I once regarded the process of buying or leasing a car with the highest level of contempt. I hated everything about it: the hours upon hours of waiting in the most dismally commercial settings, the utter dishonesty that would reveal itself in the experience of comparing one’s research about any particular car with the sales staff’s unabashedly spouted malarkey about said car and, finally, the sales staff itself. I would, in most cases, rather spend time with convicted felons than with car salesmen. What a useless breed of wretched, revolting shitheads.Read More
When I was in university I cleaned a yoga studio in exchange for one free class per week- because enlightenment/liberation/metaphysical masturbation tend to be prohibitively expensive. I did a teacher training program a few years ago, and this is the healthy perspective from which I view the larger community of yoga peopleRead More
Good evening. What follows is a ghastly gaze into the mind of a troubled narcissist with a penchant for masturbatory fantasies of 1970's-inspired guitar solos and a thirst for imaginary applause from crowds of 1960's mobs of hysterical, Beatlemaniacal women. The anachronism between the musical genre with which my guitar solo is identified and my female crowd should further emphasize the extent of my bombast; this is going to get ugly. Also, anyone who doesn't like it can, to quote Eddie Murphy quoting his dad in Delirious, "Get the fuck out." So, please, if you possess neither the nerve nor the stomach to tolerate and understand this very honest specimen of my admittedly common thought process, there's still time to escape.Read More
There is a place out there, that when you push a crosswalk button, the traffic light automatically changes and you’re allowed to cross the road as easily as cutting in line if you’re Tony Danza. Unfortunately, that place is not on this planet.
(Easiness of Tony Danza’s line cutting abilities vary depending on how well recognized he is and what particular establishment he is patronizing.)
Maybe it’s because no one knows how a crosswalk button actually works that leads to people tolerating them and continuing to use them, but I’m here to stay STOP. Just stop. You don’t need them anymore. You can be happy and free without them. Do they control you? Or do you control them? Chances are, they don’t work. Maybe they never worked. Maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe it’s some sick game for the robots that inhabit this planet that we aren’t supposed to know about. The pervy ones make themselves look like stop lights and make their robot private parts look like crosswalk buttons. So when you’re pressin’ that button you’re really getting a perverted space transformer’s rocks off. And that’s not cool!Read More
ast week I was alerted to the fact that popular 90s television program, Friends, is on Netflix in it’s entirety. Until recently, I’d never seen an episode of Friends all the way through, or if I had, I was unaware. But now thanks to my roommate, Olaf, I’ve decided to watch Friends from top to tip, and I won’t stop until I’m studiously versed in all things Friends.
It goes without saying, if you decide to watch an entire series of a television program, that’s a big commitment. I’m in the enviable position of being a columnist, and with that job comes quite a bit of free time. Sure, I may need to slap down 500 words about the new Filthy Grabbers album, or review a new ramen burger pop up that only makes itself available under the 405 on every second full moon, but I hardly need to get out of bed for such work. But every so often I feel a ghost tapping on my shoulder, the fear of missing out.
“What if everyone is making reference to a very popular 90s sitcom and I don’t even know?”Read More
I go to coffee shops regularly to keep my loathing of humanity at a low but consistent boil.
Yuppie urban-wanna-be regions, Pasadena for example, are excellent for this. I’m in a wood-beam and exposed aluminum piping hipster dream; there is a large neon sign, MOTEL NO VACANCY flickering on the wall above me, and I think that this is what it would feel like to be me playing Charles Bukowski playing himself in a romcom about Charles Bukowski playing me. “NO” flashes fluorescent red above my headRead More
Have you ever heard of the Freemasons? You know… those assholes that supposedly run everything. They're supposed to be the founding fathers of this country, and even possibly the descendants of the Knights Templar, and many other descendants and spawns of other secret societies. Some even think that the Freemasons were also the Illuminati, or that the Illuminati were started by the Freemasons, or that the Illuminati and the Freemasons work together to control the world. And from what I hear on the street, the Freemasons and the Illuminati have had a subsection of their own break off to battle it out on the street over who’s boss. There are all sorts of different stories about these two groups. Are they aliens, the lizard people and the greys battling it out on earth, or are they just men with dark occult power who have sold their soul to the devil? There’s all sorts of stories about these “people” rolling around the internet inspiring artists, occultists, Christians, the religious right, neo-Nazis, anarchists, and other curious individuals.Read More
I think I hit the wall last weekend. A friend was in town and we drank for three days straight. By three days I mean all day every day. And by the third day we were up till the sun rose walking like zombies through downtown LA fucked up and fucked. I got little sleep that night, waking up every 15 minutes like a lunatic. The next day was okay. I was tired and fuzzy. Not too bad. Little did I know the wall was still ahead of me. I was still coasting on fumes and hadn’t succumbed to the hangover yet. That night I got a perfect 8 hours. Like a fucking rock. Who knew what my body had in store for me?
I woke up in horror. My whole body ached. Ached like I had just run the mile 50 times with a rock in my shoe. Ached like I had been chewed up and spit out. My head hurt, I was dizzy and I was sweating hot and freezing cold. Was I sick? No, I was hung over and 30.Read More
I was innocently browsing the internet yesterday when I came across the worst news imaginable. Some retard at the head of Disney has announced that from 2016 on we will be seeing a new Star Wars movie EVERY YEAR!
I know what you’re thinking, “Every year? That has to be an exaggeration.” NOPE. After this trilogy they have another trilogy planned. In between trilogy movies they have stand alone movies they are also filming. If you don’t believe that, they’re first stand alone movie comes out in 2016! They have already announced the release of a Star Wars movie in 2016, 2017 and 2018.
Let that sink in.
You will never stop hearing about Star Wars. TILL YOU DIE. Even if life extension becomes real and you’re nine years old reading this right now and you live to be 250, there will still be some asshole in a Darth Vader helmet saying, “I am your father” because by that time it’s been said so many times it’s ironic to say it which makes it funny again! SEE! SEE HOW THAT WORKS??? IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS.Read More
Where I grew up, Christmas was cold. God jizzed from the sky and everything was covered in a beautiful white. Then Christmas would arrive and we'd open presents, drink hot chocolate, and huddle around the fire. Fights between my mom and dad were almost inevitable. We'd eat some ham, followed by more fights, and then eat some pies. And then it was over.
Christmas in Los Angeles is weird. It's warm, it's sunny, and there's no noticeable difference from summer. Except that the sun sets a hell of a lot earlier. So when I hear Christmas music blaring from the shops as I pass by, it pisses me off. Mainly because I hate Christmas music, but also because I keep thinking it's June. Or July. August. And I think, "who the fuck is playing Christmas music in the middle of August?"
I'm walking down the street in a red velvet suit and a dirtied white beard around my neck like a necklace because I have no idea what I got into last night. Stumbling past the open doors of stores playing Carol of the Bells and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, children are coming up to me with their lists of toys they hope to see under the tree. I'm halfway through my cigarette, holding my bottle in a brown paper bag, telling this one kid he's a spoiled, greedy, little brat and trying to figure out why his mom is letting him talk to me. But then I notice she's playing on her cell phone and couldn't give a fuck about her son.
After I flick my cigarette toward his mom and tell the kid to fuck off, I make my way to the Goodwill because, you know, it's sort of my job.
Browsing the aisles, I hear a small Mexican child shout, "Santa!"
"Sorry, Pedro," I say. "I'm an impostor," and I pull the beard up over my face, gesturing to keep quiet with my index finger over my lips.
I go to the clothing section and trade my costume for a three piece suit, undressing right there. A clerk yells at me and tells me I can't try on the clothes in the middle of the store. I hold up a ten and he backs off.
I put my Santa suit on the hanger and put it on the rack and head over to the electronics. I grab a VCR off the shelf and go to check out.
I pay four dollars for the VCR and walk out, totally forgetting to pay for the suit.
ADDENDUM: The VCR is a Sony SLV N-88. I don't know shit about it. I don't own a TV. But the suit is nice. Pinstripes. If only it fit right.
Last Wednesday I was suffering from a case of the mid-week mopes when an email from a local taste maker website popped up on my digital typewriter informing me of a party currently in progress only a short walk away from my writing office/apartment. I had been trying to think of a rhyme for dialogue for the past five hours and felt that a bit of air and a party would be good for my constitution. And as it had been a few months since I’d actually reviewed anything I felt that could probably get some free pens out of the trip. Or at the very least a promotional goat cheese slider.Read More
I don't like television.
Not just for the usual reasons; 6 corporations controlling the information and trying to sell You stupid shit.
Well, let's start with the stupid shit selling. Commercials are SO INSULTING and NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT! They treat You like You're literally retarded!!
“Good mothers use tide. You’re kind of a piece of shit if You don’t. You don’t have Life insurance? How do You live without the piece of mind? What kind of meaningless black hole of existence do you live in where You’re not enjoy the refreshing taste of a Coca Cola right now? Did You forget that Coca Cola exists? Not if We can help it!”
Before You ever start watching tv, somebody should sit You down and explain to You what's about to happen: "Groups of the most advanced mind benders are going to FUCK with Your head in every way possible to get You to buy stuff."
These are Marketing Samurai dedicated to altering Your mind and they mean business. Making adjustments. Just straight up fucking with Your head. So are You down with that?"
"⚡Fuck Yeah⚡, I did push the button, didn't I? Power on, motherfucker!¡ You wanna activate all Your mental screwdrivers and lasers and weapons systems directly at My fucking mind? Rock and roll! Rock and roll because Barbara Walters looks like she totally just shat her pants at the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade. Rock and Roll because the waitress's little angel is watching Robocop II while mommy's friend shows Mommy his new advanced yoga move: "The Pussy-Blaster." Rock and Roll because Lindsay Lohan's asshole prolapsed on TMZ's "Who's that hole?"
My least favorite thing about tv is that it's not interactive!
Someone on tv can say whatever they want to Your face... and You can never punch them in theirs. The biggest most fucked up well engineered weapon of mass destruction of a lie; and it doesn't matter how insulting it is, or how much it flips You the fuck out because it's psycho, or bullshit, or it's condescending. It doesn't matter how much You scream and shout, You can't do anything about it! It's a one way channel, man. They give 0 fucks. They tell You what to think and feel and Your feedback is not welcome, Motherfuckarrr! The medium is the message and the message is a middle finger!
You see them saying this shit on tv, or portraying a flattened and distorted fun-house mirror image worldview of the Universe, and they make it look like it's the one complete, collective, group consciousness, agreed upon stuff; but it's fucking dumb. Duuuuuuuuuuumb! So so very very ♪♫dum, dah-dum-dum, DUMB♪♫. I swear the stupid is highly fucking contagious. The dumb vapid immature view of humanity and the universe rubs off on motherfuckers- because they have to assume that everyone else is operating from the same whacked out view of the world that tv is portraying! So motherfuckers get their worldview pushed around to fit the tv's horseshit hallucinations!
They're always trying to get motherfuckers to hallucinate and be terrified of every stupid fucking statistically insignificant misfortune one could ever befall, from terrorism to heart failure, you know how they are.
They promote such fucking cowardice! Insane cowardice, from “No one will fuck you if you don’t buy our deodorant” to “You’ve been shot, We’ve got to get you to a hospital!” If they had television in Teddy Roosevelt’s day, He’d have never made it to work with all the getting shot and going to hospitals.
"Holy shit there's dudes across the planet in caves with machine guns! We must freak out and pass the new 'National Not Having a Mouth Bit Freedom Act', which will launch a 60 billion dollar campaign to liberate humans everywhere from the lack of a metal bit in their mouth strapped in place at all times by the use of a inexpensive, yet indestructible kevlar face harness, and it comes with a new and improved social structure!"
Actually that's pretty bold and audacious. Perhaps I've been envying the fuck stomp take no prisoners attitude of the creators of television programming. *gasp* I'm pissed off because I'm jealous that THEY get to infect a captive audience of millions of people with THEIR shitty ideas.
I take back everything bad I ever said about the sacred talking box. Just in time to fuck up some 'Bad Judge.'