Hi, y’all. So, I guess this was a pretty important week historically speaking, but there’s no reason for me to comment on it. For anyone as amateur and obscure as me to even try to provide you with an insight you haven’t heard would be ridiculous. That being said, hot damn dang man. Start that ass-kicking, Mista Prezz. It’s good to see that he’s not wasting time. That’s all we’ve done for a long time. He knows this. He knows that the old ways are obsolete. Maybe a few minds opened up a little bit wider this week. I know mine did. Hell, I watched “Black Snake Moan” in its entirety Wednesday night, and I liked it. Seriously. The one where Christina Ricci forgot her clothes. I can’t say that something like that wouldn’t have happened before Tuesday, but it didn’t. Sidenote: It seems to be morally ok to keep a hot, horny white girl chained to your radiator if you’re only trying to “fix her” and not just bang her to death. It’s nice to know that I wasn’t too far off the path of righteousness. Never mind. The problem with this is, if you’re going to keep a girl chained up in your house, even she will start to develop some womanly expectations. Don’t be surprised when it backfires and you’re married to a girl who’s attached to your house. Not only is she your wife now, but she knows for sure that you’ve got the key to that freaking chain. Now what do you do, huh? That’s right – you swallow the key and burn it all to the ground. Here’s some shit to do this weekend.
Sigh. I’d like to take this opportunity to NOT blindly bag on the beloved pastime of an odd or otherly-abled group of contemporaries. I’d LIKE to do that, but goddammit. Come on. I just don’t get why you’d want to look like an idiot in two separate realities. Here’s the problem: In this reality, I’m an overweight, bearded, blogger who can’t eat half a cheese enchilada without shitting himself. In a faiery-tale reality, I would be an overweight, bearded, nobody because I’m just a guy in tights who happens to own a pan flute. As an observer, I’m all for this kind of thing. And really, I’m not trying to put these people down; everybody needs their hobbies I guess. But I’ll never understand this one. It just seems like so much work. I think there are people who take these activities quite seriously, going so far as to train with the weapons of the period and forgo bathing for as long as it takes to get that Renaissance Fair “shine” that so many of their wonderful faces and neck flaps display. If they want to do that kind of thing, I’m just going to want more realism. Brutal realism. Where are all the lepers and the freaks? If movies have taught me anything, it’s that every olden-timey village had at least one person with some crazy purple cluster-boils all over his body, and was properly shunned for it. Ah, the disgusting disease-clusters of yore. Go check this thing out. Apparently you’ll be able to rub shoulders (or whatever) with the likes of “the Pirate King O’Hara, his sister, Ruthless, Queen of the Sea and even Prince Scarlet, the seven foot tall fox and his proud Fox-kiteers!”. So duh, right? If you bring the kids, don’t forget the anti-nightmare pills.
It’s not actually this weekend, but you’d be stupid to not try to go, so I thought I’d give a heads-up. We all know it’s already sold out anyway. I remember my mom watching the movie w/Oprah and Sgt. Murtaugh and that other black guy, Whoopee something-or-other. Luckily, I was too young to understand the subject matter of the movie, which is boredom. I’m sure it’s great or whatever, but I was about 11 when I saw it, so get off my back. All I knew was that Murtaugh and Mr. Whoopee were poorer than I was, and that made me feel good. I guess that Oprah girl blew the eff up after that movie. According to her Wikipedia page, she’s into all kinds of stuff. At one point in her life, he was the world’s only black billionaire. I guess I could see that. She seems really important. My good friends over at Tartar Build-Up seem to think every little part of her is important. For anyone who appreciates a good stage show, you should totally go see this. I’m focusing on “contrite sincerity” this week, and it’s harder than I expected. Moving on.
Who doesn’t love watching a man play a horn? Ok, I’m not being sincere. I do, sort of. I was a “band nerd” as you folks with your sex and your good times called us. But I do not apologize. Yeah, I was in band. I played trumpet, and was fairly good at it. Since sophomore year, I’ve progressed to instruments with which one can properly rock out with his cock out, as it were. Or, I suppose, a lovely young lady could be facilitated to jam out with her clam out. Either way, music is a universal language, and when you have the chance to see a Grammy award-winning master in your home town, there’s no complaining allowed. It could be Benny Steinberg and his Crazy Steel Drum Orchestra, but it’s not – it’s Chris Botti, who is awesome, according to the internet. Wow, I’m really whoring up the Civic Center this week. Maybe I’ll get a free t-shirt or something. Does the Civic Center make pies?
Well, I guess he deserves a party. Maybe he won’t get booed in Crawford. I think history will view his Presidency like we view Macaulay Culkin in “Home Alone”. Just a regular American kid with a 4th grade education who got in way over his head, all thanks to a predictable lack of foresight by his parents. Now put your hands on your face, scream your little scream, and GO AWAY FOREVER.
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