong to kill her, but it was right for me.” That really spoke to me.
I know that indy pro wrestling fans probably don’t comprise the majority of literati in this country, but let me just take a moment to say that if you haven’t read “The Picture of Dorian Grey,” you really fucking should. And watching the movie doesn’t count, it was atrociously bad. The amount of philosophy that you accidentally absorb while you think you’re reading a novel does wonders for making you a more worldly person. More entertainment should be brilliantly and subtly infused with learning like that…I’d like to see more educational porno, myself. I tried learning spanish by watching “Young, Tight Latinas” over and over, but all I got out of it was some chaffing and a real appreciation for the wonders of American hygeine standards.
I’m tired of people criticizing JC Bailey for his drug abuse. I wish they’d start criticizing him for his lousy entrance music and open proponency of metrosexuality.
Was the guy from ‘Major Dad’ the same guy from ‘Simon and Simon’? I think it was…
Okay…here the randomness of the page continues, but in a somewhat more narrowly-defined vein…I was talking to some old friends of mine, and it got me thinking back to my youth. The majority of the anecdotes/thoughts/etc. from here on in deal with reminiscences, since I’m such a nostalgic motherfucker:
One time I knew this dude named Kyle. I didn’t know him very well, but I knew him well enough to know that he was a funny, fucked-up kind of dude. He was a couple of years ahead of me in school, and I think he ended up working at a hardware store after he graduated, in spite of being a fairly intellectual guy. He was kind of like me, I’d wager; only different. The similarity being that he was smart enough to do something with his life, but he just didn’t care enough to. Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked…this isn’t a biography of Kyle...I just wanted to introduce him to you, the reader, so that you can therefore appreciate a couple of quotes that I lifted from him. Hey, if I don’t quote Kyle, and give him his due, who the hell’s gonna?
“Y’know…it’s cool to be funny, it’s fun to be mean…but once in awhile, it’d be really nice to get laid…”
Truer words were rarely, if ever, spoken.
One time, in an art class, there was a girl named Stupidbitch Somethingorother, and she rudely interrupted a round-table discussion among some friends and I by having the unmitigated gall to speak at an annoyingly perky normal level to some of her friends on the other side of the room about some wonderful new guy that she’d met over the summer. Clearly, this called for a response, which—thankfully—our dear friend Kyle provided for us:
“Ooh…he sounds like a wonderful person! Absolutely dreamy! I can’t wait to meet him, and cut his head in half with a reciprocating saw!”
I liked that dude.
I went to space camp when I was 10. Weird, huh? I know. It’s not that I wanted to be an astronaut or anything, I just really liked bunk beds. Anyway, there was this filmstrip I saw that really stuck with me…it was about the moon landing, as most things space camp-related are, since we haven’t done a whole helluva lot else in space…and there was this guy with a thick Russian accent who was giving a speech, and the soundbyte from it that they kept using was this: “There was dancing in the streets of Moscow when the first man orbited the Earth…They were dancing again when man first walked on the moon…I ask you now; DON’T HANG UP YOUR DANCING SLIPPERS!” Even now, ten years later, that quote still runs through my mind from time to time. I’m not sure why it was pertanent at this juncture, but; trust me, it was. I watched that film 21 consecutive times. Sometimes I think it damaged me in some deep, dark way that I’ll never fully understand. But I still have my dancing slippers sitting out, just in case.
When I was a junior in high school, I wrote this in one of my notebooks. I just found it the other day, as I was going through some papers, and I think it really says something about who I am:
“In our school cafeteria, there is this goddamned pop* machine that sits by the window; and day after day, it runs this fucking message across the goddamn screen, every 5 seconds, 24 hours a day: ENJOY A REFRESHING SODA NOW! The fucker makes this unreasonable demand of me ALL the TIME…Shit, it’s UNRELENTING! First of all, it KNOWS I never have any money. It just does that to fucking taunt me. Ah, it grinds in my fucking brain!!! DIE, DIE you fucking BASTARD MACHINE! You know I can’t “enjoy a refreshing drink, NOW”—and still you jeer at me and make a mockery of my poverty! You ARROGANT MOTHERFUCKER! I will fuck you up and UNPLUG your sorry ass! DIEDIEDIE!!!!”
*We used to call it “pop” in Iowa. Pretty gay, huh?
I, myself, never attended a prom; but that was mostly due to my bitterness that they never used my proposed theme idea: Nuclear winter. Imagine how dashing and studly all the young lads would feel when their dates pinned their corsages to their very first containment suits! Authentic poisonous gases could be pumped into the gym by way of the overhead air ducts! I offered to take charge of that particular touch, myself, free of charge! I was subsequently disciplined. And not in a sexy way.
I don’t really know if my friend N!k wrote this haiku or not, but he claimed he did. Anyway, if you didn’t, thanks for making me look like a plagiarizing asshole, cunt!
How do you spell Kryptonite?
Man, I really fucking hated school. It opressed me, and it raped my mother. I had such a horrible time there that I seriously contemplated secretly training an army of killer rabbits for years, then one day whipping them into a blood-crazed frenzy, and letting them loose in the cafeteria. Man, those bunnies would’ve torn my classmates to pieces, and I would’ve loved every minute of it. It would’ve been “Night of the Lepus” all over again…