HOT LESBIAN ACTION!!!

I go almost a year with this email account, about five years with various email accounts, and not ONE email from the prince of Nigeria!

But, today, as if to punish me for me good fortune, fucking Steven Mark Ishaya sends me not one, two, three, four, or six messages, but five! Five of the same message! He must be really desperate. Poor Steven Mark Ishaya (that's a nice, traditional, Nigerian name, by the way), I guess he doesn't have anyone else to help him do whatever it is he needs to do with his $28,500,000 dollars US currency. Well, I must admit, I AM a foreign investor. No I'm not.

So, on the one hand, I've heard stories about this guy, nasty stories. Like, that he doesn't exist. On the other hand, how could I resist an email with the subject header "YOUR GODLY ASISTANCE NEEDE!!!"? Isn't that just darling? I guess he can't just email a lawyer or something; that would be complicated. No, it makes more sense to email me. Excuse me, am I in your address book, Mr. Nigerian royalty? Did you stumble upon my blog and decide, this guy sounds mature and trustworthy. Perhaps I should entrust my life's story and secrets with him.

But, I'm really tempted to write back to him. Just to see what happens. But I really don't want to risk my computer or email account. I might have to found a new account and write him back. But that's too much work. So I'll probably just research this thing online.

Seacrest, out!

Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (1) comments

Oh, James!

So, I'm watching Tomorrow Never Dies on CBS right now. It doesn't suck, but, whatever. Ha... a little Danish. He's, you know, "screwing around" (you know what I mean) with this hot chick in... Danerland... Danon... Danetucky... you know, where Danishes come from. Denmark, right right! Anywho, screwing around, Moneypenny calls him and she's all like "James, I want you, I need you." He's like, "Shut up, you old bat. I'm just brushing up on a little Danish." I'm like, "Oh Jamesie... you punner, you."

There's this scene where James Bond is doing something or other and these goons are trying to get into his "special" car, you know how he always has a cool car with neat gadgets. You know, like... a sandwich maker that cuts all the meat and cheese and puts the sandwich together and stuff. Or like, it's got a harpoon gun, or a grappling hook so it can scale buildings, or it has one of those little baubles you put on the car antenna so you can find it in the parking lot. Hey, I just noticed: James Bond's car never seems to have an antenna, or I just wasn't paying attention. What, James doesn't like listening to the radio when he's driving around in active volcanoes or whatever?

Okay, anyway, the guys are trying to break into his car, they hit it with sledgehammers, whatever. Then some Stuff happens, James gets in the car, they chase him around, and somehow, they break both of his windshields by shooting at them. I'm sorry, what? Why didn't you guys think of that before James Bond showed up and killed all of you? You stupid Danish assholes. Go make me a pastry.

Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (0) comments

Oh, you know those two posts Lukas did this week? Don't worry: their won't be any more. He has his own website anyway, but I don't remember what it is. Oh, here it is: http://www.livejournal.com/users/childoftheshine/. So, go there if you like Lukas's brand of writing. It's not completely unheard of.

So, UPN news is going to do a segment on the new Snoop Dogg movie "Soul Plane". The question they're going to try to answer is: is the movie offensive to black people? Does it stereotype black people? The answer of course being, "Only if black people have any self-respect."

Oh, and they just said that chronic tension does not seem to increase the risk of breast cancer, but in fact lowers the chance. You hear that girls? You aren't tense enough!

But seriously, how does that happen? How do you go from one theory to the complete opposite theory? Are scientists stupid? I thought only smart people were allowed to be scientists. I should just watch an episode of the news and comment on it. There's just so much bullshit to be found. But I can't help watching. I need to find out how Usher made history.

Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (0) comments

And you, my friend, are an ass. This is going to a be a short post, I just thought I'd check in, thus proving I still exist, or that I was replaced with a super smart robot. Or a small electric appliance, like an iron or teakettle. Apparently the appliances are actually more eligible bachelors than myself. Four out of five girls said they would prefer to date the iron or teakettle because they are "hotter, and that's more important than the fact that they are more likely to hurt me, burn me, and give me blisters." I disagree; I've given blisters to my fair share of girls. Burning Love, I call it. Euhhhhh.

You see what happens when I think of one little thing (in this case, replacements for me) and my mind runs with it, the way I would run with a football while evading quarterbacks, halfbacks, backracks, hardtacks and the like. That is to say, poorly.

Right, right, so... shit. I forgot what the hell I was- oh right, that commercial! Fucking bad commercial. Stupid whosey. Whoever Waynes, I don't know which one he is. Anyway, it's annoying; almost as bad as that... oh my god. The other one I hate is also a Pepsi commercial! I hadn't noticed! They seriously need to fire all their marketers.

What else? I've just started listening to this Scottish band, Franz Ferdinand. They're really rather cool. Look into the song "The Dark of the Matinée", it's good. They're really good.

I'm watching this movie "Repli-Kate" on UPN. So, it's UPN. So, it sucks. Okay, so these college guys are assistant scientists and stuff. Theirs this reporter lady girl and this guy accidentally clones her, creating a fully grown clone. Who is very hot, of course, because so was the original. So then the guy and his horny friend, who is inexplicably cockney—maybe it's a desperately bad pun—decide to teach the clone so she exhibits stereotypical "man" behavior—loving to watch sports and drink beer and have sex all the time, and such. You know, not all guys are like that! I do not just want to watch sports and drink beer all the time! Anyway, they do this, and of course wacky hijinks ensue, especially after the original Kate (the girl they cloned) returns from wherever the hell she went, and then they have to hide the two from each other. Well, it's a terrible, terrible movie. Not as bad as "Never Been Kissed", but pretty bad. The only time the movie is any fun is when the clone is trying to get other girls to engage in group sex with her and some guy, because she learned about sex from porno movies. Look, I'm not saying that's a high point in cinematic history, in fact, it's rather sad that that's the best part of this movie.

So, I didn't have a lot of witty things to say, but I did string together a number of words in a specific sequence. And you know, sentences are like snowflakes: each one is different.

Ha ha, that's a little joke for you there. Yep, it was a little pun. No it wasn't.

Well, it wasn't a pun. Uh yeah, so now that my existence, or the existence of electric appliances has been reestablished, I must ride off into the sunset. Actually it's 10:00 PM. I'll just ride off into the moonness, or the darkset. That's a cool word, isn't it? Darkset! Sounds like a bad Indie graphic novel. Darkset Ironclad: Nightmare Avenger! He comes from the world of dreams, waging epic battles on the Dreamscape of the human mind! Oh this is good, I should be writing this shit down!

Oh, I forgot to mention, while I'm still thinking about earlier childhood nostalgia, I saw a girl with this t-shirt that said "GAIA" in big green letters. And right there, on her chest, CAPTAIN PLANET, fucking flying RIGHT at me. And I really wanted to just stare at Captain Planet and take in his Mullet of Majesty, but you know, it was right on her chest. Made me feel creepy. But I just wanted to look at Captain Planet. After all, he's our hero.

He's going to bring pollution down to zero.

Okay, well, I'm going now.

Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (0) comments

I just realized that I also have a radio drama. And, because Nicky posted his, I will post Mine. Well, not all of it, most of it is crap. In fact, all of it is crap. Don't bother to finish,
Radio Drama

By Lukas (The Locked Up Monkey), Haden, Michael, Alex, and Ashley

N: Last week, we witnessed the thrilling conclusion to the Stranded Island Trilogy, and now we give birth to another dramatic series of events; The Reckless Life Of Sean Perou.

N: Daylight breaks over the Perou's household.

(Birds)

At 8:00, the phone rings, waking Sean from his restless slumber.

(Ring)

S: ARGHHH!!!! Eh? PHONE! EH? Hello!?

K: We have your wife.

S: Huh? Wh- No, I'm not married!

K: Er, then we have your girlfriend.

S: Not Dating...

K: Fine, we have your significant other.

S: What? You have my mother?

K:... Yeah.... Leave $2,000 at the corner at noon... And don't call the cops.

(Click)

N: Naturally, Sean did exactly what he should have done, and called the cops.

(Ring)

O: Hello?

S: Hello, I'm calling to report a kidnapping.

O: Sure ya are, hun.

S: Wha? NO, I am!

O: Listen kid, I have better things to do. Stop calling me when I could be listening to Girl Talk.

(Click)

N: Sean looked at his options. He had to get the money.

S: Piggey-bank!

(Footsteps)

(Crash)

N: $26 dollars and 82 cents... His only option left was his brother in New York.

(Ring)

B: Hello?

S: Hey Bret,

N: Sean decided it would be best to make some small talk first.

S: So, how 'bout 'dem Yankees?

B: Oh... Don't talk to me about them... I just lost $2,000 dollars, my life's savings, on one of their games last night.

S: Oh, cause, well, I think Mom's been kidnapped or something.

B: Really?

S: Yeah.

B: You better play hero then. Find the guy and give him a good knocking for me. And, while you're at it, oil Mom's fake arm, its been acting up again.

(Click)

N: Sean exited out into the street, and looked around for clues. Suddenly, a pen in the middle of the road caught his attention, and Sean ran towards it, (Cars swerve and honk.) Narowly being missed by the passing cars.

S: It seems to be pointing... Into the woods!

N: So Sean ran off into the woods, entering a suspicious looking clearing.

S: That log looks suspicious! Let me turn it over!

(Cracking sound)

S: Footprints!

N: And so, with a fresh footprint trail, Sean gallops, (Horse steps) er, runs, (Footsteps) off into the woods to peruse his mother's kidnapper. We will continue this story after these messages from our sponsors.

M: BADABUMBUMBUM!!!!! I'm lovin it. The best time of the year, lets go spread Mother's day cheer.
A: GUess what's new at McDonalds just in time for mother's day! Buy a big mac and get one free! Also, mothers day mugs! Buy a # 2 value meal and get a mug for only $1.99! Only for a limited time only while supplies last.
Ba da ba ba ba! I'm lovin' it.

A: This is Shaq! Need a mother's day present? Is she a virgo? I have your thing! Buy a vermont teddy bear with a peridot in the center-- Slammin'!

A: Interested in Hale Appleman?

A: You know you loved him as Javert, and his recent role as the sexy Don Pedro. Come join the hale fan club!

A: Do you think he is a good actor? Come to 444 Central Park West and sign up to be the Hale Fan Club. Only cool people are invited. Business Hours are 3-3:30 P.M., better make it!

A: Forever Hale! Ya!!!!

N: And now, back to the thrilling first chapter in the Sean Perou Saga.
We bring you now to the cabin in which Sean's mother is being held captive.

M: Wheres the car you wanted to sell me?

K: There's no car.

M: Did the Tax people take it? You know, I knew they were up to no good.

K: Listen lady, I kidnapped you for money,

M: Money? Back in my day I sold lemonade. Every summer we would set up our stand, me and my sister Betty- she's dead now- and work our way through the summer. The Applemans, good bless them, bought lemonade every day. And I'll be damned if we didn't make the best lemonade in our town. We lived in a small suburb in Cali-

K: AHHH! (Hit)

M: Oh! That wasn't very nice... It isn't right to hit people. But, you hit me in my fake arm, so it's alright.

N: All of a sudden, Sean, who had been diligently following the footprints, flew through the door shouting.

(Door slam)

S: Mother!

M: Are you here to make lemonade as well?

S: I'm going to save you mother!

K: Oh no!

(Window breaking)

N: The kidnapper through himself out the window, leaving his pistol lying in a corner, where Sean snatched it up.

(Meow)

M: Hurry Sean, that car salesman has my cat!

(Meow)

S: I'm on it mom!

N: And Sean climbed out the window after him, grabbing the gun from the corner.

(Gun open)

N: Sean opened the gun, revealing the one lone bullet in the chamber. He took careful aim.

(Bang)

N: Time seemed the slow for Sean, as he watched the gun recoil, and the kidnaper began to make a dash for the cover of the brambles. Frozen, he could almost see the bullet fly forth from the chamber, heading directly for the kidnapper.

(Bullet whiz)

K: Ow! My foot!

(Footsteps)

S: Tibbles! (Meow) Are you alright? (Meow) Good, go to mama.

You!

K: Me?

S: Why'd you do it?

K: Money

S: I don't (Hit) believe you!

K: Why not?

S: What kind of sick creature (Hit) kidnaps a cat at the risk of his own life?

K: I'm sorry, I had to do it, they made me!

S: Who made you?

K: It was... (Thwack)

N: At that moment, a poison dart had shot past Sean into the Kidnappers neck. Sean whirled around, as a camouflaged Helicopter spun its rotors (Chopping) and sprung into the sky. Sean watched as the masked man took off into the afternoon sky, and Sean found himself plunging into a dark world so deep, there would be no return... Join us next time for the next installment of The Sean Perou Saga, on (Sing) WADD, 102.9!

And Now! Girl talk!

C: I just farted and it really stinks! How do I stop?

P: Try a laxative!! Duhhhhh!

(ha ha...)

P: Hi! I'm peaches!

C: And I'm chelsea!

B: And we're on girl talk! Yay!

(...squirt?...)

C: Uhh, what was that?

P: It's my new Laucome lip gloss!

C: How much did it cost?

P: Who cares! My mom doesn't even pay attention to me. She just gives me her credit card every day so she can deal with her corrupt pharmaceutical company!

C: Duhhh! I'm so stupid!

P: So, we've got Machelley on the line. Hey Machelley, what's your problem?

M: What? Umm, can I have a large pepperoni with NO FAT, and a Diet Coke, actually, I'll just have a spring water, and...

C: Huh? This is girl talk.

M: Girl talk pizzeria?

C: Umm, no.

M: Wrong number, sorry, bye!

C: I can't believe this!

P: YOu know Chelsea, no one has ever actually called in for some advice!

B: Whateverrrrrr!

C: Alright, so we have, um, who is this?

D: Ummm, my wife just kicked me out...

C: Ohhhhh! Someone actually called in!

D: Wait a second, I don't have a wife, she left me 3 years ago!

P: Must've taken the wrong medication!

C: You know I did that once. Actually, I do it a lot of times.

P: Chelsea, we're on air!

C: Whoops! Sorry, we're out of time!

B: See us next time!

C: You mean hear us, Peaches.

P: What? Oh, whatever!

C: Yeah, so, listen to girl talk tomorrow at 12 P.M. Or is it A.M.?

B: (...laugh...) Girl talk!*

Do Do Do Do Do...

M: We interrupt this program to bring you an exclusive interview. SOme say President Bush is a bumbling idiot driving our country into the ground! But, let's see if there are any callers to disagree.................................................................... NO callers? Alright! We have George W. Bush on the line to give us an interview!

B: Good Afternoon, My fellow Americans.

M: Um, It's Six A.M.

B: Sorry, mah bad.

M: Right, Anyway, there's been a large disagreement to many of the choices you have made as president. What do you have to say to this?

B: Well, I believe that many of the people who make these judgments are politically uneducated, and stupid.

M: Mr. President, many of these people are actually politicians.

B: Well, they probably had their path to politics made by their fathers.

M: I'm sorry Mr. President, but we're replacing you be something more interesting, because our rating seems to have dropped 84%... Bring in Joe-Joe!

(Monkey Noises)

M: Joe Joe! I hear you have something for us?

(Whimpers)

M: Joe Joe, don't be mean!

(Whimpering)

M: Sally!

S: I'm on it boss! (Cattle prod hiss)

(SCREAMING)

M: It seems Joe Joe isn't doing too well, but, when he was locked up in the bathroom, he wrote some interesting things on the wall, lets hear it, shall we?


I used to be free and live up in the sky,
Now I wish I could curl up and die,
I used to swing from the yellow-green vines,
Now in my eyes there are blood red lines,

I used to play with the wild living creatures,
Now they have scarred all my physical features,
They lock me inside of a dirty bathroom,
Instead of the trees there's the wood of a broom,

I once swam in a sea filled with Cod,
Now all is see is a hot cattle prod,
If they beat me once more I might try to fight back,
Put it really depends on the bone they might crack,

But what they tell me is that they are so fine,
And so you must listen to WADD 102.9


M:... That was... Interesting... Joe Joe... Well, I... Um, think its very good he knows how to write! And, Its 12 minutes past the hour, and you're listening to WADD 102.9!

M: The weather right now is cloudy with a chance of meatballs, and it's best to avoid the hudson river, if you're driving, as it's very wet this time of the millennium. Today's lucky numbers are 2, 4, 6, 8, 11, 13, 17 ! Lets turn it over to The music makers, and once more, you're listening to WADD 102.9!


If you made it through all of that, I'll give you a clap on tha back if I ever see meet you.

MY E-MAIL! Scipio.now@earthlink.net .
AIM: Hopes Addict (0) comments

A Long Long Time Ago...
I was a semi active poster up here in the pages of randomness. Then I sort of fell away, and when I tried to get back into the ways of the blog, I was cut off by several angry statements by Nicky. So, I stepped away, and let him do his thing. Now, months later, I found myself ruining Nicky's blog once more. This time, however, it was by accident. I posted a comment just as Nicky was preparing another post, retaining to the number of hits on his blog, being at 1776. Naturally, He was furious (as much as he can be, at least), because the hit count was at 1777. I reminded him that because technically I was still a partner, I had blocked my IP address from hitting the site, and it wasn't my fault. But, in doing so, I reminded myself that I was still a partner, and decided to take up position once again! (But Don't Tell Nicky! I Haven't Yet...)

PART 2: Another One Bites The Dust

Do you know who bit the dust?

SHERRY! Yay! It was the happiest I'd ever been watching 24, but, honestly, I wasn't very satisfied by the end of the second to last episode. There was no classic cliff-hanger, like the first two seasons boasted. But, what this did, was set up the nicest finale they have done in their three attempts. It actually felt, good... I mean, Chase did get his arm hacked off, Tony and Jack are still facing court, as well as Jack's addiction... But it felt kind of sweet. Jack regains control of himself, and drives off into the afternoon, in one of his most emotional moments. Way to go Kiefer, and good luck with next season...

P.S. BURN IN HELL SHERRY AND NINA MYERS!

MY E-MAIL! scipio.now@earthlink.net .
AIM: Hopes Addict (0) comments

Hey, do you remember those action figures we all used to buy back in the mid-to-late 90s? Man, those were the golden years. We had Clinton in the White House, nerdy guys with bad hair and thick glasses were making millions, and we all had cool action figures.

Remember Power Rangers? Kick ass! No, not the new Power Rangers: Dino Playtime or whatever it is these days, I mean the original, hardcore Rangers. Sure, maybe the Black Ranger got kicked off the show before his time, taking with him his Mastadon Zord and his axe that turned into a gun, but it was a great show. Next to the Ninja Turtles cartoon, I'd say Power Rangers was my first introduction to the miracle that is choreographed violence.

And it always followed the same awesome formula: some stuff happens with the Rangers, going about their lives. Maybe Jason lifts some weights and sets some sort of record, or Zach, the Black Ranger, busts out some hip-hop moves. Maybe Kimberly flounces around and acts like a Pink Ranger, whatever. Then Rita's like, "No! No fun!" And she takes an ordinary household object, like a can of Axe, and turns it into a monster, some kind of deodorizing creature that sprays the Power Rangers with an overwhelming scent they are unable to escape from all day. But the Power Rangers band together, and somehow, all five of them defeat it. But first something happens that causes things to explode, showering sparks and making them jump backwards in a manner that is meant to indicate being thrown violently from a blast. Oh, I forgot the PUTTY! Those gray fellows were awesome. Okay, before the monster, the Putty come down there for no reason, get kicked in the face, ass, and testicular region, and disappear. That's what we in the industry call, a "time killer." Okay, after the Power Rangers defeat the monster, and make some doubtlessly witty comment, we would surely laugh at if only if it hadn't been muffled by your mask, Billy, Rita gets angry, goes, "Make my monster GROW!" and throws a ball at it. Pouf, the ball explodes, the monster grows, the Power Rangers go, What an unexpected turn of events! They get in their Zords, which are of course individual creatures, but they never seem to notice because they always go directly into the Megazord. Which means it's time to kill some poor monster and destroy Tokyo. Or Kentucky. Wherever the hell they lived, I don't remember. I don't think they knew either. I guess they went straight to the Megazord without using their individual Zords because a Triceratops-shaped leg segment is not the coolest looking vehicle in town. Not what you'd call a chick magnet.

Billy: Hey Babes, I may be a brilliant nerd who is inexplicably still in high school despite the fact that I am clearly about 30 years old, but I've got a nice ride. Come on, don't you want to take a ride in the Love-osaur?

I'm thinking not. Oh, and Tommy! How does he all fit into this? Tommy the Green Ranger, but he was EVIL! Because Green is EVIL (don't ask me; I don't write this stuff.) But then he became the White Ranger, and he was good. Oh, I see... "White" means good. Way to go Bandai, you racist Japanese people. Tommy was a dreamboat. Oh man, he had that long hair, and that tiger sword. What was that? It was a white sword with this tiny, white tiger's head on the hilt. And it's mouth moved. I don't know if it was saying shit, telling Tommy jokes or whatever, but it was cool.

So, after about three seasons, the tiger took over the show, flew to the moon, killed Rita and that wiley Dr. Zedd, then enslaved all of mankind.

What do I know? I stopped watching when the Power Rangers decided monster trucks make better Zords than mythical beasts. Like the tiger!


Right, so, action figures. They kicked ass. I've still got all the ones I didn't lose or bury in my sandbox and then forget where I'd left them. I got Ninja Turtles, Batman, even Star Trek! Oh, and Z-Bots, remember Z-Bots? They kicked millions of cubic feet of ass. And Crash Test Dummies. Remember those? Not since Crash Dummies have we seen an action figure who's primary ability is to fall apart. I mean, plenty of toys do that, for instance Barbie, if you have a good flathead screwdriver. But Crash Dummies did that with unprecedented ease, collapsing unto their component parts at the touch of a button!

No, what I came here to talk about was the commercials for action figures, right! Remember how god damn cool those commercials made all that shit look? I mean, I was fine just air-lifting my Batman toy around the room, making cape-swishing sounds with my lips, but then I saw those ads. It's all...

Deep Voice Guy [accompanied by dramatic music]: Batman prowls the dark streets at night, in his Batmobile!
Punkass Kids, in unison: Oh no! It's MR. FREEZE!
Punkass Kid: I'll get you Batman!
DVG: Batman makes quick work of Mr. Freeze! [Unseen person's hand presses a button on the Batmobile, and it launches a missile, which hits a wall made of plastic ice cubes, which Mr. Freeze is standing on. Mr. Freeze tumbles backwards into a tiny pool of water.]
Punkass Kids: You're frozen!
DVQ: Batman: The Batmobile. BatmanactionfiguresoldseparatelyMr.Freezeactionfiguresoldseparately. Somepartsmaybeeasytoswallowthistoyisnotsuitableforchildrenundertheageofsix.

From Kenner! Those ads were works of fucking ART. Some guy spent weeks locked in a board meeting with five other creative consultants and one pad of yellow paper, going, "Okay... darkened room... and, and the Batmobile drives in! And Two Face, nonono! Mr. Freeze is there and he's standing... on... PLASTIC ICE CUBES. Shut up, we'll get someone to make them for us. I'm a genius!" All I wanted to know was, Where did those cubes come from? WHERE did those cubes come from? They sure as hell didn't come with MY Batmobile, I don't remember driving my Batmobile through any plastic bricks either, making my presence known to all the evildoers of Gotham. I had to drive out from under my bed covers, just like everyone else.

Still, those were some good times. Good times.

Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer (10) comments

I picked up this copy we have of The Illiad, thinking, you know, Diane Krueger. Anyway, I pick it up, turn the page, says "To my mother and father."

I'm like, Oh that's nice, Homer wrote a little acknowledgment thing. Of course, the translator actually wrote that, but it initially struck me as rather odd.

So, I don't really like the summer. It's not summer vacation which I am not down with, heaven forfend! But something about the warm, muggy air, and the sun staying up until 9:00 makes it seem that much more wrong to spend eight hours in front of a computer screen. I mean, I usually feel vaguely uneasy about it, but during the lean summer months, I feel downright unclean, like I've been feasting on Christian babies. Have you noticed that? That it's always "Christian babies"? I think it's because they're more tender. Something having to do with the holy water and the anointing oil or whatever. I think they put MSG or something in that holy water. Sweet cuppin' cakes! Gives me a headache though. No it doesn't.


Oh, oh! So, what I had wanted to mention the other day but I'd forgotten about and was angry, is "razors". When the hell did they get so cool, and who gave them permission? I'm talking about fucking shaving razors. Eh? In the old days, you see the razor commercial they all go, "Oi! Our razors are extra sharp, for unprecedented sharpness!" and you go "Fuckin' A!"

These days it's all...

THREE blades! Floating in SPACE! Feels like you're shaving in ZERO GRAVITY! No, no! WOMEN shaving YOU in ZERO GRAVITY. SEX! Sex in ZERO GRAVITY. With WOMEN! In SPACE.

or...

You've seen two blades. Yeah, two blades! And then we brought you THREE blades and you discovered more closeness in shaving than ever before. But how about FOUR blades? Isn't that overdoing it? NO! Four blades GOOD! Before four blades you WEREN'T EVEN SHAVING. You were rubbing your face with bits of metal. SHABBY! No, no, FOUR blades! No, not four, QUATTRO! Italian blades! Blades from Italy, it's QUATTRO! Crafted by... mobsters... sexy fuck-off Italian girl mobsters. Huge fuck-off breasts, eating pasta, Aldente, kiss-kiss mwuh! Italian sexy girl mobsters, huge fuck-off breasts, eating pasta, kiss-kiss... four FUCK-OFF BLADES.

Quattro. Yeah. Exactly. What is it all about? No one is shaving in space, okay? No. And no crazy songs about how Gillette is the best a man can get, okay? A threesome with the Olsen twins, maybe, but "Gillette"? Oh no no no! Not the best. Not the best! Indeed. You know what, go to the pharmacy, do us all a favor, and buy yourself a BIC Razor.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (1) comments

So, I'm talking to this girl online. And she's all like, "Hey, did you know I got hit by a car?" except she's a vocal major at our school, I guess, so she's all like, "hey did you know i got hit by a car?" Well, it's pretty similar. Here's a portion of our conversation:

Me: So, what, was it a red light or what?

Her: red

Me: And you were crossing, completely legally, and the car just mows you down.
Whatever you say.

Her: no

it was red

light

and i was hit

because i was jay walking

and my friend said

whatch out

and i turned and the car hit me

the ambulance came

and i was brused and my arms were dislocated

lol


Me: Ha. I'm laughing out loud as well.

Very amusing story.


Anyway, that's pretty much how it went. No, that's exactly how it went, I just copied and pasted from the conversation. Anyway, my point is, I'm sick of these people who type "lol" all the time. Do you even know what it means? It means "laughing out loud." Are you laughing out loud, sugar plum? Because you're telling me about the time you got hit by a car, asshole. "lol" does not mean "period", and it also doesn't mean, "I agree." It doesn't mean, "I'm just kidding" either. It means, "laughing out loud", or at least, "what you're saying amuses me." Okay?

Nicky

AIM: You know what, I'll contact you.
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

When you have something really funny to say, or you think it's funny but you aren't sure because you can't remember what it is? Well, that happened as I was about to write this post. Damn it! I had two things to write about: "24" and something. And "something" was probably quite interesting, witty, or provocative. Well, shit.

Anyway, I was watching "24" on tape tonight, I mean really watching it, without my computer or anything. And, I noticed that the show is absolutely, rigorously unfunny. It appears that the series writers, in their effort to inject every minute of "24" with drama, thus making every second count, they engaged in a fantastic struggle to remove any chance of humor from the show. I mean, you'd expect that I guess, in a show concerning one day's worth of earth-shattering danger, but seriously! You think no one would say something funny or make a joke to lighten the mood? I'm not kidding here; I'm serious. I mean, it's not that they aren't trying to make the show funny, of course they aren't, but it seems like a lot of work went into making sure nothing funny occurs. I think that's why the show is so uncomfortable to watch; everything is so serious all the time.

Jack: Damn it, Saunders, where are the vials? I'll kill your daughter!
Saunders: No, stop it! Would you like some tea? I'm British.
Jack: Shut up, this is serious! Chloé, I need a 10-20 on the GPS.
Chloé: Darn you, Tony, darn you to heck. Make my life difficult, eh? Well!
David Palmer: Oh, I'm a good president. I have morals and such. However, sometimes one has to struggle with their conscience for 59 minutes and then do something they don't want to do. Damn you Sherry.
Sherry Palmer: I want to be president of the whole world!

Anywho... the uh, the show, it... wow, that little dialogue did nothing to prove my point. Furthermore, only one of my readers probably got that. At most.

So, there you have it, one of the two things I was planning to write about.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer (no messages if you are an asshole)
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (1) comments

I forgot that I had been posting my radio script in installments. Where was I? Ah, there we are—ready? Cause this is the entire rest of the show. For the first part, see my earlier post. Oh, and if the ending seems contrived and inconclusive, it's because I like stories that don't really go anywhere and because we had to fit this to a fairly short time frame. So, heck you.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer
Very small rocks. And my E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.



Rex: This case just. Got. Interesting.

5
Nazi: Show me the plutonium!

Husband: Ah-right, ah-right!

Rex: He’s opening the briefcase! (briefcase being unlatched.)
RN: Its eerie green glow lit the gloomy room, casting its pallid light on the German.

Nazi: (Gasp of awe.) Here is your 5000 dollars. (paper rustles.)

Rex: Five thousand clams! With that kinda scratch I could quit my day job and spend a few years in Tahiti.

Husband: Thanks man, I gotta go.

Rex: Uh-oh. I better wrap this up before he gets away. But first, I’ll smoke a cigarette to calm my nerves. (lighter sound, followed by puff.) Mm! Those Lucky Strikes are refreshing. They’re smoother than ice, and just as cool!
RN: As the traitor turned to leave, I jumped out from behind the corner. It was two on one, but I’d brought along backup: my old friend Charlie Six Shooter.

Rex: You’ve sold-slash-bought your last briefcase full of plutonium, Jimmy and Nazi!

RN: The Nazi was startled, and Maxine’s husband jumped higher than a kangaroo pole vaulter. I thought I was just about ready to wrap things up, but then... complications arose.

6

Unseen man with Japanese accent: Bravo, Mr. Walker.

RN: My nerves had already taken quite a beating, and they were just about ready to fight back.
Rex: Where are you? How do you know my name?

Japanese Man: Lucky guess...

RN: He said, as he stepped out of the shadows. He was a middle-aged man, with a long scar running across the right side of his face; the kind of slash Kafka would have nightmares about. He wore a white lab coat and a monocle that looked like it could look into your soul.

Japanese Man: You have done an excellent job, infiltrating our headquarters. I’m sure the government trained you well.

Rex: Ha! No government could train me as well as 15 years on the streets.

Japanese Man: Ha ha ha. I suppose not. My name is Osaka Sashimi. You are a cunning man. If you found your way here, perhaps your intellect could someday match mine. And that is why it is a pity that you must die!

7

RN: The Japanese man threw some sort of metal ball on the floor (clink!) that exploded in a cloud of smoke (pffhh!) Suddenly, six deadly ninja surrounded me, ready to strike. I called my old friend Charlie could come out to play; he was more than happy to join me. ...and the fight began. (Ninja sounds interspersed with shooting.)

8

RN: Finally, the murderous ninjas were dead. But my troubles weren’t over. Not by a long shot.

(Clink. Pffhh! Clap. Clap. Clap.)

Rex: You again!

Osaka (clapping awkwardly): Ha ha... ha... I’m more impressed than... ever, Mr...

Rex: Do you need help or anything?

Osaka: Silence! It is very difficult to clap while holding a gun!

Rex: Hm. Maybe it would be easier if you put the gun down?

Osaka (stops clapping): You are very funny, Mr. Walker. I like you. Now put up your hands.

RN: I was trapped!

9

RN: They pushed aside a painting and pressed a button behind it (use appropriate sounds. Be creative.) The wall swung around, creaking like an old granny’s rocking chair. On the other side was a giant warehouse, with Nazi guards everywhere. Osaka Sashimi watched with an evil glint in his eye while the Nazi and that no-good traitor Jimmy tied me to a chair.

Osaka: Now that I have your undivided attention. Some would consider it foolish for me to reveal my greatest plans to my most worthy adversary, but in my country, we are raised to respect our foes. You see... for the past three years, a team of 88 crazy scientists and I, have worked furiously to devise—with a generous... grant from our Nazi sponsor here—the most powerful weapon known to man. Excuse me (Nazi’s name), could you ask one of your compatriots to bring in the weapon?

Nazi: (Whatever he says, it should sound angry, and it should sound German.)

RN: A guard slowly wheeled in a giant box that was covered with some sort of cloth. The box rumbled like an angry volcano.

Osaka: Now, the weapon is still in its early stages of... development, but when it is complete, it will be much larger, and put to good use the plutonium our friend... borrowed. Ah ha ha ha! Ah ha ha ha! Rex Walker-san, I present to you... Godzilla! (Godzilla yells!)

RN: One of the lackeys ripped the cloth off the box—no, it was a cage—and I saw an enormous lizard. A monster! His black and green scales glistened in the warehouse lights like a million broken mirrors. His putrid breath smelled of death. His massive claws could tear through solid steel. Now, I don’t know much about lizards, but based on the pictures I’ve seen in Lizard Fancier Monthly, I could tell it was a baby. It looked like it had just been sleeping, and it was cranky. (Plaintive shriek from Godzilla.)

10

Osaka: Isn’t he beautiful? You see, Godzilla was designed as the ultimate weapon, to strike, without mercy, the enemies of Germany.

Nazi: Starting with Japan!

Osaka: What! How can you do this to my country? It really doesn’t make any sense! We’re allies!

Nazi: Not anymore. You see, you Japanese annoy us, with your black hair and brown eyes. With your pachinko parlors and your bomber planes with the cartoon kittens. Now, Godzilla, destroy Tokyo!

Osaka: Noooooooo!

Nazi: Sashimi, you’ve served your purpose. (Bam!)

Osaka: Gah! Godzilla... avenge... my... death!

RN: With a furious roar, Godzilla tore his cage to shreds (ripping, roaring, etc.), and he stalked toward the Nazi.

Nazi: Help me my brothers!

RN: ...he cried to the guards, but they were cowering like rats in the corners. With a terrifying shriek, Godzilla crushed the nazi with his mighty scaled foot! (GYAH!!! Squash.) It was one of the most horrifying sights I’ve ever seen. I do not in any way condone murder, even if the victim is a Nazi. Nazi’s are people too (The More You Know theme plays.)
RN: Suddenly, Godzilla turned towards me, still madder than a killer be, and took a step toward me. I was finished!

12

RN: Suddenly, the skylights shattered as a dozen SWAT commandos descended into the room on cables. As they came down to the floor, they shot all the Nazis (Ahk! Mein Führer!) and then they shot Godzilla with tranquilizer darts until he collapsed! (With plaintive roar, Godzilla collapses and slams on floor.)

Marley (Southern/Texas accent): Hey there, Mr. Walker. I’m Phil Marley, captain of the SWAT team. I’d like to officially congratulate you on all you did.

Rex: Thanks, but I really didn’t do anything.

Marley: You know, that’s true.

Rex: Yeah....

Marley: So—

Rex: Yeah... I’ll just go. Now.

13

Rex: So, Maxine, that’s what happened to your husband.

Maxine: Well, at least he wasn’t cheating. Wait, what did happen to my husband?

Rex: Oh, right. They arrested him. He’ll be getting 20 to life.

Maxine: Ah.

RN: She turned to leave, but then she stopped.

Maxine: Say... you have any idea what happened to Godzilla?

Rex: Well, Ma’am, I can’t say I have. I think it’s safe to say he’s out of the picture.

RN: And he was... for a while. (Dramatic music with Godzilla scream.) (0) comments

I've been downloading and listening to some comedy this weekend, and I've noticed something. Listening to Eddie Izzard, British comedian, the laughter is nice. Hearing the crowd laugh it's like, "I agree! That is funny!" But hearing the black comedians, Chris Rock and Richard Pryor, they're fine, but in the audience there is this one person. This one person seems determined to thwart me. It's that one annoying person who has that laugh. You know, that laugh? Where it's like, "Ah HA!" Like they're all triumphant about something. Like, they're laughing extra hard to show the comedian how appreciative they are. You know? Hate that. I think it's the same person, every performance for 30 years. Fucking bloody hell. Yeah. There you go.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

Don't pinch yourself either. It's not nice.

Nicky (0) comments

So filled with trials and turbulation. So, I'm watching "Thirteen" on DVD, or maybe I've already seen it— by the time this gets posted it will probably be over. So... I suppose I haven't been paying much attention, because it's been an hour and a half, or more probably, but I barely know anyone's name. I've sort of been playing Tony Hawk 3 on my Lapple (that's my super-awesome word for "Apple laptop") and aggressively NOT watching the movie. It's not that it's bad; I assume it isn't, but seriously, do I have to watch this with my parents? Actually, they're cool about it. I just can't be bothered to care about this film. Okay, a 13 year old girl living in California, is led by her 13 year old friend into a terrifying world of sex, drugs, and very little rock and roll. There is some rap though, but not the cool, socially conscious kind; the kind where it's like, "I'm a tough niggah but my best friend is my nine, I got a van full of bitches, and Shorty's lookin' fine." Hey, that wasn't. I'm going to be a West Coast rapper when I grow up. I'll get killed by some rival rapper from New York, and it will all be rather odd. And they'll make VH1 documentaries about me, and I'll release all these posthumous albums and junk.

So, Thirteen. Anyway, sex, drugs, and very little rock and roll. And I'm all like, "Yeah, whatever. This is way better than going to school fucking every weekday. I mean, you know, my life is very different and all from this, but I know people like this, or know people who contain some of these elements. So what? Fuck you. I guess it's different for parents and junk, probably. Just like, after being out of private school for only one year, I just feel like I don't have the energy to be shocked about anything. So as a shockudrama (shit, I'm coining words like crazy today) I found it generally uninformative. As an acting tour de force, meh. Can't judge. I really wasn't paying much attention. The New York Times said it was good, so, I guess it was probably good. I really wanted to be shocked and disturbed, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't particularly. I mean, if someone I knew, well, knew and liked, were fucked up to that extent, I'd be like, whoa. But in this form, I'm just all, eh. Also, I might have cared more if I had paid attention.

Wow, so this has been a pretty boring post. I hate it when I get all contemplative and soggy. When milk is added.

So, my point was, these girls were really fucked up. I was all like, come on girls, get it together! Stop being so fucked up, pick up the grade point average, and chill with the fucking drugs. And stop with the flesh cutting. Come on, jackass. You wanna hurt yourself, pinch yourself or something.

Well that was probably rather insensitive. I wish I had a big enough readership that someone send me angry emails. But I don't.

Oh yeah! And the goddamn shoplifting. No, never mind, that's okay. I mean, not like good okay, but it's a minor infraction. Well, maybe if you're stealing some lady's handbag, like in the movie, that's not cool. If you steal something valued at more than say, $5.00, no. Not cool. You wanna steal a Charleston Chew? Be my guest. Steal a handbag filled with cash? Well, that's not really shoplifting anyway.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer. No wait, that's not me. That's the screen name of my hot friend, uh, Brad Pitt. Yeah. So, you should just send BRAD PITT a message or something. He won't mind.
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

Okay, look, I'm thinking if this acting thing doesn't work out for me after a certain amount of years, I'm going into therapy.

That is not to say, that I will be "going into therapy" but that I will in fact, seek work in the psychiatric field. Because it's what I fucking do with all my spare time. Do you know how many hours I've put into talking to people online, exercising their inner demons with them? Okay, technically, it's not a lot of hours, but I'm very good at it. Also, technically I "exorcize" the demons. I mean, I'm trying to fucking expel them by force from other people's psyche's, not tone their abs. Remember, that's "exorcize" and not "exercise." Of course, if you're interested in my inner demon EXERCISE program, I'm setting up gyms in major residential areas across the country. Check us out in New York, LA, and uh... Kentucky. I'm not sure quite how that happened. Possibly, I said "Chicago" over the phone, and the guy who's in charge of setting up the gyms, the guy on the phone, thought I'd said "Kentucky." Or I made it up.

Anyway, my point is, I seem to have a knack for talking to people, convincing them that they want to talk about stuff they don't really want to talk about, asking them demeaning questions about their mothers, and then conjecturing that they are in fact, latent homosexuals. Okay, so one third of that is actually what I do.

Try to guess which third!

No, but this seems to happen a lot. And I get some sick satisfaction talking to these poor fuckers—I call them "friends" to their faces—and then asking them "and does that make you feel angry?"

Now, keep in mind I only seem to do this over the internet. Following that logic, I could also be some kind of suave and sexy ladies man. But I can only do that on the internet. Maybe this ideas not so good. Do they have email therapists? That would kick ass.


Now, all common sense would lead me to conclude a surprisingly witty post (I'm crazy!) with that paragraph and the succinct summation that that would indeed "kick ass." However, I've never been one for common sense. Or conclusions. Okay, all I've got left to say is I've been listening to some comedy by Eddie Izzard. Should I repeat that name? It's... you know what, adjust the direction your eyes are pointing by a few centimeters. It's right there. This is writing, not speech, dipstick. Anyway, he's pretty funny. He reminds me of a young me. Actually, com to think of it, he reminds me of an older, more British, transvestite me. Still, he's pretty funny. Look around for his stuff.

I'll be seeing you. Especially YOU.

Nicky

AIM: L'aimer du Jake (not really)
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

Hot! Hot! Ow! I can't feel my tongue! I need Pepsi! Ah...
These aren't even hot!
I know... it was just a little, acting.

You know what would be fun? Canceling that ad. Make it go away. I really hate it. That's pretty much all I got to say. I used to lake Jason Biggs from American Pie and all, but that Pepsi ad makes me seriously question his moral values. His acting is very bad in that commercial, and makes me want to buy thousands and thousands of cans of Pepsi and then drop them from a helicopter onto Pepsi's marketing headquarters. Then we'll see who's acting.

Nicky

AIM: Make Jimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

So, listening to my randomized MP3 collection, I came upon several Led Zeppelin tunes, and I was listening to "Ramble On" when it occurred to me that at least a couple of the members of Led Zeppelin must have really been nerds. They wrote a whole freaking song, maybe more, about Lord of the Rings? I mean, I really know nothing about the bands, I'm not the biggest fan, but I'm just thinking, you know, eh? They're all like "Mordor!" and all about "Gollum, the evil one." And I'm like, "Nerd." Now what I really would have enjoyed would be a Star Trek song. You know like, "And Captain Picard explored space, and he sent an away team to a class M planet, where they met with sentient life forms that sent them back in time, sooo the crew had to be careful not to disobey the temporal prime directive and not tamper with the space-time continuum." Well, I'm no songwriter, but I think you get the picture." Gotta go. I have to do French if you'll believe it.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments

The News still sucks. There I was happily watching the Simpsons at some time after 7:00, and BAM! "We interrupt this show with a special FOX 5 report. The NBC 4 News copter crashed in Flatbush, Brooklyn."

Okay, admittedly, that kind of thing is useful to know, especially since I live kind of near there. But, then they had another feature about it on the 10:00 News, which must have been 10 minutes long. And then they had an interview with a pilot who survived a news copter crash five years ago or whatever. I'm sorry, what? If you want to do a human interest story or talk about news helicopter malfunctions of the past 10 years, do a special on cable. I don't have cable, so what do I care. But please, don't waste my time.

Anyway, besides the obvious conclusion that the News is a shameful mockery of the original concept, I thought it was kind of funny. I mean, there was an obvious subtext: the rivalry between FOX and NBC is palpable. I could see through the newscaster's concerned intonations: he was saying, "NBC pilots can't fly. Ha! They can't fly and we can! When do you ever hear of any FOX copters crashing? Huh? Huh? When? They were probably drinking in that news helicopter."

On a different note, we had to write this radio script for one of my drama classes to be performed in the fashion of a radio show. Isn't that cool? Anyway, it was theoretically a "group effort" but it kind of came to be a "me" effort, not entirely through the neglect of others. I just sort of thought I was the most qualified man for the job. Which doesn't mean I'm great, just the best out of five people. Anyway, I've got the script typed up. I figure some people will want to read it; the people with almost as much free time as I have. The script starts out pretty well, but in my opinion, the quality of the prose degrades after a bit, so you can stop if you want. Here:

The News still sucks. There I was happily watching the Simpsons at some time after 7:00, and BAM! "We interrupt this show with a special FOX 5 report. The NBC 4 News copter crashed in Flatbush, Brooklyn."

Okay, admittedly, that kind of thing is useful to know, especially since I live kind of near there. But, then they had another feature about it on the 10:00 News, which must have been 10 minutes long. And then they had an interview with a pilot who survived a news copter crash five years ago or whatever. I'm sorry, what? If you want to do a human interest story or talk about news helicopter malfunctions of the past 10 years, do a special on cable. I don't have cable, so what do I care. But please, don't waste my time.

Anyway, besides the obvious conclusion that the News is a shameful mockery of the original concept, I thought it was kind of funny. I mean, there was an obvious subtext: the rivalry between FOX and NBC is palpable. I could see through the newscaster's concerned intonations: he was saying, "NBC pilots can't fly. Ha! They can't fly and we can! When do you ever hear of any FOX copters crashing? Huh? Huh? When? They were probably drinking in that news helicopter."

On second thought, y'all can't handle that much text at once. I'll just give you the first little bit; it's naturally divided into cliffhangers and such anyway. The rest will follow over the course of some amount of posts.

Nicky

AIM: Jake Aimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.


Rex Walker: Private Eye

1

Dame: [sexy!] So, Rex, did you find any information about my husband?

Rex: Well, that’s a funny story...

Rex narrating (RN): The name’s Rex. I’m a private eye. I’m not a big time kind of detective, I’m just a guy who sees more missing cat and cheating spouse cases than anybody ever needs to. Still, it ain’t an easy job: you can go days without a case, sitting at your desk with a bottle of scotch, and sometimes you get the kind of case that makes being bored sound exciting. Every once in a while, though, you get something different. This was one of those times.
It was a cold day, with a blinding wind that made the branches rattle against my window like a Buddhist monk raking in his pebble garden. I was relaxing at my desk, trying to catch some sleep—the cases I take have a way of spending all my evening time—when she burst in. The dame was all legs, at least from her ankles to her hips, and the look she gave me could turn sand into glass.

Dame: Hey, are you a private eye?

Rex: That’s what it says on the door.

RN: Her name was Maxine and she thought her husband was cheating on her. Sometimes the gorgeous ones can be so insecure. I woulda told her I’d do the job for free, but then I remembered it would be better if she paid me. I took the case. It seemed like it was just up my alley, and it’s not like I had a lot else to do. And those trees knocking on my window were slowly driving me nuts.

2

RN: The clock struck twelve, and I was happy for those precious minutes I’d spent sleeping at my desk. I had been following the dame’s husband around all day, and I hadn’t seen anything too suspicious, barring those 20 minutes he spent in the bathroom at work. He was a scruffy, nervous type. He kept glancing skittishly around like some coked-up weasel. He stepped into a bar and I followed him. Inside it was dank and grimy, the way all good bars are. The fellow immediately stepped into the bar bathroom and I got a little worried for the state of his bladder. I figured I had a moment to get myself a drink; he wasn’t going anywhere.
Rex: Hey barkeep, pass me a shot of Jack Daniels.

Thelonius Pinkeroy (Barkeep): No problem, Rex. (glass slides down table.)

Rex: Thanks. Mm... that goes down smooth, like only Jack Daniels can. You just can’t beat that Jack Daniels taste.

Barkeep: Sure thing!

RN: I got up. I’d taken enough of a break and I don’t like to drink too much while I’m on the case. I walked up to the bathroom, and listened for suspicious sounds. Suddenly, I heard a wheel turn, screeching like a wounded cat, and then I heard strange mechanical sounds (mechanical sounds are heard.) I knocked on the door (knock), but no one was home, so I stepped into the bathroom to investigate. And I saw something I didn’t expect.

3

RN: The man was gone! Something crazy is going on here, I thought to myself. I knew it wasn’t ghosts though. It’s never ghosts. Not real ones, anyway. There’s got to be a hidden door! I said. I looked around for a switch or a knob. I tried the toilet (flushing sound), but that didn’t accomplish anything... nothing that I wanted, anyway. The sink was fine too. But then, I looked down at the pipes on the sink, and I saw a valve. I turned it (screech!) and suddenly, the wall popped out, just a little (glunk.) I pulled on the wall (creak), and behind it was a dark staircase, the kind you might take to get to hell. There was only one way to find out what the lady’s husband was up to. I took the stairs.

4

Underground, it was dark and cold. Water dripped from the ceiling (drip, drip.) I crept along the corridors, until I saw a dim light around the corner, and I heard voices. I peeked around the corner and listened, the way an owl listens for a field mouse.

Husband: Look, I ain’t goin’ back to no prison! Let’s gimme my money so I can get outa here!

Rex (whispers to himself): It’s that rotten husband, Jimmy!

German: You’ll get your money. Have you the plutonium?

Husband: Yeah! I got it! I don’t come down to no dank corridors for no social visits.

RN: He was talking to a German man. The German’s uniform made it clear he was a Nazi, someone high up too.
Rex: This case just. Got. Interesting. (0) comments

Perhaps the title did not correctly demonstrate the extent of rage. But at least I'm comfortable. Comfortable and furious.

The Swan.


No.


Come on! Really! Jesus-fucking-christ! Okay, I know it's already been on for a few weeks, but I just haven't become enraged enough to write about it. Which is surprising, considering how eagerly I wrote about Joe Millionaire 2 before it even started. This is, clearly, far more offensive.

Honestly, do they have a team of people in the janitors' closet at FOX (which is where their most popular shows come from) that is dedicated to embracing America's most offensive ideals?

It's a show that appears to be a desperate attempt to one-up Extreme Makeovers, or whatever that show is. It's basically saying, "these people are ugly. We will make them pretty and then everyone will love them. Right? Yes. Exactly." It's like, "You're so ugly we can only show you on network television for brief periods of time before making you look attractive." To reiterate my point, here is a brief performance, put on by the East Idaho Players.

Ugly Duckling: Aren't I ugly?
Plastic Man: Good God! Why are you on TV?
UD: So you can give me massive plastic surgery and make me pretty.
PM: Can we suck out your soul and all that makes you human?
UD: In exchange for the chance of physical beauty and a cash dollars prize? Sure!
PM: Wow. AND I get to draw dotted lines on your tummy!
UD: Right. This conversation is going nowhere.
PM: I love this job.

Urgh. I'm filled with impotent rage. That means my rage can't get it up. Rage's wife, Envy tells it that it happens to everyone, except maybe that handsome stud, Cockiness.

Hah. Cockiness. I amuse myself with my own wit. That's sad. There are surely better people with whose wit I may amuse myself.

That brings me to my next point: no one ever mentions Kentucky! I mean, I've gone months, years maybe, without thinking about Kentucky or remembering that it's a state. It IS a state, right? It has a capital and stuff? I really can't remember. I got 150% on my US states test just two years ago! Madison, Wisconsin! See? Shit. I can't think of any state that springs less easily to my mind than Kentucky. Well, Wyoming is close, but not as close. And, I mean, I see KFC, but I don't think, "The 'K' stands for a state." I just don't. It is very bizarre.

And what's with this new American Idol-like show? The one where they only promote the worst singers? Sure, that's amusing, up to a point. But what happens when, imbued with their new self-confidence, they all try to make records and star in movies that would be terrible even if they could sing? It will be terrible, for us and for their self-esteem. We'll have unleashed an army of William Hung clones, except by then it will be old and the public will swat at them and shoo them away, banishing them to search through dumpsters in back alleys, like stray, untalented cats.

Is that what you want, America?

Nicky

Aim: Jake Aimer
MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com. (0) comments