Beastiality Weekly

I am the only person I know other than my dad that doesn,t text. TXT for short. TX for extra short. T shirt. I realized this during my last semester of school. I had this class about genitals and relationships. I always called it my dick class. Sometimes I would do my homework for that class at work and be looking at the pictures of boobs with genital warts on them and cartoons of a woman in the ,,rear-entry,, position during coitus and we would have a big group of girls scouts at work that night and they would always walk by and see what I was learning about and give me really judgmental looks. Whatever, they,re a bunch of stuck up, rich bitch 8 year olds.

In my dick class, the teacher would sometimes ask everybody really personal questions and not expect anybody to answer. She would ask the class if anybody had ever been molested as a child and how it felt or things about the first time having sex or if anybody liked anal. It was usually weird and people would generally just not answer and shift uncomfortably in their chairs when she asked.

Fennesz - Endless Summer
One of the more personal questions she ever asked was about texting. She asked if anybody didn,t text. I was the only person to raise my hand and people were horrified. The prom date sitting next to me in the UGG boots and Forever 21 leggings and Sacramento State sweatshirt and full bank account drinking her mocha chai mocha creme butterscotch spiced espresso milk looked at me in complete disgust and somehow managed to choke out, ,,You really don,t text?,, I just told her I didn,t know what that was. She immediately started texting her friends about the abomination she had just discovered. I bet I was the talk of the TXT all that night. My fifteen minutes of fame sure were sweet.

Later that day the teacher asked another really personal question. She asked if any of the guys in the class ever wore a bathrobe. Seeing as I wear one ever day, I raised my quivering, skeletal hand. Then the teacher and all the cool black guys in the back of the class called me gay.

Fair Devil

Today is a day of celebration for several reasons. Most importantly, it is the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson,s untimely demise. Untimely Demise would be a rad metal band name. I wonder if any metal band uses it. Probably for a song name at least. Or record title. Or maybe it,s the name of a Metal night club. Probably all of those things.

Another reason to celebrate is that Hitler invaded Poland 35 years ago today. That is a big deal if you are into history or Polish stuff. My roommate is into Polish stuff. Not history, but Polish sausages and hot dogs and stuff. Tonight is the night he goes to the hot dog store and gets hot dogs for two dollars per hot dog. Another reason to celebrate.

Pantha du Prince - The Splendour
Today is also well known because of that school in Colorado. Remember when people kept saying that those two dorks shot up all the jocks and bitchy cheerleaders because they listened to Marylin Manson? Yeah right. They killed all of those idiots because they were two stupid dorks that didn,t know how to deal with normal teenage wa wa stuff. Instead of choosing one of the standard routes like getting drunk on the weekends or watching porn or starting a punk band they got lazy and went all juggalo on everybody. Boring. They could be in such a terrible band touring with Anti Flag right now if they had just put down the homemade pipe bombs and faded black t shirts and picked up a Black Flag or Blink 182 record and learned four power chords.

Most importantly again, today is the day all of the idiots talk about how much they love weed and smoking and black light posters and Sublime and unprotected sex with girls they think are old enough and sleeping. And then they go and hang out with all the people that really like coffee and they talk about how their cultures are great and how caffeine and weed compliment each other quite well. And then it,s the next day and they still do the same stuff.

Rocky Loves Emily

Last night I finally found a place where I fit in. It,s a place where I can go and look like everybody else and be just as pretentious as I want without any fear of reproach. I can be who I really am – A self-important, snobby, know-it-all, art fag, critic. Nobody will even notice because they will be too busy acting exactly like me; which I can sum up in four sweet little words. Too. Cool. For. School.

The wondrous, magical place I visited and loved so very much was a way-too-expensive show in the way-too-perfect Smokeland, California. It was great seeing such hilly terrain covered in so many bikes that have to be pedaled constantly. Practical. There were so many people there with high-waisted pants and suspenders and V-neck sweaters, and bad attitudes, and weed smokes. It was home.

The first band wasn,t great. They were trying really hard to be German. In between songs the bass player told us all a story about how, when he was younger, he had this disease that caused severe neck stiffness. A few years ago he had a very successful operation to cure his painful ailment and he now has the neck of a goose rather than a human. You could really tell that he was enjoying his new found mobility as he constantly looked like he was foraging for invisible worms in the air in front of him. The guitar player was a fat lesbian with an overbite and the imagination drummer was a skinny white skater that loves rap and wears those Osiris D3s with the giant tongue. He kept his weed in there.

Epidemic - I Am Compltley Oprationa l
Jab Mica Och El - ABC Hej I,m Cola
The good band was good. It was tough to see them though because everybody kept holding up their iPads to take pictures, or just to show off that they had iPads. Somebody held up brake pads. Everybody smoked all of the weed but it didn,t put them in as good of a mood as you would have thought. When I tried to punker my way to the front I got stopped by a manicured guy in a striped shirt and a girl wearing a bow in her hair made out of tinfoil. She kept touching it throughout the night to make sure it was still tinfoil. It was a nice change from your standard punk fare however. Rather than calling their skinhead friend to come kick your ass for trying to move to the front, they just live-blogged about how dumb you looked in your clothes that they were also wearing. A lot of blogging went on that night. And subsequently this morning.

Most of the people there last night were heavily influenced by that Jersey Show on MTV. They thought we were listening to house music and that they were supposed to get all Snooki. I had to look up that name just now. You know, because it,s not a real word. Last night I realized that the crowd I fit in the best with is the one that acts like they can afford stuff. I can,t, so it,s still as dramatically uncomfortable as being with any other group of people. As a general rule, I don,t like the kind of giant group gathering where I fit in. But it is one of the few places where I can unabashedly push the short, hairy girl in front of me as much as I want when her hemp bag keeps rubbing against me.

My Headshots Are Not For Sale

I went to Blockbuster yesterday. It was shutting down because it is so horrible and everything was for sale for only twice what it is worth rather than the standard 115 times as much. It looked like the 9th Ward and 9/11 got together and gang raped the Branch Davidians compound while Jim Jones indulged in auto-erotic asphyxiation and collapsed onto a pile of dead Haitians and oppressed Middle Eastern women. The shelves were pretty much barren save one hundred copies of the great new film starring the talented Megan Fox. She is truly a beacon of artistic integrity in a sewer system clogged with actors who are willing to do anything for a fast buck and the cover of Public Boner Magazine. Not Megan though, she is the Max Von Sydow, the Emil Jannings of our time.

Yeah right. There wouldn,t be any copies of movies with that moron in it left. They would have been eagerly snatched by the hairy-palmed employees of the place. I think all that was really left on the shelves were weird horror movies made within the last 18 months about chainsaws and girls coming out of televisions sets. Groundbreaking.

Tigrean People,s Liberation Front - Tigray 90, Tigrean Revolutionary Songs no 26
It was weird looking though. Everybody working there seemed confused and apathetic; sort of like the store was shutting down soon and they would be out of a job. There was some guy that had a copy of The Last Samurai in each hand, screaming into a phone that was probably just an old 9-volt battery, dragging a shivering dog around. There was some tiny blond women, mid twenties, perfect in every way, talking way too loud about how she didn,t care if he got married. She would ruin that goddamned wedding. She didn,t care. There was also a tall black man in an electric wheelchair. He was the bell of the ball.

It was gross. After I left, my hands felt like I had been digging through old cat litter. The young lady that rung me up had her eyebrow pierced but the crooked metal bar protruding from her face was only capped on one end so she had to keep checking to see if it was still there. She thought it might fall out. I bet it fell into her soup later.

I Miss You So Much

The other day, somebody poured a bunch of coffee on my computer. Now my screen looks like it did after I had bad aim while watching Japanese eel porn and my space bar sticks just like it did that time I had bad aim while watching that Japanese sea cucumber porn. What,s with Japan? They always have the best ideas.

The biggest bummer of this terrible April Fool,s prank is that I hate coffee. I especially hate coffee that smells like it has a bunch of sugared honey in it. And this was just the kind that is now attracting ants to the sweet, sticky keys.

Pocahaunted - Beast That You Are
I never understood the whole coffee culture thing. There are people that dork out so hard on their favorite fair trade only, organic roast, native Himalayan grown, peasant harvested, Portland imported coffee shop in town. They refuse to go to other stupid places because the black poison there isn,t organic enough or they read a report on DrinkCoffeeDontRape.com that said the beans they use there may have been grown in a field within eight miles of a different field that used fertilizer from cows that may not have been free range. And to think that the caramelly mess that makes it difficult for me to have spaces in between words may have been from one of those terrible places makes me shudder in complete horror.

There should only be two things to drink - water or dirty water. Then everybody would quit holding up those stupid signs that say how Starbucks throws boiling coffee on the five-year-olds that pull the thorny coffee vines out of the ground for nine cents an hour. And then a volcano erupts on them.