"I wish I was in Tijuana eating barbequed iguana. I'd take requests on the telephone, I'm on a
wavelength far from home. I feel a hot wind on my shoulder I dial it in from south of the border, I hear the talking of the DJ. Can't understand just what does he say?" Wall of Voodoo from
"Mexican Radio"
When it comes to celebrities the nurse and I have very similar taste. Of course she loves
Leonardo DiCaprio with the same passion as myself, she too thinks Jenna Elfman has a body
that rocks harder than, you wanna guess, that's right, Appetite For Destruction. It's actually
harder to find people that we are of opposing viewpoint, rough to imagine seeing is that she is a
figment of my imagination. But for some hideous reason she thinks Tom Cruise is the most
underrated actor this side of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. How could someone so scorchingly hot,
be so incredibly clueless.
I have serveral reasons for dismissing the diminuative dialouge drummer as nothing more than
hard candy. sure it's shiny and pretty, but it's got all the charisma of a box of charcoal and it's
bad for your teeth. If you are a practicing Scientologist, or as I like to call them, The Cult that
makes the Mormon's look normal, you might want to skip down to my lambasting of his film
work. Because seriously this L. Ron Hubbard cult of alien worship holds as much credibility as
Jim Craemer after his bold prediction to hang on to your Bears And Stern stock. That
collapsed like Marissa Tomei's career. I know that Scientologists are just another gaggle of
believers, but why have Cruise as the face of your religion? I believe in smoking pot and having
a great time but I don't allow Matthew McConaughey to speak for me. And really what does it
say about a faith that has a "Celebrity Center"? Sell out much?
Then, if the Xenu worship wasn't enough there's that once wholesome Stepford Wife of his.
Let's see, he couldn't ruin Nicole Kidman or the stackhouse that is Mimi Rogers, so he defiles
Katie? What a butt plug. I read somewhere that there was a casting call put out for the job of
Mrs. Wack-o and that Scarlett johannson passed on the gig. If it's true I will overlook the fact
that my Ghost World lollipop was in The Island and that she recently released an album. Katie,
if you're out there, get out, get out before they completely brainwash... wait she just spend a
month taking Scientology workshops? Damn, we lost her. Guess that might have something to
do with Maggie Gyllenhaal being the new Rachel Dawes in Dark Knight?
Anyway, back to Oprah's ratings ticket. Think about the last great Cruise role. Hard isn't it? I
know somebody out there is yelling Top Gun at their monitor at this very moment. All I can say is A) I can't hear you through the Internet and B) Gayest Movie Ever Made. The Bird Cage
wasn't as gay as Top Gun, neither is Boy On Boy KY's Greatest Hits Vol. III. There is so
much gayness that it's almost a chick flick. Even Brian Singer thinks it's completely gay and he
kisses men. I have no problem with people being gay, whatever gets you to Valhalla, but don't
tell me it's an action movie then show slow motion sweat drenched dudes playing volleyball.
That's a bait and switch.
Risky Business? Ok, the train scene with Rebecca DeMornay was hot, but Cruise sucked.
The Outsiders? Great book, excellent cast, I mean it was even Swayzeriffic, yet Tom sucked.
Days of Thunder? Come on. Far And Away? Even Opie couldn't save his pathetic
performance. I have an idea. Let's trade Tommy to Mexico for Salma Hayek. I may not be
able to understand her half the time, but at least she's hotter than Tabassco.
Which celebrity do you want to trade away?
Dixie Cup of Love: Val Kilmer who was in Top Gun, but awesome in Real Genius.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
"His mom and dad clutch themselves and cry. Their favorite son will never walk again. Coach says, "That boy gave a hundred percent, What spirit, What a man. But who cares? Games over, Let's go get wasted man to the 7-11, to the liquor store let's party all night and party some more " Dead Kennedys from "Jock-o-rama"
The nurse was howling with laughter as she entered my room. See, during a particularly violent shock therapy session my leg broke free of the restraints and my ankle snapped like a twig under the foot of Nell Carter. The cast that the so-called medical staff but me in was pink in color, I guess it was a joke, but the only one laughing is that evil bitch, so I guess they succeeded. I will get my vengeance, you can bet your bottom dollar, Annie. Those fuckers are gonna pay. But having my ankle in a cast got me thinking about another time I broke the same bone due to over zealous behavior.
I used to work, at one point, long ago, for a large corporation that I will call "Buy Me Toys".
Now, at Buy Me Toys they were big on extra curricular activities. Picnics, parties, and of course softball between the stores. Upon passing my drug test, which I found kind of funny that you drug test a bunch of people that basically applied for a job which would allow them to play with toys all day, but anyway, soon after leaving a urine sample that smelled of asparagus, my favorite thing to eat the night before testing, I was signed up for the softball team. I told the manager that I have a tad of a competitive streak and maybe it wasn't a wise move to put me on the squad. He waved off the comment like I told him that his sister gave me crabs. Get some ointment and move on.
During my first game I was informed that the winning team got a killer prize. Why must they flash the red flag in front of the bull? I was amped. That game I was 4 for 4 with two home runs. No small feat due to the speed with which I round the bases. As the season went on I was a star, the bosses would let me get away with murder as long as I buried the bodies on the softball field. And I did. Taking the team on my back like a mule and getting to the final game.
First at bat. Double, 2 rbi's. Good start. Second at bat. Home run, over the left field fence, leisurely stroll around the base path. Third at bat, legendary. I hit a worm killing grounder at the third baseman and quickly chucked my bat at the ground so hard that it made the centerfielder jump. As I lallygagged down to first, knowing I was out, I decided to use the one tool still in my arsenal. Intimidation. I screamed like Jack the Ripper was cutting my colon out and the first baseman spooked and the ball flew by him. SWEET. I raced towards second, looking over my shoulder and seeing that the first baseman was having trouble with the ball, I went for three. When I passed the shortstop I noticed that the third baseman was catching the ball. First baseman had a helluva an arm. So, I was a sitting duck. One last chance. Kick the ball out of the glove. So I slid the slide of an elephant in a frenzy. My left leg extended, aiming straight for that glove. It worked to near perfection. I say near because as the ball popped out of the glove, my foot caught on the bag, and the rest of me kept on going. The sound of my ankle snapping was so loud that Marlee Matlin came and asked if I was alright.
I was safe. That's what was important. The ankle, well, it was destroyed and still hurts all the time. What an idiot, what a competitor, what a bummer that I was gonna miss work for the next 6 weeks. I was no longer a star in my bosses eye. But, I was safe.
Let's hear the sports related injuries? Details.
Dixie Cup of Love: Dr. John Burkett who put my jigsaw puzzle like ankle back together.
The nurse was howling with laughter as she entered my room. See, during a particularly violent shock therapy session my leg broke free of the restraints and my ankle snapped like a twig under the foot of Nell Carter. The cast that the so-called medical staff but me in was pink in color, I guess it was a joke, but the only one laughing is that evil bitch, so I guess they succeeded. I will get my vengeance, you can bet your bottom dollar, Annie. Those fuckers are gonna pay. But having my ankle in a cast got me thinking about another time I broke the same bone due to over zealous behavior.
I used to work, at one point, long ago, for a large corporation that I will call "Buy Me Toys".
Now, at Buy Me Toys they were big on extra curricular activities. Picnics, parties, and of course softball between the stores. Upon passing my drug test, which I found kind of funny that you drug test a bunch of people that basically applied for a job which would allow them to play with toys all day, but anyway, soon after leaving a urine sample that smelled of asparagus, my favorite thing to eat the night before testing, I was signed up for the softball team. I told the manager that I have a tad of a competitive streak and maybe it wasn't a wise move to put me on the squad. He waved off the comment like I told him that his sister gave me crabs. Get some ointment and move on.
During my first game I was informed that the winning team got a killer prize. Why must they flash the red flag in front of the bull? I was amped. That game I was 4 for 4 with two home runs. No small feat due to the speed with which I round the bases. As the season went on I was a star, the bosses would let me get away with murder as long as I buried the bodies on the softball field. And I did. Taking the team on my back like a mule and getting to the final game.
First at bat. Double, 2 rbi's. Good start. Second at bat. Home run, over the left field fence, leisurely stroll around the base path. Third at bat, legendary. I hit a worm killing grounder at the third baseman and quickly chucked my bat at the ground so hard that it made the centerfielder jump. As I lallygagged down to first, knowing I was out, I decided to use the one tool still in my arsenal. Intimidation. I screamed like Jack the Ripper was cutting my colon out and the first baseman spooked and the ball flew by him. SWEET. I raced towards second, looking over my shoulder and seeing that the first baseman was having trouble with the ball, I went for three. When I passed the shortstop I noticed that the third baseman was catching the ball. First baseman had a helluva an arm. So, I was a sitting duck. One last chance. Kick the ball out of the glove. So I slid the slide of an elephant in a frenzy. My left leg extended, aiming straight for that glove. It worked to near perfection. I say near because as the ball popped out of the glove, my foot caught on the bag, and the rest of me kept on going. The sound of my ankle snapping was so loud that Marlee Matlin came and asked if I was alright.
I was safe. That's what was important. The ankle, well, it was destroyed and still hurts all the time. What an idiot, what a competitor, what a bummer that I was gonna miss work for the next 6 weeks. I was no longer a star in my bosses eye. But, I was safe.
Let's hear the sports related injuries? Details.
Dixie Cup of Love: Dr. John Burkett who put my jigsaw puzzle like ankle back together.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Trapazoid of Lies
"And then, you meet me. And you whole world changes, because everything I say is everything you've ever wanted to hear. So you drop all your defenses and you drop all your fears, and you trust me completely. I'm perfect in every way" Henry Rollins from "Liar"
The nurse and I have a strange relationship to say the very least. What else can you say about a man and his imaginary drug dealer? It's comical to say the least. But when I talk to her, it's like I'm talking to myself, does that make sense? Of course it doesn't, who am I kidding. I know she isn't real, but it doesn't hurt anyone that she exists in my head, does it?
I love my truth box. I swear it's the greatest thing since Cherry Pop Tarts. The thing I love about it is the fact that I don't know who is saying the things they are saying. Some of them are incredible. Some of them are awful, and it's time that I shared some of my favorites with you, and who I think they are from. This is gonna be a good one, don't touch that dial.
"You are asking questions and seeking answers outside of yourself. The guy you look at in the mirror everyday is the one you need to talk to instead." -- Now I didn't know what to think of this one. It seems that this junior Dr. Phil is trying to fix that which I don't think is broken. If I am asking questions and seeking answers that are inside of me, why the fuck don't I know the answers? See, that makes no sense to me. My issues with the sperm donor and the cards that I chose to play aside, I ask questions because I want to hear what other people think. That's the purpose of the blog, not to fix me, or make me somehow whole, it's to get to know the world outside of me. Who do I think wrote this - Someone that doesn't know me as well as they think they do. There would be too many names to name, so I will just say that I think whoever it is should leave the analysis to Dr. Phil.(odds that it was Dr. Phil 10000000-1)
"I agree with alot of things you write about, and I disagree with alot of things you write about. To each his own, huh? and...I have this compltely weird crush on you...not like a stalker kind of crush....but a if I ever saw you in public would I be able to speak to you kinda of crush...so weird, huh?" -- Now this is why I created the Truth Box. It's both insightful and gets the imagination going. When I think about this entry I can think of three people as the possible author, and mined you, I'm asking no one for confirmation or denial. But my choices are Mrs. Nikki Sixx(odds 5-1), Darling Niki(odds 8-1), and Judi Sunshine(odds 100-1).
"i would do you in a box, i would do you in your sox, i would do you in a car, i would do you at a bar, i would do you in the rain, i would do you til there's pain, would you could you in the park? do me do me in the dark. ok i'm done here..." -- A Suess fan. Or someone that knows I am a Suess fan. I can think of many people that I wish this was, but there are only two that I think are responsible - *B*O*B* (wishful odds 2-1)or Marc(o) Porno(more likely odds 4-1, you sick-o). LOL
Last one. "I think you have a talent for writing and I want to read your daily blog for a year. I also think, you have been asking simple questions. You're not challenging your readers. I think you should dig deep everyday. Some of us depend on you for conversation topics and lately you've simply been telling a story and asking a question about the story. Let's kick things up an intellectual level shall we?" -- I got this one during the run of the Minnesota saga. Obviously not a fan of my story telling skills. So, I looked at it a little deeper, as were the instructions. Who would feel that I am not asking the hard questions? Someone that has hard answers. Who would depend on me for conversation topics? Someone that talks about me alot, but then ther ewas the "us" that means they converse with someone on a regular basis that also may be a reader of the Asylum. My thoughts. Mandy(odds 3-1), Penelope(odds 3-1), Queen of Coins (odds 1000-1).
If you don't have a truth box, you should get one.
What do you think of these "Truthes"?
Dixie Cup of Love: Post Secret for doing this Way Better.
The nurse and I have a strange relationship to say the very least. What else can you say about a man and his imaginary drug dealer? It's comical to say the least. But when I talk to her, it's like I'm talking to myself, does that make sense? Of course it doesn't, who am I kidding. I know she isn't real, but it doesn't hurt anyone that she exists in my head, does it?
I love my truth box. I swear it's the greatest thing since Cherry Pop Tarts. The thing I love about it is the fact that I don't know who is saying the things they are saying. Some of them are incredible. Some of them are awful, and it's time that I shared some of my favorites with you, and who I think they are from. This is gonna be a good one, don't touch that dial.
"You are asking questions and seeking answers outside of yourself. The guy you look at in the mirror everyday is the one you need to talk to instead." -- Now I didn't know what to think of this one. It seems that this junior Dr. Phil is trying to fix that which I don't think is broken. If I am asking questions and seeking answers that are inside of me, why the fuck don't I know the answers? See, that makes no sense to me. My issues with the sperm donor and the cards that I chose to play aside, I ask questions because I want to hear what other people think. That's the purpose of the blog, not to fix me, or make me somehow whole, it's to get to know the world outside of me. Who do I think wrote this - Someone that doesn't know me as well as they think they do. There would be too many names to name, so I will just say that I think whoever it is should leave the analysis to Dr. Phil.(odds that it was Dr. Phil 10000000-1)
"I agree with alot of things you write about, and I disagree with alot of things you write about. To each his own, huh? and...I have this compltely weird crush on you...not like a stalker kind of crush....but a if I ever saw you in public would I be able to speak to you kinda of crush...so weird, huh?" -- Now this is why I created the Truth Box. It's both insightful and gets the imagination going. When I think about this entry I can think of three people as the possible author, and mined you, I'm asking no one for confirmation or denial. But my choices are Mrs. Nikki Sixx(odds 5-1), Darling Niki(odds 8-1), and Judi Sunshine(odds 100-1).
"i would do you in a box, i would do you in your sox, i would do you in a car, i would do you at a bar, i would do you in the rain, i would do you til there's pain, would you could you in the park? do me do me in the dark. ok i'm done here..." -- A Suess fan. Or someone that knows I am a Suess fan. I can think of many people that I wish this was, but there are only two that I think are responsible - *B*O*B* (wishful odds 2-1)or Marc(o) Porno(more likely odds 4-1, you sick-o). LOL
Last one. "I think you have a talent for writing and I want to read your daily blog for a year. I also think, you have been asking simple questions. You're not challenging your readers. I think you should dig deep everyday. Some of us depend on you for conversation topics and lately you've simply been telling a story and asking a question about the story. Let's kick things up an intellectual level shall we?" -- I got this one during the run of the Minnesota saga. Obviously not a fan of my story telling skills. So, I looked at it a little deeper, as were the instructions. Who would feel that I am not asking the hard questions? Someone that has hard answers. Who would depend on me for conversation topics? Someone that talks about me alot, but then ther ewas the "us" that means they converse with someone on a regular basis that also may be a reader of the Asylum. My thoughts. Mandy(odds 3-1), Penelope(odds 3-1), Queen of Coins (odds 1000-1).
If you don't have a truth box, you should get one.
What do you think of these "Truthes"?
Dixie Cup of Love: Post Secret for doing this Way Better.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Industry of Cool
"I gotta tell you, you're lookin' real good, They let us in so I'm feelin' all right. I like to go where sometimes they refuse, Yeah, I remember last Saturday night. But I'm feeling cooler now. And they could tell we're cooler now." Sparks from "Cool Places"
I have always found the nurse to one of the coolest people that I ever imagined. Something about her seems to exude the quality of "Take me as I am", never a trend follower, nor a setter be. She just is and that's what makes her cool. But when I ask her how she got to be like a cucumber or the other side of the pillow she invariably tells me that she things she's a big dork. Not something I would ever think her to be, I mean, the outfit, the tattoos, no way she isn't hipper than Ginsberg. But cool is something that is extraordinarily difficult to explain.
Let me start by saying that I'm not cool. Lester Bangs, William Miller, and I could have a great night rocking back pills and cough syrup, talking about the style of David Bowie, the easy of Eric Clapton, and the sex appeal of Bon Jovi. And we'd be envious of them all. But across the universe in a part that I'm not privy too Bowie, Clapton, and Johnathon B. Jovi could be sitting in a similar Robitussin circle talking about the style of Morrison, the easy of Hendrix, and the sex appeal of Roger Daltrey. Cool is a relative term, after all.
My biggest clue to unraveling this mystery was when I met a guy who would later become a friend. His name is Kerry. His occupation: guitarist. He is in a band that most of you have at least heard of, maybe not ever listened to, but you are probably aware that they exist. When I met him I was a bouncer at a bar that had it's share of celebrity sightings, mostly athletes, but also the likes of Michael Bay, Charlie Sheen, and Gwen Stefani just to name drop a few. So by the time I met Kerry I wasn't star struck, I just treated him like any other bald, tattoo headed guy that came in. Once we got to talking we realized that we had some common ground and became friends. Now his band has this mad legion of fans, all of which consider him to be the coolest things since peanut butter. After I could call him friend I could also call him a dork. There was no aire of cool to him on that level. He was just a guy I knew that had a way sweeter job than I did.
Once I realized that this so called "cool" guy was a lot like me, I gave up the notion of wanting to be one of the cool kids. Being in the "In Crowd" is about making the most of the time you spend with people. If you and your group are the ones in the bar laughing, joking, and having a great time then everyone in that place who looks at your group will think "you're cool." If there is a large group of sad sack emo kids on one side of the room and me and the comic book reading nerd herd on the other, at least one of those black eye liner wearing morbids is gonna wish they were with us. Cause we have a good time. Who wants to be depressed all the time, well besides Bono.
Beauty has nothing to do with cool. Being attractive can open some doors into different social groups but you could look like Brad Pitt and if you can't bring wit and intelligence to my crowd, it's exile on Main Street time for you. I've met women who were at one time as gorgeous as Scarlett Johannson, yet at the same moment as ugly as Sandra Bernhard. Attitude, brains, and humor go a long damn way to making you cool.
So, I'm not cool. No big worry for me because all my friends are cool with me the way I am. There's a line in Juno when she tells Paulie that he is the coolest person that she knows and he doesn't even try, to which he responds "I try really hard, actually." Been there done that. I've moved from Paulie Bleeker to a very happy to be me Lenny Kravitz kind of place, and you know what, I'm cool with that.
Do you fancy yourself cool or a dork?
Dixie Cup of Love: Alabama Worley for the line "You're so cool"
I have always found the nurse to one of the coolest people that I ever imagined. Something about her seems to exude the quality of "Take me as I am", never a trend follower, nor a setter be. She just is and that's what makes her cool. But when I ask her how she got to be like a cucumber or the other side of the pillow she invariably tells me that she things she's a big dork. Not something I would ever think her to be, I mean, the outfit, the tattoos, no way she isn't hipper than Ginsberg. But cool is something that is extraordinarily difficult to explain.
Let me start by saying that I'm not cool. Lester Bangs, William Miller, and I could have a great night rocking back pills and cough syrup, talking about the style of David Bowie, the easy of Eric Clapton, and the sex appeal of Bon Jovi. And we'd be envious of them all. But across the universe in a part that I'm not privy too Bowie, Clapton, and Johnathon B. Jovi could be sitting in a similar Robitussin circle talking about the style of Morrison, the easy of Hendrix, and the sex appeal of Roger Daltrey. Cool is a relative term, after all.
My biggest clue to unraveling this mystery was when I met a guy who would later become a friend. His name is Kerry. His occupation: guitarist. He is in a band that most of you have at least heard of, maybe not ever listened to, but you are probably aware that they exist. When I met him I was a bouncer at a bar that had it's share of celebrity sightings, mostly athletes, but also the likes of Michael Bay, Charlie Sheen, and Gwen Stefani just to name drop a few. So by the time I met Kerry I wasn't star struck, I just treated him like any other bald, tattoo headed guy that came in. Once we got to talking we realized that we had some common ground and became friends. Now his band has this mad legion of fans, all of which consider him to be the coolest things since peanut butter. After I could call him friend I could also call him a dork. There was no aire of cool to him on that level. He was just a guy I knew that had a way sweeter job than I did.
Once I realized that this so called "cool" guy was a lot like me, I gave up the notion of wanting to be one of the cool kids. Being in the "In Crowd" is about making the most of the time you spend with people. If you and your group are the ones in the bar laughing, joking, and having a great time then everyone in that place who looks at your group will think "you're cool." If there is a large group of sad sack emo kids on one side of the room and me and the comic book reading nerd herd on the other, at least one of those black eye liner wearing morbids is gonna wish they were with us. Cause we have a good time. Who wants to be depressed all the time, well besides Bono.
Beauty has nothing to do with cool. Being attractive can open some doors into different social groups but you could look like Brad Pitt and if you can't bring wit and intelligence to my crowd, it's exile on Main Street time for you. I've met women who were at one time as gorgeous as Scarlett Johannson, yet at the same moment as ugly as Sandra Bernhard. Attitude, brains, and humor go a long damn way to making you cool.
So, I'm not cool. No big worry for me because all my friends are cool with me the way I am. There's a line in Juno when she tells Paulie that he is the coolest person that she knows and he doesn't even try, to which he responds "I try really hard, actually." Been there done that. I've moved from Paulie Bleeker to a very happy to be me Lenny Kravitz kind of place, and you know what, I'm cool with that.
Do you fancy yourself cool or a dork?
Dixie Cup of Love: Alabama Worley for the line "You're so cool"
Monday, May 26, 2008
"He's a legend in the bar with every scar fights a thousand bigger men, But now he fights and looses got all the bruises will someone please step in? Cause this Irish fools got a great big heart he keeps climbing back in to the ring, In the low down circles where he holds his court this man he once was king." Dropkick Murphy's from "Barroom Hero"
the nurse looked like she had gone 12 rounds for the heavy weight title when she entered to give me my dose of happy pills. If there was another man besides me in her life I would have sworn a statement to the law about spousal abuse, but as there was no one like that, I just assumed that my little kitten just clawed at the wrong pussy's man and got the hair balls beat out of her. I never really saw the nurse as Mike Tyson with a stethoscope, more like Meredith Grey with a penchant for tattoos and piercings. She's a dirty little nurse, but she's no brawler.
When it comes to blood for pleasure, it isn't fighting that will slake my thirst. As a matter of fact, blood and I don't get along like Heckle And Jeckyl. It may have something to do with that dreaded relationship that I was never a big fighter in my youth. Actually, I can only remember two fist fights in my entire high school career. Now, in my 20's, well, there was a lot more booze in a lot more biker bars which lead to my baptism into the realm of self defense.
At 21 I was working as a bartender in a seedy bar in Covina, California. The place could hold no more than 20 people without it feeling like a sardine can. Any more and the little fishies stopped trying to spawn and started trying to establish themselves as King of the Sea. One drop of blood and it turned into a feeding frenzy.
One of my pals at the time, was a Cherokee, Crow, and Blackfoot mixed Indian named Kenny. He taught me two things that I will never forget. The first of the life altering things that my Indian taught me was that I should drink Captain and Coke as it was the sweet elixir of life. The second important moral of the story was he instructed me on how to survive and succeed in a bar fight. Seeing is that my sperm donor wasn't the tudor of Mr. Miyagi proportions, more like a Henry VIII kind of Tudor, married a lot and never good with break-ups, it was Kenny that taught me which end of a pool cue to hit a guy with, why you should never break a beer bottle on the bar and threaten to shank a drunk dude, and how to simply understand the dynamics of getting hit. It hurts, it bruises, it heals, it doesn't last forever.
The first time I plied this trade, I was shocked by my confidence and excitement during the melee. How it stated I have no idea, but I remember coming over the bar like John Wayne hopping a corral fence in order to save some dame from being trampled by a bull gone mad. From that moment I was, what the Vietnam veterans refer to as, in the shit. I punched the guy nearest me square in the snout causing a flow of crimson that would rival a kitchen faucet. He must have had a buddy with him because no sooner did I end one fight on a doctors stoppage, I got hit in the ear with an ashtray. The ringing would wait to be dealt with, but my retribution was served quickly and effectively with a two finger thrust to the ashtray wielders Adam's Apple. After he hits the ground choking, I swing to look at the Indian as he actually broke a pool cue over some guys back. It was wicked surreal, a TV bar brawl in real life. However there was no commercial break and it was over before I really got into it. I was so disappointed, until Kenny handed me a towel and pointed at my ear. The ashtray wielder drew blood, that bastard. I wanted to hit him again, but when a fight it over, it's over.
What's the worst fight you've ever been in?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Indian.
the nurse looked like she had gone 12 rounds for the heavy weight title when she entered to give me my dose of happy pills. If there was another man besides me in her life I would have sworn a statement to the law about spousal abuse, but as there was no one like that, I just assumed that my little kitten just clawed at the wrong pussy's man and got the hair balls beat out of her. I never really saw the nurse as Mike Tyson with a stethoscope, more like Meredith Grey with a penchant for tattoos and piercings. She's a dirty little nurse, but she's no brawler.
When it comes to blood for pleasure, it isn't fighting that will slake my thirst. As a matter of fact, blood and I don't get along like Heckle And Jeckyl. It may have something to do with that dreaded relationship that I was never a big fighter in my youth. Actually, I can only remember two fist fights in my entire high school career. Now, in my 20's, well, there was a lot more booze in a lot more biker bars which lead to my baptism into the realm of self defense.
At 21 I was working as a bartender in a seedy bar in Covina, California. The place could hold no more than 20 people without it feeling like a sardine can. Any more and the little fishies stopped trying to spawn and started trying to establish themselves as King of the Sea. One drop of blood and it turned into a feeding frenzy.
One of my pals at the time, was a Cherokee, Crow, and Blackfoot mixed Indian named Kenny. He taught me two things that I will never forget. The first of the life altering things that my Indian taught me was that I should drink Captain and Coke as it was the sweet elixir of life. The second important moral of the story was he instructed me on how to survive and succeed in a bar fight. Seeing is that my sperm donor wasn't the tudor of Mr. Miyagi proportions, more like a Henry VIII kind of Tudor, married a lot and never good with break-ups, it was Kenny that taught me which end of a pool cue to hit a guy with, why you should never break a beer bottle on the bar and threaten to shank a drunk dude, and how to simply understand the dynamics of getting hit. It hurts, it bruises, it heals, it doesn't last forever.
The first time I plied this trade, I was shocked by my confidence and excitement during the melee. How it stated I have no idea, but I remember coming over the bar like John Wayne hopping a corral fence in order to save some dame from being trampled by a bull gone mad. From that moment I was, what the Vietnam veterans refer to as, in the shit. I punched the guy nearest me square in the snout causing a flow of crimson that would rival a kitchen faucet. He must have had a buddy with him because no sooner did I end one fight on a doctors stoppage, I got hit in the ear with an ashtray. The ringing would wait to be dealt with, but my retribution was served quickly and effectively with a two finger thrust to the ashtray wielders Adam's Apple. After he hits the ground choking, I swing to look at the Indian as he actually broke a pool cue over some guys back. It was wicked surreal, a TV bar brawl in real life. However there was no commercial break and it was over before I really got into it. I was so disappointed, until Kenny handed me a towel and pointed at my ear. The ashtray wielder drew blood, that bastard. I wanted to hit him again, but when a fight it over, it's over.
What's the worst fight you've ever been in?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Indian.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
"So sing a lonely song, Of a deep blue dream, Seven horses seem to be on the mark, Yeah, dont you love her, Dont you love her as shes walkin out the door." The Doors from "Love Her Madly"
Lately I think I've been harder on the nurse than Kirstie Alley is on a pair of stilettos. After all, she shows up to work everyday, she is usually right on time with the meds, and on the rare occasion she throws in a little tug during my sponge bath. She's under appreciated like Val Kilmer. And it all got me thinking about some other gales that fly under the radar.
I was contemplating the 5 woman that I think are absolutely gorgeous, funny, or otherwise worthy of mass adoration but who somehow slide under the tag. I will think of anything to keep my mind from HellJob. Five to One, here it is.
5) Jenna Elfman - Get it all out of your system, the laughing, the pointing, the name calling, it's true I dug Dharma and Greg. The biggest reason to watch, besides Alan Rachhins hippie dad character, was the infectious Elfman's combination brains, humor, and a body that rocked harder than Appetitte for Destruction. She cemented her position of this list with a mad hot turn in Ron Howard's EdTV.
4) Chistina Ricci - Wednesday Adams grew up to be the hottest gothic since Yvonne DeCarlo. She does tend to lose some of her allure when she stick figures and for that reason Ben & Jerry should send her a pint a day for the rest of my life, after that I just won't care. Though she has had my affections for some time two roles stand out in my mind. Her corset busting role in Sleepy Hallow was certainly the stuff of "Polish The Purple Heated Pope" legend, but it was nothing compared to watching her cling to Samuel L. Jackson's leg while he played the blues in Black Snake Moan. I two would chain her up and keep her in the house, just not for her own good.
3) Patricia Arquette - The psychic Mommy of Medium is hot, say what you will about the fact that she is on the plus side, that don't matter one damn bit. This woman was Alabama Worley, and if you can watch True Romance and not think that she is the sweetest thing since Peaches, you need help from the nurse. Big body, crooked teeth, doesn't matter to me, in the grand scheme of life she could be my psychic friend any day of the week. She might even change my mind on all that mumbo jumbo.
2) Polly Walker - Siren of all sirens she plaayed the uber bitch Atia on HBO's blood and fuck festival ROME. Aside from the brutality of the show it was Polly that kept me coming back week and week, cursing Marc Anthony for falling for that pipe cleaner of a Cleopatra.
1) Sarah Silverman - Jimmy Kimmel has hit the lottery so many times he should be banned from gambling. When you woman is the hottest, funniest, woman ever to fuck Matt Damon, what else can one ask for? It's her sense of boy humor, the crooked smile, and her tractor beam like boobies that make her my number one. All hail Sarah.
Honorable mention goes to the ladies who read the Asylum. It amazes me everyday the collective beauty of the women who leave me comments. So lovely, so smart, and such good taste in bloggers.
Who flies on your radar that you think other people miss? Who's hot?
Dixie Cup of Love: The X Chromosone.
Lately I think I've been harder on the nurse than Kirstie Alley is on a pair of stilettos. After all, she shows up to work everyday, she is usually right on time with the meds, and on the rare occasion she throws in a little tug during my sponge bath. She's under appreciated like Val Kilmer. And it all got me thinking about some other gales that fly under the radar.
I was contemplating the 5 woman that I think are absolutely gorgeous, funny, or otherwise worthy of mass adoration but who somehow slide under the tag. I will think of anything to keep my mind from HellJob. Five to One, here it is.
5) Jenna Elfman - Get it all out of your system, the laughing, the pointing, the name calling, it's true I dug Dharma and Greg. The biggest reason to watch, besides Alan Rachhins hippie dad character, was the infectious Elfman's combination brains, humor, and a body that rocked harder than Appetitte for Destruction. She cemented her position of this list with a mad hot turn in Ron Howard's EdTV.
4) Chistina Ricci - Wednesday Adams grew up to be the hottest gothic since Yvonne DeCarlo. She does tend to lose some of her allure when she stick figures and for that reason Ben & Jerry should send her a pint a day for the rest of my life, after that I just won't care. Though she has had my affections for some time two roles stand out in my mind. Her corset busting role in Sleepy Hallow was certainly the stuff of "Polish The Purple Heated Pope" legend, but it was nothing compared to watching her cling to Samuel L. Jackson's leg while he played the blues in Black Snake Moan. I two would chain her up and keep her in the house, just not for her own good.
3) Patricia Arquette - The psychic Mommy of Medium is hot, say what you will about the fact that she is on the plus side, that don't matter one damn bit. This woman was Alabama Worley, and if you can watch True Romance and not think that she is the sweetest thing since Peaches, you need help from the nurse. Big body, crooked teeth, doesn't matter to me, in the grand scheme of life she could be my psychic friend any day of the week. She might even change my mind on all that mumbo jumbo.
2) Polly Walker - Siren of all sirens she plaayed the uber bitch Atia on HBO's blood and fuck festival ROME. Aside from the brutality of the show it was Polly that kept me coming back week and week, cursing Marc Anthony for falling for that pipe cleaner of a Cleopatra.
1) Sarah Silverman - Jimmy Kimmel has hit the lottery so many times he should be banned from gambling. When you woman is the hottest, funniest, woman ever to fuck Matt Damon, what else can one ask for? It's her sense of boy humor, the crooked smile, and her tractor beam like boobies that make her my number one. All hail Sarah.
Honorable mention goes to the ladies who read the Asylum. It amazes me everyday the collective beauty of the women who leave me comments. So lovely, so smart, and such good taste in bloggers.
Who flies on your radar that you think other people miss? Who's hot?
Dixie Cup of Love: The X Chromosone.
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