I Might Watch the History Channel!

My friends, I have seen the future. It looks quite bit like the past.

The other day I saw a commercial for a new show on the History Channel. Now, I’ll admit to sometimes watching the History Channel. I like watching videos you’d watch in a class, but at home.

So I wasn’t really too excited, because I probably can’t name you one show on the History Channel. I just assume all the shows are named after whatever war the show is focused on. Not true.

Anyway, I see the commercial start, and I’m not too interested in it when I see the History Channel logo. Then I saw dinosaurs. I was little more intrigued.

Then I saw dinosaurs fighting. Now I’m more than interested. I fucking amped.

Yes, the History Channel has a show called “Jurassic Fight Club,” where using what is known about dinosaurs, they use CGI (I would assume) to have dinosaurs fight to the death.

It premiered Tuesday night, but unfortunately for me, was too excited by the commercial to see when it was airing and missed it. Desperately scouring the Internet for video clips didn’t help much. Hopefully within the next few days I’ll find the full episode somewhere. As for now I found a few clips on the History Channel’s website, but they aren’t really what I was looking for.

I found some reviews, one titled “‘Jurassic Fight Club’ Not So Dino-mite,” so between that and the title of the show it seems dinosaur puns are officially in style now. I should also mention, mostly because I can’t really think of anything else to at this point in time, I’ve never seen “Fight Club,” so the title didn’t really thrill me too much.

It gets its point across, which is fine. They could just take off the fight, replace Jurassic with the dino, throw in an exclamation point and I’d be happier though. I’ve mostly never seen “Fight Club” because lots and lots of people tell me how good it is, and I’m an asshole. Same goes the “Big Lebowski.”

So here’s where I think “Jurassic Fight Club” needs to go. Since I haven’t really seen an episode, but judging by the clips I’ve seen the actual fight is set up with a short story line, and interposed throughout the episode with clips of talking paleontologists explaining why what is happening is happening. Just why the dinosaur is moving like it is, why it’s fighting like it is, etc. In that sense, it’s like porn, which would be a plus.

I’d surely masturbate to dinosaurs fighting. Well, two chick dinosaurs that is.

The first episode pitted a male Majungatholus against a female Majungatholus. I don’t remember learning about that dinosaur, so in case you don’t either, here it is.

The storyline for this episode appears to be that the male Majungatholus killed his son, and then tried to mate with the female, one presumes because he will undoubtedly be hungry again in the future. She wasn’t having it, and a fight erupted. She won, in what I’m going to call an upset because she’s a she. She then ate the child and part of the male.

Now, this might not be true because like I said, I didn’t see the episode in its entirety, but after like 5 episodes this seems like it could get old. I mean, how different could it get? I guess in this sense it once again resembles porn, just not as a strong a comparison, unless the History Channel is going to really get kinky with the series, which I would doubt.

I mean, we get it. Blah blah blah, boring scientist, CGI fight. Should I make a Michael Bay joke here? I have nothing against him, but people don’t seem to enjoy him in all his CGI-glory. I
won’t.

Well, I think I have some suggestions for the History Channel on how to make sure the series stays fresh.

Running storylines. Bring back the female Majungatholus next week, have her interrupt the fight and beat one of the dinosaurs with the corpse of he dead child. Basically, make it wrestling, but with dinosaurs. I want to see dinosaurs challenge each other, basically by pointing at one another, don’t make them talk, or at least not in English. Spanish speaking dinosaurs might work, though.

I liked how in one video one of the boring scientist/CGI guys said something about how they want the scene of the fight to have some sort of bearing on it. I can’t really speak for what’s going to happen in the future, but how about making it interesting, and just incredibly unbelievable? Under water. On the moon. In a cage. Inside a volcano. Manilla.

I want to seem something on the line in these fights. Okay, life is something, I guess. But that’s boring when it’s just CGI dinosaurs. Perhaps I’m suggesting the History Channel set up a way to gamble on these fights on their site. I’m positive that would bring in more viewers. Degenerates just don’t care what they’re watching as long as there’s money to be made. I’m not a gambler, but I might even throw some money on a fight.

Going back to my wrestling point, switch up the matches a bit. Tag teams anyone? I’d like to see some interspecies tag teams, kind of like mixed gender tag matches. I already mentioned cage matches, but how about a royal rumble with like 30 dinosaurs? Or a match in an enclosed circle of fire? I like that one because even after the winner wins, he’ll be burnt to death.

I want a series of dinosaurs fighting in present day sports gear. Put some boxing gloves on the dinosaurs and let them duke it out. Dinosaurs fighting on ice skates. Dinosaurs on roller blades, too. I’d like to see a few episodes where instead of fighting they have to compete in other contests, like cooking, singing, gymnastics or winning over the affection of Flava Flav.

And lastly, I’d like to see all the dinosaurs be replaced by illegal immigrants, and they’ll fight for their citizenship. To the death, of course. That would make for great television, and I think the History Channel is just the channel to do it.

I don’t know if they got wind of this early, but anyone who has been to the Walgreens parking lot in New City recently should know what I’m talking about. It appears there is some decent sized fencing in a rectangle shape which looks perfect for immigrant fighting. I guess thinking about it’s more towards McDonald’s, but go check it out and just think of the blood that should one day fall there.

So there you have History Channel. I’ll tune it for a few weeks, but if you want me more long term, my demands have been laid out.

I Wish I Was Jack Handy

Have you ever listened to the song "Ask Me Why," by the Beatles? What is this, a love song for John Lennon's mommy? "I love you / 'cause you tell me things I want to know."  I know you're dead and everything, but next time, leave the preschool teacher-statutory rape fantasies at home, Johnny.  Grow up.

All the engineers at my job look like either the engineer from my college radio station, or gay versions of me. Like, me if I were a genie, or me if I was your creepy uncle, or me if I was a... gay... guy...  It makes me wonder what could have been...

I was working with some CD's, and I stumbled upon the most disappointing band name ever: Bonerama.  Not a single boner present anywhere in the band, their music, their album art, instrumentation, nothing.  They play trombones.

Whenever I'm at work and there's some down time, I check my email and the websites I usually check when I'm bored and have free time, like you do.  But then, by habit, I almost start typing the addresses to my regular porn sites... it's only a matter of time before I get fired for absent-mindedly checking walkthedinosaur.com.

I was working on something, and the radio was tuned to the children's channel, but not turned up.  I've not been quicker to drop everything and turn the radio up than when I saw "Rubber Duckie by Ernie" appear on the display.  This was the high point of my day, and I'm really happy about this.  Also, I've never been quicker to turn off the radio than when Jack Johnson came on right after.

Sometimes I like to brush my teeth while peeing, and then spit the toothpaste into the toilet before flushing, to see if it "cancels out."

If My Heads Up On My Neighbors Wall, and My Body Is Turned Into a Puppet, Here's Why

When I walk my dog I usually run into a lot of interesting people.

And by interesting people I mean not interesting people. And by meet I mean usually walk by without acknowledging as I don’t bother to take off my headphones (which sometimes aren’t really playing music, ssshhh), or just give a tiny smile.

But there are a few other times that people stop and want to talk to me. I can’t help it, I’m just a fascinating person and others can tell just by looking how much brighter their day would be if they stopped and talked to me.

Here’s a transcript of how these conversations usually go:

Them: Hi, isn’t he cute? What’s his name?

Me: Castro

Them: Huh, that’s a unique name.

Me: He’s a Havanese, which a Cuban breed of dog.

Them: Oh.

Me: Yeah

Them: something about weather or current events

Me: Yeah, I know

Them: Have a nice night

Me: You too.

That is pretty much it, every time. Occasionally the talk comes to a stop if they also have a dog and the dogs are interacting in a humorous/cute/violent way.

Then since I live in a town with other people, a good number of times I run into people I actually
know. They usually want to talk a little bit longer than that, which sucks. Especially since the people I only see when I’m out are friends of my mom.

The only positive is that they usually act somewhat impressed by my all-around awesomeness (translation- I have an internship and haven’t been arrested or to rehab yet). So they usually compliment me, which is nice I suppose.

So as you can see, and if you’re read mostly anything else I’ve ever written or been lucky enough to ever talk to me, you can see I don’t like people. Just in general I find them unpleasant to be around. So when I walk my dog, I like to toss on some headphones, maybe listen to music and just walk around the neighborhood. It’s nice. The only thing that hampers my good time is people and geese shit all over one sidewalk where I like to walk him, and I’d much rather walk in geese shit and a crowd of people.

This past Tuesday night I was walking my dog, and I get to the geese-filled sidewalk without so much as a passing car. It’s been good so far. Then I see two women walking towards me. I start to look anywhere but at them, figuring if they see my headphones and I’m looking in another direction they’ll just assume I didn’t even notice them.

But unfortunately for my plan, Castro likes other people. Well, he doesn’t like them. He likes to charge in their direction, and either lick them or bark at them. Once he notices the two women he takes off, so I have to look up and see them, but I was in for a somewhat pleasant surprise.

One of the women was the kind of attractive women I work with who become a little more attractive because she’s older than me and we sort of work together. She notices it’s me and stops for a chat.

Her: Hey, do you live around here?

Me: Yeah, I live a few streets down there, at Adaham Lincoln Ave. [Note: they haven’t renamed
the street yet. Yet]

Her: Wow, I had on idea you lived around here. I live over there.

She points out her house, which was pretty close to mine but not on the same street.

Me: Yeah, I know. Your room is the top right corner, looking at your house from your backyard.

Her: What?

Me: I could say ‘or so I’ve heard,’ but that would be a lie. I just was over there the other night. Hey, casual Friday is coming up, what do you think about wearing that little number you wore for your anniversary a few weeks ago.

Her: What?

Me: The green one. Don’t play dumb with me.

Her: I’m just a little shocked.

Me: You know, for a journalist I thought you’d be a little better with words. I believe instead of shocked you mean flattered. It’s not that big of a mistake, but still.

Her: Yeah, I guess I did mean flattered.

Me: I know.

Her: Well, we’re gonna go now, but next week my husband will be out of town, and I think I’ll need a pickle jar open. Might you have time to stop by and help me out?

Me: Drop the kids off at nana’s and I’ll see if I can pencil you in. Smell ya later, sweet thang. [Note: At that point in the conversation I decided that my abysmal history with the ladies would change if I started acting more like Leon Phelps.]

I guess by now you must’ve realized that’s not the exact transcript of the conversation. The outfit she wore was black, but I changed it just for safety purposes, of course.

Anyway, she seemed surprised to notice me, and pleasantly surprised to find out I lived so close. I doubt she walked away with any thoughts on adultery, but I’d be lying if I say she didn’t leave our conversation with a smile and twinkle in her eye.

But I intend on finding out. Sometime this weekend I will be standing outside of her house holding up a boombox. I’ll get her attention by gently tossing pebbles at her window. I’ll probably play “Ms. Robinson” on repeat. I’ll surely get my assed kicked by her husband, who I don’t know nor have ever seen but have little doubts he can kick my ass.

I continued on my walk for about two more minutes until I ran into another person. I didn’t know him. He looked a few years younger than me. He had on a baggy, partially faded pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt that said something along the lines of Hamptons, N.Y. He also wore a pair of round glasses, kind of like Harry Potter but with a much lighter shaded frame, and he had light brown hair of decent length that was bit messy.

Anyway, the conversation starts off pretty much like I wrote it above. Then out of nowhere he goes, “man, this is such bullshit.”

Me: “Um, yeah it really is.”

Him: “Yeah. Look at all the houses around here man. They just build them everywhere, fucking rich people.”

Me: “Um, yeah. Lot of houses around here, they sprung up overnight.”

Him: “Yeah, none of these were here like 6 years ago.”

Me: “Well yeah, that’s how building new houses work I guess.”

Him: “It’s just such bullshit man. These fucking rich people don’t even know where these houses were built.”

Me: “Must be difficult to get home then.”

Him: “Nah man. I mean they were built on a swamp. A really bad swamp. They don’t even know or care, fucking rich people.”

Did I mention he was in a Hamptons shirt yet, cause he was. Seems like a good place to mention this.

Him: “I just can’t stand these rich fuckers. They don’t know what it’s like to really be out there man. Like you, you get it. You had to work for your money.”

Me: “Well I guess I had a job during high school but I have some very generous parents as well.”

Him: “Yeah man, you get it. These rich fucks don’t know what it’s like to not have money.”

HAMPTONS T-SHIRT!

Him: “Like the kids get whatever they want. Like I bought an I-Pod last year, and with my own money I had to earn. I was really proud of myself. But these rich fuckers just ask for it and get one.”

I should mention here that I was still in my clothes for work, which I don’t think make me look rich, but I do usually wear a button-down shirt and nice pants. He also saw I had an I-Pod with me because I had to take it out to pause it once he started talking to me.

Him: “I’m sorry man, but I can’t stand these rich fucks. You probably think I’m crazy.

Yes, yes I do.

Him: “It’s just these rich people man. You can probably tell I’m hard worker. Just by looking at me you can probably tell I’m big into skating and shit too.

Me: “Um, yeah. I noticed. Are those skating sandals you have on?”

Him: “No, just regular ones.”

Me: “I see.”

Him: “So I’m going to study auto repair and shit. Lot of money there. Those custom paint jobs, damn.”

Me: “Yeah.”

Him: “So what are you studying?”

Me: “Journalism.”

Him: “Oh cool. Do you go to BOCES?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “Oh, I’m pretty sure they have that kind of thing there.”

Me: “I’m sure they do.”

Him: “I’m sorry to hold you up man. You’re probably standing thing thinking I’m all crazy and
shit.

Yes, yes I am.

Him: “My buddy always tells other people all the weird and horrible shit I’ve done so nobody
wants to hang out or talk to me. I mean, I’ve don’t some stupid shit, but who hasn’t when they’re young, right?”

Me: “Yeah, everyone has at some point.

Up until high school I think the dumbest, most “insane” thing I ever did was not check the answers to my math homework one time when we were supposed to, and I saw sweating my ass off in fear of being caught. Since then, I don’t know. I don’t really think I’ve ever really studied for a test.

Him: “Alright man, I’ll let you go.”

Me: “Thanks, have a good one.”

So yeah, that whole thing now seems like it might’ve actually been a test for my life. Had I shunned this guy or pissed him off, I might be chopped up in about 8 pieces right now in the swamp that rich fucks don’t even realize they live on. Anyway, on the way back to my house I passed him again, he was stopped talking to some family who looked about as thrilled as I did when talking to him.

Unfortunately for me only one of the two above conversations happened like I described, and it was the latter of the two. So next time I walk my dog I’m going to try my best not to talk to anyone, but then again, in this instance it might’ve just saved me from being the first/next/last victim in this sick kid’s string of torture-murders. Luckily I’m just awesome enough to talk my way out of death.

If My Heads Up On My Neighbors Wall, and My Body Is Turned Into a Puppet, Here's Why

When I walk my dog I usually run into a lot of interesting people.

And by interesting people I mean not interesting people. And by meet I mean usually walk by without acknowledging as I don’t bother to take off my headphones (which sometimes aren’t really playing music, ssshhh), or just give a tiny smile.

But there are a few other times that people stop and want to talk to me. I can’t help it, I’m just a fascinating person and others can tell just by looking how much brighter their day would be if they stopped and talked to me.

Here’s a transcript of how these conversations usually go:

Them: Hi, isn’t he cute? What’s his name?

Me: Castro

Them: Huh, that’s a unique name.

Me: He’s a Havanese, which a Cuban breed of dog.

Them: Oh.

Me: Yeah

Them: something about weather or current events

Me: Yeah, I know

Them: Have a nice night

Me: You too.

That is pretty much it, every time. Occasionally the talk comes to a stop if they also have a dog and the dogs are interacting in a humorous/cute/violent way.

Then since I live in a town with other people, a good number of times I run into people I actually know. They usually want to talk a little bit longer than that, which sucks. Especially since the people I only see when I’m out are friends of my mom.

The only positive is that they usually act somewhat impressed by my all-around awesomeness (translation- I have an internship and haven’t been arrested or to rehab yet). So they usually compliment me, which is nice I suppose.

So as you can see, and if you’re read mostly anything else I’ve ever written or been lucky enough to ever talk to me, you can see I don’t like people. Just in general I find them unpleasant to be around. So when I walk my dog, I like to toss on some headphones, maybe listen to music and just walk around the neighborhood. It’s nice. The only thing that hampers my good time is people and geese shit all over one sidewalk where I like to walk him, and I’d much rather walk in geese shit and a crowd of people.

This past Tuesday night I was walking my dog, and I get to the geese-filled sidewalk without so much as a passing car. It’s been good so far. Then I see two women walking towards me. I start to look anywhere but at them, figuring if they see my headphones and I’m looking in another direction they’ll just assume I didn’t even notice them.

But unfortunately for my plan, Castro likes other people. Well, he doesn’t like them. He likes to charge in their direction, and either lick them or bark at them. Once he notices the two women he takes off, so I have to look up and see them, but I was in for a somewhat pleasant surprise.

One of the women was the kind of attractive women I work with who become a little more attractive because she’s older than me and we sort of work together. She notices it’s me and stops for a chat.

Her: Hey, do you live around here?

Me: Yeah, I live a few streets down there, at Adaham Lincoln Ave. [Note: they haven’t renamed the street yet. Yet]

Her: Wow, I had on idea you lived around here. I live over there.

She points out her house, which was pretty close to mine but not on the same street.

Me: Yeah, I know. Your room is the top right corner, looking at your house from your backyard.

Her: What?

Me: I could say ‘or so I’ve heard,’ but that would be a lie. I just was over there the other night. Hey, casual Friday is coming up, what do you think about wearing that little number you wore for your anniversary a few weeks ago.

Her: What?

Me: The green one. Don’t play dumb with me.

Her: I’m just a little shocked.

Me: You know, for a journalist I thought you’d be a little better with words. I believe instead of shocked you mean flattered. It’s not that big of a mistake, but still.

Her: Yeah, I guess I did mean flattered.

Me: I know.

Her: Well, we’re gonna go now, but next week my husband will be out of town, and I think I’ll need a pickle jar open. Might you have time to stop by and help me out?

Me: Drop the kids off at nana’s and I’ll see if I can pencil you in. Smell ya later, sweet thang. [Note: At that point in the conversation I decided that my abysmal history with the ladies would change if I started acting more like Leon Phelps.]

I guess by now you must’ve realized that’s not the exact transcript of the conversation. The outfit she wore was black, but I changed it just for safety purposes, of course.

Anyway, she seemed surprised to notice me, and pleasantly surprised to find out I lived so close. I doubt she walked away with any thoughts on adultery, but I’d be lying if I say she didn’t leave our conversation with a smile and twinkle in her eye.

But I intend on finding out. Sometime this weekend I will be standing outside of her house holding up a boombox. I’ll get her attention by gently tossing pebbles at her window. I’ll probably play “Ms. Robinson” on repeat. I’ll surely get my assed kicked by her husband, who I don’t know nor have ever seen but have little doubts he can kick my ass.

I continued on my walk for about two more minutes until I ran into another person. I didn’t know him. He looked a few years younger than me. He had on a baggy, partially faded pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt that said something along the lines of Hamptons, N.Y. He also wore a pair of round glasses, kind of like Harry Potter but with a much lighter shaded frame, and he had light brown hair of decent length that was bit messy.

Anyway, the conversation starts off pretty much like I wrote it above. Then out of nowhere he goes, “man, this is such bullshit.”

Me: “Um, yeah it really is.”

Him: “Yeah. Look at all the houses around here man. They just build them everywhere, fucking rich people.”

Me: “Um, yeah. Lot of houses around here, they sprung up overnight.”

Him: “Yeah, none of these were here like 6 years ago.”

Me: “Well yeah, that’s how building new houses work I guess.”

Him: “It’s just such bullshit man. These fucking rich people don’t even know where these houses were built.”

Me: “Must be difficult to get home then.”

Him: “Nah man. I mean they were built on a swamp. A really bad swamp. They don’t even know or care, fucking rich people.”

Did I mention he was in a Hamptons shirt yet, cause he was. Seems like a good place to mention this.

Him: “I just can’t stand these rich fuckers. They don’t know what it’s like to really be out there man. Like you, you get it. You had to work for your money.”

Me: “Well I guess I had a job during high school but I have some very generous parents as well.”

Him: “Yeah man, you get it. These rich fucks don’t know what it’s like to not have money.”

HAMPTONS T-SHIRT!

Him: “Like the kids get whatever they want. Like I bought an I-Pod last year, and with my own money I had to earn. I was really proud of myself. But these rich fuckers just ask for it and get one.”

I should mention here that I was still in my clothes for work, which I don’t think make me look rich, but I do usually wear a button-down shirt and nice pants. He also saw I had an I-Pod with me because I had to take it out to pause it once he started talking to me.

Him: “I’m sorry man, but I can’t stand these rich fucks. You probably think I’m crazy.

Yes, yes I do.

Him: “It’s just these rich people man. You can probably tell I’m hard worker. Just by looking at me you can probably tell I’m big into skating and shit too.

Me: “Um, yeah. I noticed. Are those skating sandals you have on?”

Him: “No, just regular ones.”

Me: “I see.”

Him: “So I’m going to study auto repair and shit. Lot of money there. Those custom paint jobs, damn.”

Me: “Yeah.”

Him: “So what are you studying?”

Me: “Journalism.”

Him: “Oh cool. Do you go to BOCES?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “Oh, I’m pretty sure they have that kind of thing there.”

Me: “I’m sure they do.”

Him: “I’m sorry to hold you up man. You’re probably standing thing thinking I’m all crazy and shit.

Yes, yes I am.

Him: “My buddy always tells other people all the weird and horrible shit I’ve done so nobody wants to hang out or talk to me. I mean, I’ve don’t some stupid shit, but who hasn’t when they’re young, right?”

Me: “Yeah, everyone has at some point.

Up until high school I think the dumbest, most “insane” thing I ever did was not check the answers to my math homework one time when we were supposed to, and I saw sweating my ass off in fear of being caught. Since then, I don’t know. I don’t really think I’ve ever really studied for a test.

Him: “Alright man, I’ll let you go.”

Me: “Thanks, have a good one.”

So yeah, that whole thing now seems like it might’ve actually been a test for my life. Had I shunned this guy or pissed him off, I might be chopped up in about 8 pieces right now in the swamp that rich fucks don’t even realize they live on. Anyway, on the way back to my house I passed him again, he was stopped talking to some family who looked about as thrilled as I did when talking to him.

Unfortunately for me only one of the two above conversations happened like I described, and it was the latter of the two. So next time I walk my dog I’m going to try my best not to talk to anyone, but then again, in this instance it might’ve just saved me from being the first/next/last victim in this sick kid’s string of torture-murders. Luckily I’m just awesome enough to talk my way out of death.

A Week in the Life of a Satellite Radio Intern

Three non-consecutive days, really.

So, here's how I've been spending my time at work this week, rather than actually working.  The week started off pretty well, with me learning new things, and feeling good about myself.  I ripped some songs into the music scheduler, did some research for show material, built a show in the schedule for later, and got to do some audio editing, which always makes me happy, because it's what I feel to be the most useful skill of the many they've attempted to teach the interns.  Those other things might apply to other radio stations, and they might now.  But audio editing will be useful everywhere, outside of radio as well.  Anyway, that was Wednesday.

Cue Friday.  Friday's my early day, so by the time I got into work, I was already exhausted.  I did some data entry, but it was in a form I had never done before, so I was able to pretend it was interesting.  That was a mistake.  After I showed that I could enter some things into a database without immediately killing myself or the nearest happy person to me, I was given an (effectively) endless list of things to enter into the database.  Ten things, that was fine.  "Cool, thanks guys, I'm glad I know how to do that now!"  Hundreds?  "Fuck off."  I spent an hour on that, I think, until someone pulled me off to do something else.  I guess the boiling rage building up within me had materialized itself in some sort of psychic powers, and I gave someone an aneurism or something, and they figured it was best to put me somewhere else.

So, I was asked to rip a prerecorded show into the music database.  It was about an hour and twenty minutes, so the slow computer I was using took a while.  I found a book on the desk at which I was sitting, and started reading.  After about 60 pages, the rip finished, and I did the couple small edits required of the task, and hit save.  And the program crashed.  Now, had I been in better spirits, I would have just realized this to be an opportunity for more reading, and not really such a bad thing.  But, as it was, I was pissed off.  But I did continue reading.  Highlight phrases of the book, which was simply a compilation of suggestions received from citizens of New York: "Always spank your kids," "People should be more willing to have monkeys as pets," and "Bunny ears for everyone!"  Once the program crashed again, I figured I'd call the job done.

Next, I loaded some DJ's voice tracks into the scheduler.  Here's a sample of the wit of this DJ.  When talking about some C-level female celebrity, here was his funny comment: "I did 'er."  Nice one!  Not only was your vocal break completely devoid of content, but you could have inserted anyone's name in there, and it would work exactly the same, but, with a few choice picks, would almost always be better!  Rather than some celebrity nobody has heard of, why not pick Rosanne Arnold? Gene Shallit?  The skeletal corpse of Princess Di(ed)?  Any of those would have been instantly hilarious people with which to have claimed coitus, but you picked a nobody.  Fuck you.

After that, I had to rip another show in.  And guess what?  It took forever again, and crashed again!  And after that, I found out that I'd loaded in that DJ's tracks incorrectly, so I got to do them all again too!  Fuck me.

The day was almost over.  I mean, I ripped another show in, and it crashed again, but at that point, the blood washing over my eyes made things difficult to remember, as it clouded my vision, and was coming from my brain.

So you can bet I was really excited to come in on Saturday.  Saturday is usually the busiest day, as well.  It often starts with about an hour and a half of pretty much nothing, with me waiting for people to arrive, followed by four hours of me running around, getting things for people, answering phones, filling out forms, ordering food, picking up and paying for food, taking requests, checking emails, handling contest calls, and, if you weren't noticing this trend, generally being everyone's bitch.

Except this Saturday, I didn't even seem to half the hour and a half of nothing.  I started off loading some voice tracks, which I don't mind, and was happy to have something to do, frankly, but then, rather than just sitting around waiting for something else, I was told to do music library stuff.  Now, I know I sounded like I didn't like the stuff that I was doing on Friday, but I would much rather be doing that than barcoding CD's, entering them into the database, and filing them in the way-too-tightly-packed library.  The library to which I am required to go, but to which I have no card access, meaning I have to ask someone to lend me theirs.  To do something I don't even want to do.  So I started downing can after can of rancid Mountain Dew to find the energy to do this boring, mind-numbing shit.

And then the show started, and I was free.  It was amazing; I did absolutely nothing, nobody asked me to do a thing, and I was free.  I ate a sandwich, continued drinking Mountain Dew, now probably out of addiction, rather than a need for quick energy, and I watched movies on the internet.  I watched that Will Ferrell as the devil SNL sketch a few times, and went to the bathroom (Mountain Dew).  I started singing "WEEKends, I live for the WEEKends," and then noticed someone was sitting on the toilet.  I shut up, and fought back laughter at my own goofiness, and then at the muffled sounds of his pooping, and returned to watch more videos.  I watched Charlie Manson's Whoop about a hundred times, and then I just spaced out for about an hour, thinking about different dreams of mine.  "I wish I could go back in time to 1999 and become a stand-up comedian.  It would be amazing.  All you had to do at that time was just add '.com' to ANYTHING and it became an hilarious joke!  Someone heckles you?  Just say 'www.SHUT UP.com' and you've won the audience!  And to go the alternative or avant-garde comic route, just substitute '.org' or '.net' and BOOM, instant street cred."  I had it all figured out.

So, aside from that one time when we had cookie cake, that was maybe my best day at work, ever.  I also found a free DVD.

And now, rather than writing my daily recaps for my supervisors (which I do weekly--take that, corporate scum!), or my internship journal for my school (which I just don't really do--take that, my own education!), I'm writing this blog.  And that, if you were wondering, is what a week in the life of a satellite radio intern is like.

This will connect to the end of the post

Well my kiddies (that will seem more in place and more disgusting really soon, I promise), I’m here to talk to you today about pedophiles.

See, that didn’t take long.

Anyway, while I was in the car today, I could’ve sworn I heard something about the radio about pedophiles being allowed to keep pornography, or something along those lines. I’m not completely sure because I heard it, but the radio was turned down and I was in the third row of seats in my girlfriend’s mom’s mini-van, trying desperately to keep her hand out of my pants out of respect for her mother. Plus, I didn’t want her to waste all her energy because she’s taking her deep water test at camp today.

So anyway, here’s my question: pedophiles weren’t allowed to have porn? Once again, let me say I might’ve just made all this up, so I’m not entirely sure. But really? How is that governed?

I would imagine regular checks of his home and computer probably, but there are ways to get around those. I mean, just throw it out or delete it after use.

The way I see sex offenders and whether or not they should be allowed to keep porn is how I think many people feel about sports in more urban areas. Well, not entirely sports, but sport and other after school programs. Those things are used as a way to keeps kids busy after school, and keep them off the streets and away from possibly becoming involved with gang activity or drugs and things of that nature.

So isn’t giving porn to sex offenders really just taking them off the streets in a sense?

Well, I happen to know a few sex offenders, and I went ahead and asked them about this.

Alfred Alfredson (rape): Hell yeah I should get to watch porn. I mean, some of my favorite porn is even legal, so why shouldn’t I be able to watch it? Plus, no I’ll be able to watch some of the tapes I made before I went to jail! Well, I guess I’ll just stick to the ones where I’m doing legal stuff with people and species that are legal. Hey, stick to, that’s kind of a pun.

Tim Timson (pedophile): I like porn, and I think this would be a good ruling. It would sure keep me away from kids for a while. Well that, and those papers I was given telling me to stay away from playgrounds, batting cages and my revoked license to umpire Little League games. Plus, now I’ll be able to watch all those videos I made before I went to jail!

So yeah, let the sex offenders have porn. If they’re having sex with themselves, that’s just one less victim for them to prey on, sort of.

I didn’t want to end this post here, cause I guess it’s a bit on the shorter side, so I typed pedophile into cnn.com to see the latest happenings in the world of pedophilia. The first result was this one:

http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=spot_the_pedo

I scored a 12 my first time, but I thought the description of how to find a pedophile was a bit inaccurate. Well not inaccurate as much as incomplete.

It says to look for the “pedosmile,” a half grin-half smirk. That’s fine. But still not enough. So I thought I’d continue on with this and let you know ways to pick out pedophiles:

The guy is one of those coaches for the same Little League team for over 10 years, and never
had a child on the team, or never even had children. Back in my Little League days I knew a few and always made sure to wear my cup backwards when we played them, just in case.

The hot, kind of young female teacher who is also insane. Every time I see one of those stories on the news, I’m always like “Man, I never had any teachers like that. Boo.” And then I’m like, eh, even if I did I either wouldn’t have realized she was crazy and willing to have sex with me, or I would’ve been all not awesome and shy and somehow screwed up my opportunity.

That guy who sticks his penis into a hole of a child.

The guy who runs a daycare center from his one bedroom apartment, where all he has is a bed with a video camera on a tripod facing it. He will also most likely be really up to speed with current trends in whatever age range they most like to prey on. Either that or they’ll just walk up, steal you child and rape him/her/them. For a pedophile to do that he has to have ball though, and that’s hard to tell, so you might just want to ask you kid once you get them (if you do) whether or not the guy had balls. Chances are they’ll find out one way or another.

That guy who likes a child’s penis in him somewhere.

He’s got a really thick mustache. You’ll most likely be able to see it either in his myspace profile picture or as he peers over the top of his newspaper while sitting on a bench right next to the swings at your local park.

He’s Woody Allen.

He introduces himself, “Hi, I’m a pedophile.” That’s a rather unlikely scenario, unless you’re at some type of pedophiles anonymous meeting or, like a few examples above, he’s got balls.

He reads to school children, except not from a book. He reads some days from his personal diary, which goes into detail about his dreams of sleeping with the kids he’s reading to. And other day he reads from body tattoos, or tells the kids the story of a tattoo if it’s only a picture.

See: title of post

Metal is Back; You Can All Rejoice!

Yeah, that's right. Nikki Sixx: savior of metal. I'm ready to extend that to savior of humanity, even. This song is that good.

"Like an insane person in Van Nuys."

I haven't heard the rest of the album, but if the rest of it has more lines like that, I don't think I can resist.

This next song sounds like someone trying to create some sort of physical embodiment of the word "bitchin'."



"You can't live until you die." I know it sounds like a logical contradiction, but... I can't think of a way to finish that sentence.

Well, I'm convinced. Life is beautiful.

I'm Cool Too! Technology!

See, I’m cool too. I can do a Youtube inspired post!

I like music. I do. I even enjoy legally obtaining it, for the most part.

And one thing I especially like in my music is lyrics. You can argue that along with the music, lyrics are one of the most important parts of a song. I know it’s a bit out there, but that’s just how I feel.

And I like lyrics about transvestites. Or just manly looking girls. Or girly looking guys.

There’s nothing better than a good, I guess I’ll have to say gender bending song, although I’m not happy about it.

Anyway, I thought I’d share some of my favorite songs with you fine people(s?).

Alright, here’s my first choice “Lola” by The Kinks. This song might’ve been the reason I’m writing this blog. Well, partly this, partly the next song and partly because I wanted to learn how to post videos on a blog.

Some hinting lyrics about Lola being a transvestite:

“But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine” – I guess that’s not a dead give away, but still should’ve raise our hero’s eye brows. But it didn’t. It raised his penis. As in he got an erection. Because he liked it. And thus likes dudes. Or just manly women. Like Alex Rodriguez.

“Well I’m not dumb but I can’t understand/Why she walked like a woman and talked like a man”- Oh come on now. Now, although I like this song, when I hear this line I just can’t trust the male in the story. She walks like a man. She hugs you really hard. At that point abandon ship or get ready to suck a ball or two, or three is she’s just that much of a man. Just say you were curious to see what all the fuss was about and do it. We don’t need this whole “oh I didn’t know” bullshit.

The big reveal: “Well I’m not the worlds most masculine man/But I know what I am and I’m glad I’m a man/And so is Lola”- doesn’t get much clearer than that.

Well I couldn’t find any sort of video for my next song. It’s not about a transvestite, but I’m including it anyway because it’s awesome.

It’s of course none other than “The Girlie Had A Mustache” but DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Let’s get to some key lines:

“With a body like a goddess, man, this girl was bad!/Tight leather pants that fit like a drum/And two big - yeah well, she had some/Anyway from behind she was fine/But when she turned around, her mustache was bigger than mine” Well, right from the get go we know what the Fresh Prince has dug himself into.

Um, there’s this woman at work who is very nice and friendly. She even complimented me on my hair cut! Anyway, the other day she was telling me something, and we were sitting at her desk. So she was talking, and I was listening in and out of the conversation, trying to find stuff to stare at. That’s when I noticed she had what I’m gonna call a third of Hitler. It was like a light mustache, but only on the left side of her upper lip, and no even completely covering that entire half. She had a third of Hitler. And that’s when I had to just think to myself,

“I can't believe I didn't notice that the girlie had a mustache”

So this doesn't really count under any of the circumstances I listed earlier in the post. But get this, it's a cover of a version about falling in love with a girl! What's up with that? I'm so confused. I mean, the White Stripes video is cool, and the song is good, and it's all yeah, I'm falling in love with this girl! And this one is all I'm falling in love with a dude!

Anyway, I thought because of that it deserved a spot in this post, and because I'm just lazy. I included this video because as much as I like Legos, I'd make Joss Stone a nice cup of tea, let her sit down and rub her feet. And I hate feet.

So yeah, the decision to this video over the White Stripes one basically came down to whether I'd prefer to have a threesome with Jack and Meg, or just go at it with Ms. Stone. It was a harder decision than you'd think. Plus, this one has ?uestlove! I just noticed that when I thought I should actually watch a few seconds of the video before posting it.




So yeah, it's Aerosmith. I don't want to look up their lyrics, so I'm not going to use them. But hey, possibly little known fact: this song is autobiographical.



Yep. This song is clearly about trannys. Quick sidenote: are there transvestites that like women? There has to be right? So then why do I/we think of them as people just hunting for testicles?

Maybe it's just me, and maybe I'm just completely ignorant. Probably that, but hey, check out these lyrics:

" I want to see you all on your knees, knees/You either want to be with me, or be me!"- Can't you just picture a room full of transvestites holding their hair back as they blow each other? Yeah, I'm picturing it too. It's a shame I can't type well with one hand.


So I picked this video not because it has the lyrics, but because it sounded better than the others. Anyway, what? "My Girl" about a transvestite? Adaham, you're and idiot and you're crazy.

Crazy right. Just take a gander at these lyrics:

"I've got sunshine/On a cloudy day"- sounds to me like it's rainy, and this couple decided to spend the day inside of each other. And since it's cloudy I'm going to assume for the purpose of me making an ass of myself that it means it's raining. Raining what you ask? Semen. Think about it.

"I don't need no money/Fortune or fame/I've got all the riches, baby/One man can claim"- right. You see, nobody really loves anyone enough to give up money all together. Here's where the Temptations do something clever. And I'm not just talking about matching their outfits and using choreography. I'm talking about that last line. Cause he's dating a transvestite, or roughly half a man, he can still take half of the fortune, fame and money cause of his situation.



This is a bonus video. Instead of situation in that last line I originally wrote ladyman, and I remember this fantastic song, so I thought I'd throw it in there, because this post just wasn't long enough. Anyway, here's the line you need to look out for:

" J: Oh you sexy hermaphrodite lady-man-ladies/With your sexy lady bits/And your sexy man bits too/Even you must be in to you ooo ooo"

Save These Animals From Destruction!

Well, they've taken Star Gaze's name off the list of pets to adopt, which means I was either wildly successful in getting him adopted, or wildly successful in getting him put to sleep after pointing out his blindness.  Hopefully, it was the former, and I won't be tainting anymore animals today with my toxic words.  Here are some more animals you should adopt.  I've taken the liberty of writing better descriptions of the animals, in hopes to inspire you to find them a loving home.This dog's name is Cha Cha.  In my high school art class, there was this Columbian guy, Pablo, who sat at my table, and always made fun of this freshman, Mark.  He'd call him "Mehrk Cha Cha," which I think had something to do with him being a vagina.  He also called the teacher, Mr. Wolfson, "Mr. Peña," which I always thought meant penis or something, but I think I looked it up once and it just means rock or something.I don't know who named this dog Poopsie, but in doing so, they've condemned her to never getting adopted.  Nobody wants to house-train a dog with poop in her name.  How anyone can be so cruel, I'll never know.Look at that.  Somebody wiped their shit all over Spot's face.  Please save him from the scatological nightmare that is North Shore!Look out, Dracula, it's Van Helsing, rawr! Your days are numbered, you undead scum!  Adopt this cat today to protect you from such monsters as Dracula, Blacula, the Wolfman, Octopussy, and the Dr. Funkenstein Monster.

This Just In: Dmur Wrong For the First Time Ever!

It turns out Christian rock is awesome.

Help Me Return to Normalcy

What? My turn to blog and I don’t have any idea what to write about?

I know. You probably think by reading the stuff I’ve written on this blog that this never happens. Each and every week I spend, hours spread across multiple days carefully crafting each post. I know. It certainly comes off that way, but truthfully, that’s not how it goes at all.

In fact, each one is usually written in less than hour with the topic decided sometime earlier in the day, if not just seconds before I start typing.

Back on the old site when it was my turn to update and I didn’t have a topic, which was probably around three quarters of the time, I would just go on news sites and try to find something odd or that I thought I could write about in some way.

I could do that right now, but I don’t want to. Plus, you wouldn’t want that would you? I doubt it.

Just a couple of minutes ago my dad informed me that I am “odd.” I guess it’s not the first time he’s called me that, and it’s certainly nicer than some of the other things he’s called me in the past. I remember anytime I got upset as a youth he would compare me to a dandelion. And maybe since the time I was 10 or so, I remember him telling me I was “a load that should’ve been swallowed.”

Perhaps, but alas, I wasn’t.

Those things don’t bother me though. He’s just messing around (I think, L). But odd sucks. When I hear the term odd I think of those kids that had really greasy hair, also sat in corners and had their mom chaperone a field trip to a country in Asia. I don’t want to be odd. My mom chaperoned one field trip I ever went on. It sucked, for both of us.

But the point kind of being, I always thought odd people stuck out. People know them, and know them as “that odd person.” I don’t want that. But I guess I don’t want to be normal either. Normal seems like it sucks too.

I just want to be.

I want to go through my days without being noticed. I want to blend into a crowd, but even when I’m not in one. But odd people don’t blend. They sit in corners and do homework during Java Jive.

So I thought I’d let you, the reader(s?) help me decide if I’m weird.

- I tend to dislike most people, even ones I haven’t met.

- I don’t like talking, especially out loud.

- I don’t hate ice breakers because I think they’re stupid and that you can’t really learn anything about a person from doing them. I hate them because it forces me to speak. Otherwise I’d be happy to say my name and an adjective that describes me that starts with the same letter. Awesome. Done. What? An interesting fact about me? My family’s dog is named after Fidel Castro.

- I like to write because of my hatred of talking. I like to make stuff up, and make up people and have them say whatever I want.

- Yet I study journalism. So that eliminates the making stuff up parts and adds in talking to people. That sucks.

- I don’t mind eating by myself, but I have trouble doing so in an actual restaurant. In a park or cafeteria I’m perfectly fine, but the restaurant table for one is an issue. When I want to eat in a restaurant, and have to do so alone, I get a table for two and continually check the time like I’m waiting for someone. I pace back and forth either in the front of the restaurant, or outside in front of the place. Eventually I “give up” and go back to the table and eat alone. It also gets you some sympathy with the waitress. Well no it doesn’t. that was a lie.

- I’ve never gone through any type of break up, mostly because I guess that requires some sort of break in before that. But every few weeks I designate a night to get dumped. I turn off all the lights, play sad music, cry, eat chocolate and put on mascara- not necessarily in that order, though.

- I wish I had the balls to skip everywhere.

- Sometimes when I’m in an elevator I pick up my phone and start having a conversation with nobody to anger other people in the elevator.

- I can’t imagine any circumstance where I’d consider committing suicide, but the idea of a suicide note is rather interesting to me. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Probably with: “If you’re reading this you must know I’m dead. If not, check (I’d need to decide where I’d kill myself and put that place here). Sorry for the shock, hope I didn’t stain anything. So, this is awkward, huh?” I wonder if I’d just scribble it out on paper. I have awful handwriting, and I wouldn’t want anyone’s first reaction to hearing of my suicide to be about how I write. I wonder if I’d work on it for a while, type it up and print it out, maybe sign it like an official letter. Would I put it in an envelope? Would I make it long? What if my suicide note was long enough to be a book, and someone made it into a book and everyone loved it and thought I was this amazing person? I’d be pretty pissed.

- I like to drive around alone, or put on headphones, go into my basement and listen to music. I guess you can call it “me time.” I really enjoy it. I’m hardly ever around people, yet sometimes I still feel the need to be even more alone.

- I think I might write a suicide note and fake my death to see if I can publish a best seller.

- I probably won’t, probably.

- I masturbate to pictures of myself. I have a lot of really cute pictures of me in different poses in different outfits. It’s not like one picture of me from summer camp a years ago that I really liked that I just decided to start jerking it too.

So what so you fine people of the Internet: am I odd?