Saturday, 6/14/03 - "I Don't Believe in Nothing No More. I'm Goin' to Law School!"

Where do I begin? Oh, yeah, something about the single most bizarre Friday the 13th I have ever experienced.

Owens, Bobby, and I went down to The Brick last night to see The Stella Link and National Fire Theory. As we were walking up to the venue, I made the totally offhand, out of the fucking blue comment that, "You know, as much as we've been frequenting the same old bars and clubs over the years, it kind of surprises me that we haven't run into Lane more than we have." For the uninitiated, Lane is my ex-girlfriend of four years with whom I had perhaps the ugliest, most pathetic breakup in modern history, and who was always into the same overall "scene" as me and my friends yet for some reason was never around. I was just innocently musing that in so many years it's odd that we almost never crossed paths.

So of course she walked in after about ten minutes. All I know is that I was right up front, really getting into the band when I turn around to see Bobby and Owens talking and pointing at the door, saying, "That can't be her." "It's gotta be." "Kuchem?" So I was called upon to render a verdict, so I turned around and sure enough, there she was. And goddammit if she didn't look really fucking good, too. And she was cool again. And, well...fuck!

But that's not even the weird part. We talked a great deal about what had changed in our lives and what hadn't, who I'm seeing now, where we're going to school - the usual catch up fare. But then there's Owens, a man who is not by any means known for his patience with people who screw over his friends, particularly friends he's known since the age of 9, like myself. And yet, he was uncharacteristically cordial to her. I was on high alert when those two were near eachother because I kept expecting to look over to find him hunched over her mutilated corpse after she said something to piss him off. But it never happened. Don't worry, it gets weirder (more weird?).

Bobby left early because he had to work today, Campbell went back to his apartment, and Owens, Lane and her friend, Erica, and I all stayed until the bands were finished and the bar was closed. We didn't have anywhere else to go because all the other bars were closed, too, and it was too late to buy any more booze. So what did we do? We went to Lane's house! Never did I expect to find myself anywhere near that place (except for Owens' house, which is less than a block away from hers, but anyway...), let alone in it. Drinking. With Lane. And Owens. Right here is where I'm going to casually mention that there was also a full moon last night, a fact that I, for reasons unknown, omitted earlier.

All told, and weirdness aside, I think it's safe to say that there was definitely much good to come out of the experience. Lane and I have officially buried the proverbial hatchet, Owens and Lane don't seems to hate eachother as much, and one very large weight has been lifted from my shoulders.


Friday, 5/2/03 - This Little Piggy Licked My Balls...

So we headed over to the Lucky Brewgrille last night for their dollar pints of anything on tap. There was much drinking and merriment had by all. Of course that was until I got my fourth speeding ticket in a year on the way to Campbell's. But that's not the best part.

After a while at Campbell's, the lady friend and I were feeling a bit restless and headed out to my car for some, uh, use your imagination. Well, we had anticipated something a little more physical but ended up just sitting there talking about every little thing under the sun. Sounded harmless enough, right?

Before too long, a security car hired by Campbell's apartment complex rolls up and does that super cool "I'm-gonna-show-you-how-bad-I-am-by-blinding-you" routine where he fixes every fucking light on the car on us. When he gets to the car, he asks if I could roll the window down. I'm already pretty fucking ticked at this point, so I reached into the front (we're in the back seat), pull the latch to open the door, and say, "That's kind of tough when the keys are in my pocket." He says, "What are you guys doin' here?" I say we're playing cards, because this guy is a fucking retard. "Well I don't see any cards here," he says and then asks for identification. We oblige him. And since I thought he was alone, I flipped him as he was walking back to the car with our ID's.

Well, it takes this fucking yokel about fifteen minutes to figure out that we have not killed anyone, hijacked a plane, or torn the tags off of our mattresses. When he comes back, though, he is a bit pissed because it turns out he did have a partner who saw me shoot him the bird. "Is there a communication problem here? Do you think it's just alright to flip someone off behind their back?" I denied it (I didn't care if his buddy did see it), and he asks me if I had been drinking. Of course I say no (not that it even matters since we're in the back seat), and his temper rises just a little more. "We'll see about that," he says as he tries to assume a more threatening demeanor, thinking that his swift, confident style is really going to scare me into some semblance of respect for him. So he whips out his little Mag-Lite and tells me to follow his finger as he moves it from side to side. Now I've passed sobriety tests before and this was nothing new to me, so of course I "passed" this trial. But since this guy was getting irritated with me, he decided to make up the rules as he went along. "You're lying. You are drunk." And at that very moment, he drops his flashlight. Of course I couldn't resist, so I say, "I'm not so sure about that. I mean, I'm not the guy dropping shit over here." You can bet that pissed him off, so he says, "You guys have been banned from the property and are not to come back. I want you to get in the front seat and get out here." "What the fuck? You have not been able to prove that we have done anything wrong. In fact, we can prove that we are guests of a resident here and that we're not just a couple of punk kids making trouble." "I don't care. What you guys were doing constitutes lewd conduct and you're lucky I'm not taking you to jail." "It's private fucking property! First of all, you're an idiot, because we were fully-clothed when you "caught" us, and even if we were gettin' it on, the most you're fat ass could do about it was tell us to put our clothes on and go home - none of this jail threat bullshit." "I'm not going to ask you again. Leave now or we will call the police." At that point, I kind of wanted the real pigs there so they could at least bring a modicum of sanity to the table, but I decided to let it go and said, "Fine. We'll commit our "crimes" elsewhere."

But the minute we got in the front seat, something clicked. Not even five minutes ago, this asshole could have sworn on his own grave that I was drunk, and now he's telling me to drive away? Not a chance, pig. I believe that's called entrapment. Not that I was worried about being found intoxicated but rather that I didn't know what other kind of bullshit this clown was going to make up. He backs into a spot a little ways down the ramp from me and waits for us to leave. Since I wasn't about to get fifteen yards away only to have this halfwit pull us over driving under the influence, I knew at that point that this little encounter was far from over, so I rang Campbell and told him only that I really needed his help on the top floor of the parking garage.

As I'm on the phone, I can tell that the Keystone Cops are growing more irritated. After a few more minutes of sitting there, they both get out and come towards my car. I saved them the trouble of forcibly removing me and got out of the car myself and just leaned against it, explaining to them that it was bullshit for him to tell me that I was drunk only to tell me to drive away. About this time, Campbell comes around the corner from the elevator. "There's the man now," I say, pointing in Campbell's direction. This had little effect on them as the first officer (actually, his partner never said a word, which suggests he knew this guy was full of shit) again threatens to call a police wagon to take us in. Then Becky chimes in about how her dad is a lawyer and how she could get him down here in a matter of minutes to really show these assholes what's up. "It doesn't scare me that your dad is whoever. What you guys were doing is against code and you need to leave." To which Becky replies with, "And it doesn't scare me that you're a security guard who can't do shit to us, especially after your miserable failure to prove we even did anything wrong." After more of the same, he finally says, "That's it. Turn around," and proceeds to put my girlfriend in handcuffs. Then he comes over to me and does the same. I didn't know whether to laugh or to pummel the shit out of this audacious little swine. I was so dumbfounded, I just stood there, dazed by the onslaught of retardation this porker was throwing at us. He then says something about how he means business and that this is our last chance to go freely. We said we'd walk, only after I could grab all the valuables out of my car. After that, we walked to the elevator, went down, ran to Campbell's room, and chilled out for an hour or so until Becky and I were ready to leave.

Let's all raise a glass to competence and professionalism!


Monday, 4/28/03 - My Bum Is on the Swedish (Please Pardon the Arbitrary Tom Green Reference)

Well, it's the end of the month and pork concentrations are particularly high along the roadways of the suburban hell(s) known as Overland Park and Leawood, Kansas. As always, the pigs need to meet their quotas or else they lose their place in line at the trough. So let's pull together and screw them out of their numbers; flash those highbeams and let the other drivers know what's up when you see a speedtrap - because the bacon could care less about safety, they want the numbers, and the green, of course.

In other news, I'm better than you.

And in even more news, I find myself being an even bigger prick than usual when it comes to parking at school. Now this has been going on for months, since the semester started in January. But since I was not able to stack all my classes back to back to back to back, only two days a week, my schedule this time around is a bit more choppy. This means that I'm there everyday and with gaps throughout, meaning that I am frequently commuting to and from the school several times a day, every day. Before, I never had to worry about parking because my first class was at 8:00 AM, so I always got a good spot, and I had a steady succession of classes until about 2:00 in the afternoon. I never had to leave in the middle of the day, so I wasn't privy to all the games people, myself included, play in the parking lot hell of Johnson County Community College.

To lay it all out for you in the simplest of terms, parking at JCCC is a goddam, motherfucking, ass-licking, cock-sucking, shit-eating son-of-a-bitch if you're not there by 7:45 AM. Yet for some reason, I seem to be the only one (story of my life) who understands this. And that is exactly why I NEVER cruise the front lots if I'm not within that timeframe. It's a complete waste of time. Even if I did, I might get lucky and find someone leaving maybe, maybe once in thirty or forty attempts. And this leads directly into my next point: stalkers.

Stalkers, vultures, call them whatever you want, but it still does not cease to amaze me how fucking lazy some of these people can be. I've noticed lately that there has been a growing trend at JCCC to either endlessly circle the lot or pull up somewhere that affords a good vantage point of a building exit. This is so the lazy sack of shit can then wait for an individual to walk out of the building so they can then follow stalk said individual to their parking space, hold up everyone behind them, wait for said individual to leave, and ultimately take command of their new turf. And what's even more amazing than that is the fact that these people are too fucking stupid to make their laziness work for them. These dolts easily spend double to triple the amount of time waiting for their prey to die as it would have taken them to just suck it up, park in the far lot, burn a few calories off of their fat asses walking to the building, go to class, sit down, and get their pens and pencils out to take some fucking notes.

This pisses me off to no end, so naturally, I do my best to return the favor. Because I find this practice rude, illogical, and, well, stupid, I've found ways to have some fun with it. Obviously, the easiest thing to do is walk really slow, so slow that a snail would shoot you the bird as he passed, when you know someone is stalking you to your parking space. But what do you do when you get there? And who's to say you even know where your car is? That's why I'll let about four or five of these douchebags follow me around until it looks like I've found my car and am ready to bounce, but wait, this isn't my car! My car is way the fuck over there! Oh, that's not it, either. Maybe it was back there...ad infinitum. But what happens when you get tired of that little charade and you're ready to close the deal and get in your vehicle? It's the damnedest thing, but even at noon on a 110° day without a single cloud in the sky, my car still takes a minimum of fifteen to twenty minutes to warm up. And this timeframe is subject to fluctuations, usually increasing in direct proportion to the number of stalkers I have waiting for me to leave. And if I'm feeling particularly picky, I think I just might open up the trunk and tune up my amplifier, because you know, it just needs to be done and there's no time like the present. There have also been a few instances where I've needed to fetch a book out of my car and the asshole who thought I was leaving got all pissed off, gave me the finger, and called me all sorts of cute names. Now for some people, it's rainbows, kittens, baskets of spring-scented puppies, flowers, or sunsets. But my warm fuzzies come when I know that I've done my part to inconvenience the stupid.

With that said, I hope I've sufficiently wasted your time.


Tuesday, 4/15/03 - Taxes! Something Else to Hate!

Well, it looks like Roy Williams does give a shit about North Carolina, after all. A sad day for the Jayhawks. They will suck now. I hope I'm wrong about that, but I'm pretty sure they're going to be pretty preoccupied with a mouth full of cock for a good while until they can find someone with one tenth the coaching skill of Roy.

In other news, I went to see The Casket Lottery last night, only I didn't actually see them. It seems that El Torreon is one of those magical places that actually fucking means it when they say the show starts at 7. Rare. Extremely. See, I've been in the habit in recent years to show up at least two hours late because no show would ever start on time. So I'm not sure if I should be pissed at myself for missing the show, or if I should be proud of El Torreon for getting their shit together when they say they will. Who cares.

And has it ever been all you can do to keep totally hauling off and slapping a total stranger? Sometimes I'm convinced that Falling Down is about me. Perhaps I keep forgetting to turn off my cloaking device or my 6' 2" frame makes me really hard to notice, but I get totally floored by how rude some of these fucking scared suburban whiteys can be. While I was in line at Quik Trip, ready to hand the cashier one of my kidneys to cover the ridiculous price of gas these days, some random bitch literally squeezes herself between me and the guy in front of me and then proceeds to stand there as if nothing had happened. Keep in mind that there is at this point continuous physical contact between the gentleman ahead, Cunt Woman, and myself. Awkward? Of course not. Must...kill...

To sum things up, I pulled up next to this gorgeous young lady in some convertible on the way home today. And her bumper sticker could not have been more appropriate: "I'm tired of stupid people."


Tuesday, 4/8/03 - Post Mortem NCAA Blues

So what the fuck is an "Orangeman," anyway? All I know is that I'm going to vomit on the next one I see. Anyhow, as disappointing as the Jayhawks' defeat last night may have been, it was nice to see Roy Williams bite (however slightly it may have been) into that reporter who had the nerve to ask him about his career plans not even ten minutes after the guy loses the championship. For anyone who may have missed this golden moment, a female reporter for CBS asked Roy about any plans to go back to North Carolina, to which he replied (and I'm paraphrasing, mind you), "I understand that there's somebody telling you to ask that question, which is fine as a reporter. But as a human being, that's not a very sensitive thing to do at this time. Right now, I don't give a shit about North Carolina." And at that, he just walked away. I was happy. But not very. We still lost.


Saturday, 3/15/03 - Pretend This Is Funny

Well, well, well. Warrensburg has been quite the little hot spot lately, hasn't it. Last night was the Setlist again, this time to finally see an entire Traindodge set. And I finally got to re-buy the Torch EP that was in my late car stereo on the eve of its theft. Oh yeah, Dirt Nap opened. Rawk!


Friday, 3/14/03 - I'm Just a Nut Tryin' to Fuck a Squirrel...

Last night, Owens and I went to the hub of culture and sophistication that is Warrensburg, Missouri, to see a band by the name of Centaur, led by former HUM frontman, Matt Talbott. It was a chance for me to finally meet another one of my rock heroes. Talbott's a very nice guy. I ended up getting a business card for his Great Western Record Recorders (where Shiner recorded The Egg). So if I (and possibly Owens, or anyone motivated enough to stop talking and actually start a band) can get my/our shit together, that's where I/we are headed for studio time.


Thursday, 3/13/03 - Quota-Based Law Enforcement: Fighting Crime the Leawood Way

Well, I know it's a lot to expect from a cop, but perhaps the pig academy could learn a little from the concept of utilitarianism. Now I know that when applied to socioeconomic situations utilitarianism can be a bit socialistic, which if you know anything about me, is no bueno. However, there are certain circumstances when it just makes sense to consider which options will maximize the good of all.

Exhibit A: The Leawood, Kansas, Pork Department. Last night, after a few rounds down at A.C.'s Garage, I was blessed with the opportunity to shoot the breeze with one of Leawood's swinest, to the tune of $81. Now, I could teach a fucking college course on the monumental worthlessness of speed limits, but for the sake of brevity I'll cut to the chase. I was clocked at 51 in a 35 and summarily greeted with a nice legal dick in my ass. As much as I hate the Leawood bacon boys, I'm always painfully polite. And in my trademark polite tone, I attempted to bargain with the caveman.

I argued, er, asserted that I had actually done more good than harm, considering that I had taken some drunk friends home, who would have otherwise attempted to make it home on their own, possibly doing considerable damage to themselves or others. I then continued that the only reason for my speeding was that after doing my friends/myself/society a favor, I was in a hurry to get home so I could get enough sleep that I wouldn't be a total fucking zombie for my Statistics class at the ass crack of 8:00. It had little, scratch that, no effect on this dolt, and I got the ticket.

So, I'm going to take the high road here and ask anyone in the Kansas City area who might read this to make things as inconvenient/difficult as possible for the Leawood PD. However, because I'm not all that jazzed about being held liable for every fuckup that does something to hurt themself or others, I'm going to ask that this be within the limits of the law. All I'm asking is to just be a pain in their ass, nothing violent or dangerous. For example, if you're driving through Leawood and you've got nowhere to go and a pig rolls up behind you, slow down. Waaaaaaay down. I'm talking 1-5 miles an hour. Box him in, if possible - anything you can do to slow him down as he rushes to the scene of this afternoon's jaywalking or that golf cart that was been broken into last night. I just fucking hate those guys. In fact, I've even overheard officers from other departments across town express their disdain for these lazy fucks, so I'm not the only one who has noticed this. They are arguably the most over-staffed (they are everywhere in Leawood), under-worked police department on the planet, and it's about fucking time someone wasted their time like they've wasted ours (or at least mine, anyway).

I think I've wasted enough of your time already, so I'm going to head over to the big L and see if I can max speed test my ride in front of Saint Lexus Elementary. Ciao!


Monday, 3/3/03 - Hatred Keeps Me from Liking Stupid Things: A Lesson in Utility

Well, if you're not expecting any huge updates any time soon, keep up the good work - I've got a lot of your time to waste.

I really only wanted to make an entry today to warn any would-be or existing fans of DJ Krush, who would prefer to still like him, to save their money and refrain from purchasing his latest disc, The Message at the Depth. I suppose I'm just one of those unsuspecting fools who possesses this astronomically unreasonable expectation for kick-ass musicians to keep being kick-ass musicians. So, I purchased the new Krush record yesterday at the typical, exorbitant retail chain price, assuming that an artist such as DJ Krush, one who has never let me down, was not in any hurry to piss off any fans. Well, I didn't really get around to listening to this record until this afternoon when I got home from class, and WHAM!!! What a musical dick in the ass! I get the impression that Krush was, in fact, in a hurry to piss off fans like me, and was so hell bent for leather that he was satisfied with nothing less than careening down the Bad Taste Turnpike in a supercharged formula one racecar with four jet turbine engines strapped to the top, propelled out of Paul Bunyan's sling shot.

"Wow, Kooks, you seem pretty upset. Are you sure you're not just letting something bother you that you could otherwise choose to not let bother you?" Mmm, fuck you. That's the kind of logic my mother uses against my frequently vocalized hatred for all things popular culture. If I slap my cock in a light socket, it's going to make it's presence around my meat pretty fucking well-known, regardless of how many times I plead, "Be nice to Mr. Pee-pee."

So, if something ticks me off, it just ticks me off. Do you actually think I want to hate this much shit? How sick are you?

Anyway, a Buddhist wouldn't even be able to concentrate on this waste of plastic. Here we have the latest offering from a man I have respected for a number of years, who is regarded (dubiously) as Japan's greatest DJ, and is arguably one of the most creative turntablists on the planet. So with all that going for him, why did Krush feel the need to produce an album where the beats are as interesting as a snail race with commentary by Al Gore and Joe Lieberman, and nearly every track that has a vocal is some sort of pretentious, anti-George W, anti-war tearfest? Krush is the man responsible for some of the most amazing instrumental hip-hop albums I've ever heard, notably Code 4109 and Ki-Oku - those records are gold. But there is simply no excuse for this shit. I mean, the peacenik wank-a-thon didn't even occur until halfway through the record, but by then I was already bored to tears with beats that were so totally devoid of any semblance of jazzy, hip-hop soul that I was convinced that he chucked his turntables and vinyl and just used a drum machine.

And then, of course, came the death blow. Who the fuck puts out a song titled "Song for John Walker," as in John Walker Lindh, the spoiled rich kid brat who went to Afghanistan to fight with the Taliban in the name of a far more evil yet equally ridiculous invisible man? Well, my friends, Anticon, that's who. This collaboration between Anticon and Krush attempts to shift blame (sniff, sniff...LIBERALS!) off of Walker and onto the evils of American consumerism and all sorts of other wanktastical socialist scapegoating. Yeah, I've seen Fight Club, liked it, and agree that our plastic culture is irritating and out of control. But I will not, for fuck's sake, use that as some feeble attempt to justify the behavior of some little deluded, ungrateful preppie jackoff-cum-terrorist. The other vocal tracks aren't nearly as insulting as the Walker song, but rather they're just vague attempts at the same logically devoid, emotionally driven liberalspeak.

After that Walker song, I tried, I really tried to let the rest of the album redeem itself. It never happened. The instrumentation was just way too bland and it seemed there was some little, opportunistic peace imp at every turn, seeking to spew their message of "love" on anyone willing to listen. All I can say is that DJ Krush has definitely taken a turn for the worse, and that my status as a serious fan is in considerable peril.

That's all I have to say about that. Duh-haw...


Monday, 2/24/03 - Add/Drop: Because It's Better to Get Fucked Four Ways than Five

Good news! I dropped my Accounting class today! Fuck that. I hated that fucking class. Anyway, it means I now have an additional fifteen seconds a day to work on this thing. Hey, at fifteen seconds a day, that means I now have an extra 1.75 minutes every week to really get things rollin' around here.


Tuesday, 2/18/03 - Wazzzuuupdate!

Why, why, why am I even touching this wretched site when I'm already behind in half of my classes and I'm trying to keep a job? Because I'm a fucking moron, that's why. As you can see I've retooled this journal by updating at the top now and throwing in this little scrolling window. Why?...


Friday, 2/14/03 - Special Valentine's Day Edition: A Celebration of Bitterness, Loneliness, and Rejection

No thanks to Bobby's tied-down ass, Bitter Singles Night just won't have the flair it did last year. Last year we had a big blowout at Bobby's apartment in Lawrence, celebrating how free we were in spite of pressures to pour way too much money into some high maintenance, manipulative wench. Well, our forces have since sustained considerable losses as Bobby was killed in action after he started dating again.


Sunday, 2/9/03 - Straight Ballin', Yo

Oh, the things you take for granted when you're employed. I had completely forgotten what money was in the last few months. But now that I'm working again I have a new lease on life. Evidently, when you are given green paper, called money, in exchange for products sold/services rendered, you have the option of putting that money in a bank or using it to buy other crap. Today I bought my first CD since September. Holla.

You're going to be shocked as hell when I tell you that updates will be minimal for a while, so I'm going to take this opportunity to shock you by saying that updates will be minimal for a while.

Just wanted to eliminate any confusion.

But in all seriousness, it's all down hill from here as far as the music pages are concerned, so there will be some actual fucking articles around here for once, and not the usual, tired diary entries such as the one you're reading now. That is, of course, after I redesign this place. I might even register a domain name. Ooh, I'm all tingly.

But for the time being, I've got fifteen hours of business classes, a job, and...oh yeah, a life.


Tuesday, 1/28/03 - State of the Anus

I knew it! I thought that little weasel from Commienecticutt looked familiar...


Sunday, 1/26/03 -

Well, it's over. Shiner is dead, I'm one year closer to a similar fate, and the only thing anyone seems to care about is the fucking Super Bowl. How worthless. How typical. How...oh who cares...

Being 22 is about the most unexciting thing I've ever experienced since The Bachelor. Today has been especially depressing. I just remember last year's birthday being so much fun, with me turning 21 and all. I didn't even do much last year outside of going to dinner with family which is always nice. In fact, the most entertaining part of the whole affair was going to the liquor store at 11:45 on January 25th just to see if they would make me wait until midnight to let me buy any booze. They did. It was still amusing, regardless. From there, I went to Lawrence to hang out with Bobby and that was about it. The next night was dinner with the family and then Lawrence again - the only downer being that I'm a few months older than the majority of my friends, so I couldn't really do the bar thing, just hang out at Bobby's apartment.

But this time around the whole thing was pretty meaningless, if not just plain sad. I really don't have any more "important" birthdays left, save that of cheaper insurance when I hit 25. Hi-ho.

The Shiner after party was interesting, though. Not much in the way of wacky Owens stories, but the loft where the party was held was very impressive. It was in the West Bottoms area of Kansas City in some old warehouse, complete with the old style gate elevator. Once inside, I noticed that the ceiling had a slope to it, getting higher as it travelled toward the opposite wall. The place was decorated with old sci-fi movie posters and toys, thrift store furniture, paintings, and low lighting. However, the decor was actually rather sparse, with a lot of bare walls and huge expanses of open floor space. I liked it alot.

I didn't stick around, though, because I was so wiped out from drinking my ass off at the show that the last thing I needed was more booze. In all, it was a good night, which I partly blame for the horrible, depressed state in which I find myself today.

Oh yeah. Props to JK for being the only friend of mine to call me today, even if I didn't have my phone on. I got your message, and thanks, bud. Sorry I couldn't make it over.

That's about all I can handle for now.


Saturday, 1/25/03 - Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck

Fate has a funny way of bestowing its blessings upon me. Seeing as how my birthday is tomorrow, I have been blessed with a pre-birthday Shiner show this eve. But also given that the powers that be are tirelessly conspiring against me - they really are - tonight marks the end of Shiner's glorious ten years of rawkin' out with their cocks out. Happy birthday!


Monday, 1/20/03 - JKooks Reeling from Hank's Wisdom, Post-Rollins Alcohol Binge

Henry Rollins was amazing last night. Of course Hank and I don't see eye to eye on political matters, but he's right on when it comes to simple, practical things like how people treat one another and how bad popular music has become. And man, that son-of-a-bitch just winged it up there for nearly three hours, just talking about everything from war with Iraq to how much Creed sucks. Again, as seems to be customary for any show I attend, audience participation was where the magic happened. There was some neanderthal in the lower balcony who kept bellowing, "Yes sir!" at nearly everything Henry said, especially his political stuff.

In other news, my glorious return to the world of employment kicked off this evening with my orientation at a certain restaurant. I wonder if I'll even recognize money when I finally see it again. Salvation...


Wednesday, 1/15/03 - Brush with Greatness

I wasn't quite sure I heard things right on Monday when I heard the name Molly McGuire during roll, but it was confirmed this morning when I got my hands on the roll sheet that Kansas City rock legends Molly McGuire are in my Accounting class. No shit.


Monday, 1/13/03 - Homecoming...No, Scratch That...Kill Me

Well, today marks the beginning of Round 2 of my glorious return to academic life. As always, the updates will be scarce, perhaps even more so due to my upped hours at school. Business classes r fun!


Saturday, 1/4/03 - If It's Not Too Much Trouble, Could You Make My Life Just a Bit More Stupid? Please?

My dating habits, or rather my (retarded) luck with dating can be explained in three words: feast or famine. I'm either dying from a six-month dryspell, or I'm carried away in a flood of prospects where I have too many to choose from and always end up making the wrong choice and/or hurting someone. And as much of a brat as I may seem, both situations suck balls. None of this "too much is better than not enough" bullshit, because when I'm at a party or similar gathering and I've got three or four girls trying to get with me, I'm more worried about whether I'm going to regret my decision rather than thinking I'm some ladykiller.

More on this later.


Wednesday, 1/1/03 - Happy Wednesday!!!

Well, I'm still licking the wounds from what I have been told was a party last night, some sort of holiday. Yeah, yeah, everyone was in rare form last eve, yet, shall I say, some were rarer than others - you know who you are, or you at least know who I'm talking about. And on that note, let me just say that New Year's is arguably the single most worthless holiday on the calendar, and for one very simple reason: it's one of those precious few days of the year when the amateur and/or non-drinkers come out of the woodwork and suddenly feel like they can hang with the pros. Not that I really want to pat myself on the back or anything, but I just want to say that I am comfortable with my ability to handle my alcohol without breaking expensive household items, getting myself hurt, or doing anything to embarrass myself and/or everyone I know. Outside of that, I drink my poison and proceed to enjoy myself with minimal fanfare. With that said, learn to behave yourself or stay the fuck home.

Thank you.


Sunday, 12/29/02 - JKooks Saves Owens' Ass, Earns Beer of Honor During Epic Paintball Showdown!

So we had a good game yesterday. You were either there or you weren't. Anyway, I had my first trip to the firing range today with Perryman, squeezing off a few hundred rounds out of a Ruger 9mm. Don't be fooled by the Rosie O'Douchebags of the world - an afternoon at the shooting range is one of the most relaxing things you could ever do. It was pretty easy to put several rounds through the same hole in the middle of the target's chest; I just had to pretend I caught him stealing my stereo...

Yeah, let's just say that anyone I catch breaking into my car again will not be given the courtesy of an evening in jail, if you know what I mean. They will, shall I say, disappear. Enough about that, though. I'm done with the D's, now. Where do they all go? I must only have about a hundred artist pages left!


Friday, 12/27/02 - Post-Holiday Depression Special!

The weekend is here, there's a massive paintball game tomorrow, and I have no money for the bars or paintball equipment. Bitchin'!

I have updated the artist pages up through C. Hey, a reason to live after all.


Sunday, 12/22/02 - "You people need to get a grip!"

Well, well, well. So Lewis Black was absolutely hilarious last night. I don't know what else to say, except that Lewis Black is the funniest angry Jew on the planet. He also showed off a little of his improv skills when he went out into the audience for a screaming match with a drunk redneck and some dumb bitch who heckled him - he thoroughly tore them apart. The only thing that made the show unenjoyable was the, uh, "thug" seated directly in front of me and Campbell. After several tedious hours of analysis, Cambpell and I still have no idea what that guy was doing there. Not once during the show did this guy laugh, plus he was on his god damn cell phone the entire time, and his stupid cunt girlfriend who spoke anything but English (I'm hard pressed to call it a language at all) obviously couldn't grasp that great conversational abstraction we call the whisper.

And this also marks my return into the fray of updating the site. I got a few pages of the music section done today. Expect that to be complete some time before I retire.

And be sure to check out Rate It All for your opportunity to submit opinions on everything. That's right, everything. You can track my progress as I pine for the coveted title of Most Hated Commentator Ever, right here.


Sunday, 12/8/02 - Exactly When Are Finals, Again?

With as much shit as I've got to do in these last few days of the semester, where the largest possible amount of work is crammed into the shortest possible amount of time, I don't even know why I'm writing anything here.

So try to keep your jaw off the floor when I tell you that I won't even touch the music section until finals are over and I have the whole month to fuck off. [Gasp!]

I'm so good and you're so bad. Oh yeah, I did update the links, though.


Friday, 11/29/02 - Post-Holiday Body Count and Damage Assessment

Well, that little Irish mick bastard, Marine, best friend and all around badass, Sean Perryman came to town for the holiday. I about shit myself. I'm sure that also had a lot to do with locking my keys in my car while it was still running - in the parking lot at Harling's, the first bar of the night. That's right, I hadn't had a drop of booze yet, and already I was sportin' the stupid like a champ.

Anyway, I don't think I've ever seen all, and I mean all of my friends in one place like that, and I wonder if a gathering like that can ever happen again. Damn near everybody I knew was there. It was awesome.

Still, I regret getting so drunk last night that I slept in and ultimately missed out on the Sweaty Proletarian Festival known as the Day After Thanksgiving Sale. Shame.

At least I didn't miss Dr. Phil.


Thursday, 11/28/02 - Spanksgiving

Holiday. Day off.

Tears for you.


Saturday, 11/23/02 - And now for something completely different...

Well, maybe not. More like same shit, different day. Got a photo from Owens of a paintball game we had about this time last year. Clevinger's on the left, Owens in the middle, and yours truly, Creeping Death, on the right.


Wednesday, 11/20/02 - Local Cunt Sues Football Coach, Web Designer Gets on with Life

You know what I'd like to see? Take one of those Valtrex herpes medication commercials where some guy says, "When I was diagnosed with genital herpes, I was devastated. But then I thought it would be funny if I rubbed my junk all over all the dinnerware in my house and threw a party. My friends had no idea they were eating off of my herpes plates. Heh, heh, heh..."

That's the kind of shit I think about all day.


Monday, 11/18/02 - It's, er, I'm Alive!!!

Well things have calmed down a little at school, so it's business as usual - but don't forget the many pleasures of finals that are just around the corner. I'm working like a striped [insert random offensive word - preferably one with racial connotations to upset the pussies], trying to get those artist pages done. I'm done with "A" at this point. Progress.

As always, e-mail me about any corrections or requests for public humiliation.


Saturday, 11/16/02 - Weekend of Rawk!

This is an awesome weekend for maximum rockage in Kansas City. Shiner destroyed many an ear drum at Davey's Uptown last eve, and tonight it's on to the Hurricane for Traindodge, The Casket Lottery, and Dirtnap. Pain.

Interesting thing about that Shiner show: not only did Owens nearly sock Allen Epley (Shiner vocalist) in the face while fucking around before Shiner's set, but during the set he also managed to hit on Epley's wife, the wife's sister, and the wife's sister's friend. 3/3! And wouldn't you know he had no idea who they were until Epley's wife said, "And by the way, I'm 30, I have a kid, and I'm married to the guy singing up there."

Other highlights include the idiot blonde groupie who saw me and Owens sporting the black suits with white shirts and skinny black ties, and asked us if we were corporate whores or Mods. I responded with, "Both. We're gonna take the system down from the inside," while Owens twirled his hair and said, "Like, oh my god! That's, like, way too intellectual for me."

The look on that bitch's face was priceless.


Sunday, 11/10/02 - Updating...

I've noticed lately that putting off procrastinating is like trying to throw away a trash can.

That's as much clever as you're gonna get out of me today. Grab a deck of cards and deal with it.

Did I mention something about a FAQ?


Thursday, 11/7/02 - Happy Birthday (You Know Who You Are)

Someone tell Jakob Dylan that the Wallflowers could stand to be a little more boring. Thank you.


Wednesday, 11/6/02 - Post-Election Special!

You know, that's got a nice ring to it, Senate Minority Leader Tom Daschle. Heh, heh, heh...

Fuckers.

Note to self: Start having something to say.

Note to other self: Shut the fuck up!


Sunday, 11/3/02 - My Life Is a Hell Without Bounds.

With school running at full tilt, I regret to inform all of you that I am taking an indefinite hiatus from updating the site so I can get some fucking school work done. I am soooooooooooo behind.

Miss me.


Saturday, 11/2/02

[...]


Friday, 11/1/02 - Halloween Post-Game Analysis

Lawrence, beer, McCue's house, drunk emo kids at McCue's house, drunk emo's kids getting kicked out of McCue's house, (warmer) beer, drunk emo kids trying to get back into McCue's house, drunk emo kids (again) getting kicked out of McCue's house, un-named friend's girlfriend spazzing the fuck out, drunk emo kids loitering in front of McCue's house while everyone on porch heckles them, (warm) beer. Add two Burrito Kings, stir, and pass out.

But who says it has to stop there?

Today is All Saints Day! Hail Satan! I get to dress up TWICE!


Thursday, 10/31/02 - Happy Kwanzaa! Wait...

Campbell has a police car. I couldn't even make this stuff up.


Wednesday, 10/30/02 - [Your Ad Here]

Music page = pain in the ass. This is literally going to take weeks. Expect an FAQ. But don't expect it soon.

You people deserve more.

Blah.


Tuesday, 10/29/02 - Day 2

Still here. Things will be taking shape soon. Spending most of my design time working on the Conservatory - full list of favorite artists, complete with links to respective sites, and also expect some articles about shitty music and what makes it shitty.

But that's still in the works. I can be loved in the mean time.

Brilliance - if Jean Carnahan loses to Jim Talent in the Missouri Senate race, she can just go up to Minnesota and fill in for Paul Wellstone. After all, she does have experience filling in for dead guys.

Jean Carnahan = Pinocchio, or puppet with "truth" issues. I guess that means Ted Kennedy is Gepetto. [Cue Metallica's "Master of Puppets"] I'm clever.

And speaking of truth, ever had a bad break-up?


Monday, 10/28/02 - Let's do launch sometime. Get it, let's do launch, not lunch? Ha, ha, ha!

Shut up.

Ah, humble beginnings.

So I got tired of yammering about a site that didn't exist. It exists now. The terror.

I actually said yammering. Wow.