Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Happiness Is...

...a case of my favorite winter seasonal brew...Lakefront Brewery's Holiday Spice.  Clocking in at a whopping 11% ABV, it's no wonder we call it Rocket Fuel.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Dark Knight Rises Actually Quite Flaccid

***spoilers, duh...***

What a bloated disappointment.  Be prepared, this is another nearly 3 hour movie in which Batman is actually on screen maybe 30 minutes.  In fact, it takes nearly an hour for Bruce Wayne to stop acting like a fucking baby and put on the cape and cowl.  I guess he is in this 7 year depression over the loss of his childhood sweetheart Rachel Dawes.  Well, the Batman I know wouldn't be hobbling around in self pity.  He's built up a nearly impenetrable wall of emotion after his parents' death and dedicated his fucking life to being the Dark Knight.  Then enters Anne Hathaway as Catwoman...

Shortly after meeting Bruce, she simply kicks out his crutch and he falls to the floor like a simpleton and she escapes with his murdered mother's pearl necklace.  OK...sure.  Anne Hathaway is terrible in this role.  My eyeballs are sore from rolling them every time she comes on the screen.  She takes the character in a such a typical cornball/sex kitten direction.  Is she a lesbian?  Is she straight?  Who knows...who cares.  There was no chemistry between her and Christian Bale.  Honestly, she wasn't even needed in this story.

Then Alfred brings up Bane to Bruce Wayne and it sounds like he is reading his wikipedia page.  Bane's voice sounds like the fucking Emperor from Star Wars.  Lets talk about the fight...  Batman gets his ass mopped across the floor when they first meet.  I would guess he lands like 3 punches and the rest is Bane fucking him up with the power of the incredible Hulk.  Yet, no Venom?  You know, the drug that Bane injects into himself to become...well, Bane.  I guess he just has the fucking strength of Crocmaster, or some shit.  And then he breaks his back...

He decides not to kill Batman and throws him in this hole with a bunch of other prisoners.  Some random homeless guy punches his vertebrae into place and days later he's doing push ups and pull ups.  If they're gonna pull some horseshit like this, than I'd rather see the Atom jump down his throat with his trusty medical bag and perform a proper surgery than this 5 minute montage.  He makes a full recovery and meets up with Bane for round two.  Now after the last ass-whooping, Batman all of a sudden grows a pair and gives it back to Bane in spades.  Funny, I didn't see Mr. Miyagi in that fucking hole.  Where did he all of a sudden become a bad-ass again?

Why not just bring back Ra's al Ghul?  His daughter Talia was introduced and subsequently banged by the Batman.  It was the perfect setup for the notion of  their secret love-child, and FOURTH* Robin, Damian from the classic Son Of The Demon story.  Which brings up the rookie cop Blake, whose legal name is revealed to be Robin.  Ugh...  Is that supposed to mean Tim Drake?  The THIRD robin who was discovered by Batman stealing the Bat-mobile's hubcaps??  Don't remember him being in the GCPD.  Besides, you can't fucking skip Dick Grayson.  That's fucking sacrilegious!   NIGHTWING RULES!!

And how about that overacting "Captain Foley" of GCPD.  Could he have tried any harder to be an over-the-top dingbat?

3rd Movie Curse...

It was pretty to look at though.

* I don't count Stephanie Brown a.k.a. Spoiler as a Robin

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Motley Cruel

Have you ever heard a song that makes you cringe in embarrassment?  I recently came across the song Brandon written and sung by Tommy Lee for his son from the 1997 Motley Crue album Generation Swine.  I'm sure he loves his son and his heart was in the right place, but man...what were they thinking putting this on the album?  I'm trying to picture Tommy coming out of the recording booth, a tear rolling down his cheek and Nikki Sixx saying " nailed it, bro".  I've played this so many times, losing my shit at the 1:38 mark.  I'm walking around the apartment yelling at my wife, "BRANDON!  I LOVE YOU!  I LOVE HER!  SHE IS YOOOOOUR MOM!!!"

Friday, December 7, 2012


It'd be nice to live someplace where your neighbors didn't urinate in the stairwell.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Typical Miami Beach Bright Idea...


Let's use a 10 gallon wet vac to get rid of a massive pool of water!  It also sounded like there was a hole in his hose.  Shouldn't take you longer than a week.  I'm sure you're getting paid by the hour.  Not pictured is the other half of the flooded parking lot, the imminent storm clouds headed our way, and the flooded surrounding curbs from the clogged sewer drains where he's dumping his buckets.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Escalator Misadventure

This one is from Buzzfeed.  It's 1 of 45 people you'd never believe existed.  But, man...this was the first one and it was too hard for the other 44 contestants to compete!  Oooh! That looks like it smarts!!  The grates to the face are downright cringe-worthy...Thank goodness for the do-gooder!!  What the Hell was she thinking?!?  Check out the replay!  She approaches like it ain't no thing, but a chicken wing!  HaHa!!

Saturday, December 1, 2012

A Shit Day

There have been a few occasions where I've shit in my pants.  Once I was riding my bike on the eastside of Milwaukee and I had a shittack.  I remember I was wearing umbros.  What a mess...  Another time I was outside working rock wall construction in the dead of winter and shit in my longjohns.  I was able to use a nearby business's restroom and had to leave my underwear in their wastepaper basket.  But, there was one instance in particular where it was just the catalyst of an entire day of shit.  Here is the holiday tale of when I shit in my pants working at the mall...

My Mom had one of those kiosks where she sold this diet/energy pill called Metabolife.  I don't think it exists anymore because it made some people's hearts explode or something.  Anyways,  she let me work there while I was finishing up my degree.  It was a cold, snowy morning and I just entered the mall to open up the kiosk.  I was out the night before drinking with friends, so it was no coincidence I was feeling a bit shitty .  As I was walking past Cinnabon, I felt a fart come on deep from the pits of Mordor.  I released the stink valve and it was one of those that was hot, like steam.  But the heat didn't end there.  It ended down my leg.  I stopped immediately in my tracks.  I thought of going to the restroom, but the damage was done.  Only a full shower and change of clothes was going to help me.  I got back in my car and drove straight to my parents place, as they were the closest place of refuge.

I ran into the house and explained to my Dad what happened.  After a brief chuckle, he (having shit-his-pants himself) understood my situation completely and as I peeled off my soiled garments and jumped in the shower, went to fetch me a pair of his pantalones.  I ended up leaving in a pair of tan corduroys about two inches too short in length.  I hurried back to the mall, irritated to see a few people hovering like vultures waiting for me to open up.

The day sludged onward.  It was like a week before Christmas, so the place was packed with idiots.  In fact, Santa was in the same area as my kiosk and the line to sit on the old fart's lap was beginning to creep right past me.  All I wanted was for the day to be over and to go home.  I was still more than a little hungover and I looked like an idiot in my bright red Metabolife shirt and these tan, cord, high-waters.  As I sat on my stool, my white socks could be seen floating far below, on top of my old-skool vans.  Sitting there, looking like some kind of donker, I see the most popular girl from my high school class approaching in the distance.  I tried to hide, by pretending to stock jars of diet pills, but it was to no avail.  I hadn't seen her since graduation almost ten years past and today is the day to catch up.  We make smalltalk, she gives me the once over and continues with her shopping, probably using our meeting as fodder for the next glory-days-gossip session.

That line for Santa was now so long it wrapped right around my entire kiosk and down the main hallway.  Two of my cousins happened to be doing some last minute shopping and stopped by to say hello.  They immediately started laughing at my pants.  I recanted the day's happenings with them.  There were so many people around me that I was actually confused when I felt something small and wet hit me in the back of the neck.  I caught a whiff of rotten eggs and heard a snicker behind me.  I'd had enough experience myself with stink-bombs in high school to know what happened.  Anger coursed through me like spinach to Popeye.  I turned in the direction I'd been hit and caught eye's with a couple teenagers trying to hide their amusement.  Without thinking I screamed at the top of my lungs "FUCKING COCK SUCKER!!!" and grabbed one by the throat..."I'M TAKING YOU TO FUCKING SECURITY YOU FUCK!!".  With my hand still on his throat, I slowly awoke from my haze of rage.  I began to realize the reality of my surroundings and saw horrified parents covering their children's ears.  My eyes followed the line all the way to Santa, who was shaking his head and looking at me with disgust.  I realized everyone was staring at me and I loosened my grip and let go of the young punk.  The kid who was in my grasp looked terrified, but his friend was laughing his ass off.  "LOOK AT YOU!  YOU LOOK LIKE YOU CAME FROM A TRAILER PARK!!".  They both took off running, lost in the crowd.  I actually snickered under my breath, because he was right.  I looked like a fucking crazy redneck.  My cousins were laughing too.  I told the assholes to watch my kiosk and stomped away, high on adrenaline...head hung low in embarrassment.

Shitting in your pants is not the end of the world.  From these experiences I've learned that it is the deal-breaker of  excuses to get out of anything.   In any situation, if you tell whoever is expecting you, "I shit in my pants", they are not going to expect to see you anytime soon.  It's a no-questions-asked topic.  One time I had one of those days I really didn't want to go in to the office, so I called up my boss and said "Hey, I was on the subway coming in to work and I shit in my pants".  He said, "Alright, see you tomorrow".  The worst after effect you'll receive is a little bit of ribbing from you're co-workers, but big deal...everyone shit's in their pants from time to time.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Saturday, November 17, 2012

At The Movies

Going out to the movies is overrated.  Let's be honest here.  The "magic" of going to the theaters to have this holy cinematic experience is gone forever.  Trust me, you're going to pay good money to be disappointed and/or unknowingly bring home bed bugs...or maybe not go home at all and be killed by some maniac.  The war for theater etiquette has been lost to the vapid, brainless cattle who are all cracking up at the "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" trailer.  Want to see something scary about our society?  Next time a godawful preview like this comes on the screen, look around at the amount of people laughing at this horseshit...and know they're breeding.  Do you really want to sit among these people for the next two plus hours?
  • hordes of glowing i-phones
  • dub-step ringtones
  • viewers who need someone to loudly translate the entire film to them
  • people who chew with their mouths open
  • parents who bring their babies to the 11pm showing of "Paranormal 4" (You are a terrible person)
  • mouth breathers
  • gum-snappers
  • meat-heads
  • late-comers
  • that annoying guy in the back with the weird laugh
  • irritating, jabbering teenagers who are not even remotely interested in whatever is on the screen
  • the diseased, coughing & sneezing without covering their mouths
This is your company as you try to decipher the latest Christopher Nolan mind-bender.  It never fails that when I go to a movie, I sit somewhere as far away from anyone else and even if there are 10 people in the entire theater, the movie will start and 15 minutes in, some asshole will sit right next to me and proceed to open a crinkling bag of chips.  Why would i want to go to the theaters to sit with a bunch of assholes chomping on boneless chicken wings and pizza (what happened to just having some popcorn and a box of goobers?) when I can buy the blu-ray and watch it in the comfort of my own home for less than the price of two tickets?  I can crack open a fine craft beer and sit on my own couch, pausing the movie at my own convenience.  Need to use the restroom?  You will never miss that pivotal scene again.  Simply, pause and we'll start right back up where we left off upon your return.  Drop the kids off at the pool too, if you like.  I don't mind, I can wait.  I have technology at my side.
The other thing is that movies nowadays have to be 2 and a half hours long.  What the fuck?  The perfect length of a movie is 90 minutes.  If I'm sitting in a movie theater holding my piss for more than 2 hours, there better be some fucking hobbits in it.

Saturday, November 10, 2012


Please don't try to sell me anything when I'm driving my vehicle.  I don't want a stolen copy of the Miami Herald.  I don't want any of the water you bottled in the shitter at the nearby 7-11.  I don't want any of your fucking mangoes or avocados.  I don't want to donate to your cause in exchange for a 3 foot long pixie stick candy straw.   Those haven't looked appetizing since I was 10 years old.  I don't want to donate to your high school football team.  Do your parents know that you are aimlessly walking in the middle of a major intersection asking for handouts?  Are you even in high school?  You look older than I do.  Hey, I have no problem donating to a worthy cause, just not while I'm behind the wheel.  And to all you blockheads who encourage this behavior by pretending your car is a place to barter for goods, well fuck you too.   Sure, we don't mind waiting while you get change for the fucking orchid you decided to buy on a whim.  Don't mind me, I've just been sitting in traffic under the blazing Florida sun for the last 15 minutes, waiting for the green arrow to complete my left turn, so I can continue on with my life...I can catch the next one.  It is a common courtesy that should be respected amongst drivers to not make transactions while operating your vehicle.  If you are buying from these solicitors you are obstructing traffic and should be ticketed, then flogged.  In fact, don't ask me for anything while I'm driving.  I will not acknowledge your existence.  I don't know you.  I don't trust you.  It's a safety issue for all involved. I need to stay focused on the road.  Driving is serious business and being a pedestrian maneuvering in South Florida traffic is like playing Russian roulette. It's a deathtrap out here.  Next time some toothless motherfucker raps on your window, don't promote their practice .  Simply roll up your window and point to your "No Solicitors" magnet you have affixed to your door.  They probably won't know what it means, but knowing is half the battle!!

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Purse Trick

Trick or Treat?!  How 'bout a trick for the kiddies?  I grew up as a member of a motley crew of juvenile hooligans who perfected the art of the prank.  The stars must've been aligned to have so many cretins concentrated in such a small community.  We were the mad scientists of mischief and we had quite the arsenal.  There was pumpkin smashing (but, never before Oct 31st), lob bombing, cobbing, dumpster dragging, mailbox baseball,  blitzkriegs, winging, slinging, penny-tapping, toilet papering (on an epic scale), street-bowling, and concocting works bombs to name a few...but one of our favorites (and actually quite innocent in the grand scheme of it all) was The Purse Trick...
  • GET A PURSE:  Don't use your mom's or sister's.  You're going to have to go to salvation army and pick one up for a couple of bucks.  It's not going to be coming home with you after this trick is over.
  • GET SOME SHIT:  Dog shit is more accessible, but depending on how personal you want to make it, you may want to use your own poo.
  • PUT THE SHIT IN THE PURSE:  That's right, go ahead and deposit this excrement into the purse you've just acquired.  If you're going to personalize it, then go into a bathroom stall and aim carefully!  It's not as easy as you think!  I vaguely remember a group collective duke, as in everyone who's in on the prank taking turns squeezing one out...seems weird now, but hey, who am I to judge?  I'm just some knucklehead who's shit in a purse.  Go ahead and get creative!
  • LEAVE PURSE IN DESIRED LOCATION & SAFELY WATCH THE MADNESS ENSUE FROM NEARBY HIDING PLACE:  I've found that the best locations are at ATM's.  It appears as if some absent-minded person left it while making their transaction.  Now, you have to pick one that has some bushes or someplace to hide within eyesight, because if you can't see the prank then what fun is that?  
The most common victim of this trick will be the quick grab.  They usually notice the purse, thrash their head left to right to see if anyone's looking, and then blindly thrust their grubby paw into the purse while still checking to make sure they're not being seen.  Their first reaction will be puzzlement, due to the unexpected texture and warmth they're feeling.  As they withdraw their hand, the stench is quickly pulled out along with it and bewilderment turns quickly to disgust and anger.  This is when you need to be careful.  You will be holding in your laughter, and if you're caught (depending on victim) you could be in for a chase and/or a beating.  That's why it's always best to be with a group.  They most likely will only be able to go after one of you.  Strength in numbers, so to speak. 

Some other memorable victims would include this kid who was with his mom at the ATM.  She personally didn't notice the purse, but she also didn't notice her boy noticing the purse.  Next thing you know, Junior was elbow deep and innocently stated to his mother, "Look Ma, melted chocolate..."

Another was a guy who saw the purse and in one fluid motion just snatched it.  He power-walked for blocks (all of us following, holding in our laughter at a safe distance), until he got to his apartment building and went inside.  We didn't get the chance to see his reaction firsthand, but we imagined him getting to his apartment and dumping the purse's contents on his kitchen table.  Plop!  Surprise!!

There is also the dreaded "do-gooder" to keep an eye out for.  One such person picked up the purse, and since it was after banking hours, decided to turn it in to the Blockbuster video next door.  Of course we silently followed her in, hiding behind shelves of VHS boxes.  The employee took the purse behind the counter, assuring her he'd hold it in case whoever lost it came in looking for it.  After gaining our composure, one of us mustered up the courage to ask for our purse back.  He described the missing purse to the tee, but the employee said "Sorry, we don't have it".  He must have been planning on taking it himself.  Finally one of us said, "Listen, that's my purse right there..." pointing behind the counter.
"Do you have any identification in it?"
"No, but that's my shit inside it..."
The female manager looked dumbfounded at the video clerk.  "It smells like shit..." he agreed.  She peeked inside, "That's EXACTLY what it is!  GET IT OUT OF HERE!!"

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Chariots Of Fire!!!

This vehicle can be seen driving around the wastelands of Miami Beach, claiming to be a "Party Bus"... I believe it to be a caravan to Hell. You can see the poor souls on fire, trying to claw their way out of the infernal inferno in this photo.  So before you slam another mojito and walk through oncoming traffic to jump on your puke wagon, remember to read the shirt you just bought while walking barefoot and acquiring Hepatitis along putrid Washington avenue…”YOU’RE IN MIAMI, BITCH!"
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Saturday, October 13, 2012

Full Friction Pharmacy

...For ALL your illegal prescription drug and hand-job needs!!!

Stay classy, Miami Beach...

Friday, October 12, 2012

Spring Break! Tits!!

14th & Alton Rd.
Miami Beach, FL

This is on a newspaper box and always makes me laugh.

Stay classy, Miami Beach...
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Friday, September 21, 2012

Break-Up Letter To The Sun

Dear Sun,

   I've given this a lot of thought and I want to break up.  To be honest, I denounce you.  I really don't want to see you again.  You can have the beach or wherever else you like to hang out.  I'll keep away.  I just don't feel like we have anything in common anymore.  In the last ten years I have really gotten to know you and I feel we've grown apart.  All you seem to care about is yourself.  You always have to be the center of attention and I'm sick of it.
   What it comes down to is that the physical attraction just isn't there.  In fact, when I feel your touch I am revolted.  I cringe and curse you under my breath...sometimes out loud.  I plan the happy moments of my day according to when you are not around.  This isn't the way to live happily ever after.
   I know it's common in these situations to say "It's not's me", but it is YOU.  It is always YOU.  YOU is everywhere.  There can be a thousand clouds in the sky, but somehow YOU always find me.  I want it to stop.  I want you out of my life.  I realize that it's impossible, being as you're at the heart of our solar system, but all I'm asking is for your presence to be as diluted as possible.  There are plenty of gracious people that you should be spending your time with.  You're not going to have a hard time finding someone else who appreciates you. 

Please don't try and contact me.  It's over...

The romance has left and now so must I...


Monday, September 17, 2012

Reckless Love

I recently discovered the Finnish glam rock band Reckless Love through an article in Classic Rock Magazine.  They are definitely along the lines of some of the more recent hair metal revivalist groups like Satanicide and Steel Panther, but from the interviews I've read they take themselves more seriously...which actually makes the whole thing more humorous.  Don't get me wrong, the music is quite infectious and if you're into the cock rock popularized in the 80's you should check them out.  They have the catchiness of Def Leppard or Bon Jovi, with as much masculinity they could muster from Motley Crue... or maybe Poison.  Their lyrics are sexually over the top, and combined with a hint of their Finnish accent, the results are charmingly amusing.  Here are three of their best offerings... a stuck-in-your-cranium anthem, a feelgood rock-n-roller & a syrupy disease-ridden sex ballad...Try not to tap your feet while crackin' a smile!!!


ONE MORE TIME from their self-titled debut RECKLESS LOVE

SEX (no video for this one- but great song) from self-titled debut RECKLESS LOVE

Monday, September 10, 2012

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

D-Place...How It All Began

I have to admit, my wife and I were pretty naive when we moved from Brooklyn, NY to Miami, FL.  More specifically, Little Haiti.  The apartment complex we moved into was advertised as a hip, modern living environment with a younger crowd of tenants.  It even had a workout center, a pool, a jacuzzi and gated security.  I guess it actually takes living in South Florida to learn that nothing is as it seems and no one is to be trusted. 
I remember our first morning living at D-Place.  Strangely, I heard roosters cockle-doodle-doo-ing in the distance. We woke up to the  news that Bush had declared war on Iraq.  I should have seen this as an omen.  I was in good spirits though, and in my NY mentality told my wife I was going to venture out into our new surroundings to find myself a nice cup of coffee.  As I began to walk out of the complex and head towards some semblance of commerce, I began to see the reality of my surroundings.  There was a run-down neighborhood across the street.  Streetlights were smashed, the yards were peppered with garbage,  and people were wandering here and there like zombies.  As I continued to walk I saw what appeared to be a bloody chicken nailed to a front door.  Later I would find out this was a religious practice for Santeria...a form of voodoo that is popular down here in the South Gates Of Hell.  I kept walking, circling our gated community.  Everything was locked up tight and my dreams of finding a cafe were quickly fading away.  As I turned the final corner to head back to our new apartment, I saw a Burger King in the distance.  I loathe mainstream fast food restaurants, but I was desperate, irritated and hot under the tropical sun.  I ordered my coffee and they handed me my cup, pointing me towards the serve yourself area.  I pulled down the tapper and filled up my coffee,  grabbed a couple packets of sugar, and walked out the door for home.   I noticed what I thought were coffee grounds floating at the top.  In further investigation I realized they were really ants.  Disgusted, I poured out my cup and went home pissed.
   My wife was putting things away and saw what she thought was a battery on the ground.  When she went to reach for it, it moved and she screamed.  It was our first palmetto bug.  I have never seen roaches as big as these, and their secret weapon?.. They fly!!  Oh!..and they're indestructible!  I grabbed a broom and hit the fucker as hard as I could.  He ran for the doorway and I followed, beating the shit out of him with the broom.  He continued down the outdoor stairs and onto the sidewalk.  I actually broke the broom in half during the beat-down, and he walked off into the grass with but a limp. 
During the next three months, we were disturbed by loud techno parties going on out our bedroom window in the middle of the courtyard.  The cops were called, but after they left the parties continued to rage on.  We had a crackhead downstairs neighbor who would knock on our door at all hours of the night asking for money.  One time there was a loud rap on our door.  It was around 11:00 pm, I tip-toed to the front door, got on my hands and knees, and peeked through the crack near the floor.  I could see his feet and 4 other menacing strangers looming around the edges of my vision.  I crept back to bed and my wife and I pretended nobody was home, hoping not to be murdered in our sleep. 
One morning I headed over to the workout center.  I crossed the courtyard, walking past the swimming area and there in the jacuzzi was a topless female, scrubbing her vagina.  There actually were quite a few sightings of prostitutes walking around the neighboring streets topless.  This one obviously had no problem getting past the gated security to douche in the hot tub.  I really never had a taste for hot tubs ever again.
We started hearing noises in the night.  Pigeons had begun to roost in the gutters outside our bedroom window.  One evening, in the dead of the night, we heard a thud followed by scurrying across the carpet in our bedroom.  It came from my wife's closet.  We both sat there frozen on top of our bed.  I had to yell at myself to muster up the courage to get to the light switch and investigate what the hell just happened.  We never found the culprit.  I believe it to be the Chupacabra.
We also started seeing mass quantities of these little leaves on our window sills.  Upon further investigation, they were actually termite wings.  We were infested, but yet to find out the severity.  One evening, we saw a few flying bugs fluttering around the living room.  I had never seen a termite before, so I thought they were moths or flying ants.  All of a sudden there were dozens and dozens coming out of the baseboards in various parts of the apartment.  They were everywhere.  I've never experienced anything like it.  It was like a snowstorm, but with bugs... A swarmstorm.
Management denied the problem and attempted to solve it by sending one of their pest control cronies.  He spoke no English and carried around a tank of poison, walking around the apartment squirting it randomly.  It may as well have been a squirt of piss on a raging inferno.  It was now normal for us to wake up to the flying, wiggling bastards in our hair, on our pillows, on our toothbrushes...  They were inescapable.  Even in sleep, I dreamed of the flying little fuckers.  I found myself consumed with hatred for them.  I was losing my mind and turning sadistic, catching them and ripping off their wings, verbally damning them to Hell as I crushed them slowly between my fingers.  One evening we were eating pizza for dinner and had to have plastic wrap covering it because otherwise the dumb insects would just kamikaze into it.  I walked around the apartment with an aerosol can and a lighter.  With my makeshift blowtorch, I scorched them in dozens with a demented smile across my face...but they kept coming.  Feeling defeated, an emotional numbness was over us like a wet blanket.  We decided we couldn't take it anymore, that we were leaving.  They tried to say we were breaking our lease, we threatened to call the local news help-me-howard character, and in the end we escaped in the night never to return to D place again.  But I'd soon learn that termites weren't the ONLY vermin in South Florida...

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Jack & Rod Anti-Drug Prank Call


This is Sal & Richard of the Howard Stern show doing one of their "Jack & Rod" prank radio show bits.  They have tons of funny material, but this is still one of my all time favorites.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Work Out Walk Out

   A short time back, I had a mild interest in getting a workout by taking a self-defense class.  It's so hot here that if you attempt to go outside and exercise you could drop dead from heat exhaustion or sun stroke, so I thought looking into some of the local indoor gyms could be worth investigating.  Many businesses down here will offer your first session free.  The first I tried was a South Beach boxing gym.  Once I signed in, I was handed a ridiculously over sized pair of boxing gloves.  Like the kind you'd imagine two bikini clad spring breakers being hosed down with bottles of Budweiser wearing.  The next 30 minutes involved an apathetic instructor who was obviously an aspiring male model play with his iphone while he yelled things like "annnd JUMPING JACKS!!-2-3-4-5-annnd PUSH UPS!!-2-3-4-5!!" while obnoxious techno music blared.  There were heavy bags hanging to the left and right of us and never once did he teach anyone how to properly throw a punch.  He would just yell "NOW PUNCH THE BAG AS FAST AS YOU CAN FOR 30 SECONDS!!".   His demands were so random and changed so quickly that at one point I dropped down to the ground to begin my 1st push up and he already was on 5 and yelling "CRUNCHES!!-2-3-4-5".  I sat there on the ground and looked at him.  He wasn't even paying attention to anyone.  I didn't see him look up for the next 3 minutes as he barked orders.  I took off my boxing gloves, took them to the counter and just walked out the door.  I'm not even sure if Clubber Wang saw me leave.
   My next experiment was a small Jiu-Jitsu class being held on the second floor, above a dirty looking bodega. There were 8 of us and the instructor in this pretty small, matted room.  He had us start off by warming up.  We did the usual push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and ran around this mat in tight circles.  I have to admit, this instructor seemed to know what he was doing and was giving us his undivided attention.  I was working up quite a sweat and thinking this could be what I was looking for.  Next he demonstrated some defense moves.  I followed along, pretending I was Storm Shadow.  Then we moved on to grappling, which turned to be my downfall.  It's my own fault I didn't really research Jiu-Jitsu ahead of time to see that it's mainly a grappling self-defense.  The instructor asked one of the most experienced students to come forward and he demonstrated taking the guy down to the mat and then squeezing together his appendages like an giant anaconda.  The veins in the students neck were throbbing and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets as he was crushed to submission.  I immediately was like Fuu-uuuck Me when he told us to pair up with a partner.  Next thing I know I'm on the ground getting hog-tied with my own limbs.  My partner is all on me, shifting around and I can't help thinking that maybe he's more into this than he should be.  I am in South Beach, after all.  As I am cursing myself for my current situation and already planning my escape as soon as this class is over, the guy flips me on my back and twists my arm painfully, putting all his weight on my chest.  The next part happened in slow motion.  I remember looking up and seeing his face inches from mine in a sweaty snarl of dominating pleasure.  One particular drop of perspiration between his eyes began to snowball down his face, picking up more sweltering secretions and finally dropping off the end of his nose.  It seemed for what felt like forever, and landed on my cheek, centimeters from the corner of my mouth.  I was pinned down, unable to move and whimpering in revulsion.  As soon as I was unshackled, I went home and took an extremely long shower, never to return.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

MCA...a belated R.I.P.

Adam Yauch
 1964 - 2012

I've got shark's teeth so I can bite your head
I've got tiger's claws that will scratch you dead
I've got wings like a dragon when I'm flying above
Shoot venom from my eyes when it's time to get rough
So step back, and check yourself
This MC's got weapons that'll ruin your health
So if you're feeling strong then reach for yours
My book is my shield and my mic is my sword

   I've been meaning on posting something about MCA after he passed away last May (Neal actually brought up posting some of their hardcore stuff on his blog at but-id-rather-be-sleeping, but so far he hasn't done shit).  The Beastie Boys were such an integral part of my life.  I remember getting "Licensed To Ill" on cassette the summer before 8th grade and blasting it through our boom box while my brother and I played strike-out in our front driveway, foul balls occasionally breaking neighbor's windows.  It was the first rap album that we loved & learned every song.  It's an understatement to say the Beasties were the soundtrack to our youth.  "Paul's Boutique" release was when we were all getting our driver's licenses and playing the cassette in our cars as we cruised the nights and wreaked havok on our small town.

We all dressed in black...we snuck up around the back...we began to attack...the eggs did crack on Haze's back

   We actually did a drive-by egging on a bouncer while cranking "Eggman".   He was sitting on a chair shmoozing with a girl outside of this venue called The Globe and as we walked by he said to her loudly "Look at these losers".  Well, we went back to our apartment, grabbed all the eggs out of the fridge and a half filled tub of expired yogurt and hopped in our friends car.  The venue was near a lit intersection, so we timed it that when the traffic light turned red we pulled up curbside to the venue.   Two of us exited the rear of the vehicle, "EggMan" spilling out into the evening.  We unloaded all the eggs on his ass with no mercy.  The girl ran away screaming, eggs exploded off his body in rapid succession.  While he stumbled there stunned, we asked him back loudly, "Who's the loser now?  Yolk's on you!!" My friend then took a step forward and lobbed the tub of rancid yogurt into his face.  Before he could even react, we were back in the car and our getaway driver took off, a perfectly timed green light in the distance.

Some static the pool hall...hit a motherfucker's face...with the cue ball...

   This one time I requested "Car Thief" at a this bar/indie dance club Mad Planet and some frat guy kept purposefully knocking into me, spilling my drink.  I looked at him and punched him in the face as fast as I could.  I remember falling to the ground during the commotion and all his frat buddies trying to kick me.  My fingers felt like they dug into the wood floor and I pulled myself up and ran out the front door and jumped in a bush to my immediate right.  They all ran out the bar and past me like a Scooby Doo cartoon!  HaHa!!  Good Times!

Brother now...I'd like to ask you like to feel the bass in your face in the crowd

   The first time I saw the Beasties was on their "Check Your Head" tour,  my freshman year of college at UW-Milwaukee.  They played at the Rave, a medium sized venue, and Basehead (bought their cd "Play With Toys" ahead of time at Atomic Records) and Firehose (first time I heard "Slack Motherfucker" and to this day still LOVE the song & prefer their version to Superchunk's original) opened up the show.  For some reason, the venue had the drinking crowd (21+) on the main floor and the 20 and younger in the balcony.  At that point in time, we outnumbered the older crowd like 10 to 1.  The balcony was PACKED.  I still remember to this day that it was so hot up there, the ceiling was dripping sweat from the heat of the crammed bodies.  Below us there were definitely a mass of people, but it was sparse.  The lights went out and we saw the shadows of some figures running to the stage.  Then in complete darkness "Slow and Low" began.  By the time the beginning chorus ended, light burst open onto the stage and Mike D started up their trademarked lyrical exchange.  The balcony went ballistic.  There were speakers everywhere.  They were placed in a gradual incline towards the second floor.  MCA climbed two sets of speakers and started pulling kids out of the balcony.  They were slowly dropping to the stage and rushing out to the main floor.  Next thing you know, kids were actually climbing over the guardrail and hanging as far as they could until dropping to the lower level.  So many people were doing it, they couldn't stop it.  It was complete anarchy and the show never stopped.   I've seen hundreds  of shows and that's one I'll never forget. 

Smoking and drinking on a Tuesday Night...

   I saw them a few other times throughout the years.  Lollapalooza was fun.  The Ill Communication Tour on a rotating stage with Tribe Called Quest opening up was another goodie.  I actually saw my future wife in the crowd at that one and went home with a black eye and bloody lip thanks to the pit that erupted during "Heart Attack Man". That album was the soundtrack to my friends and I living on our own for the first time, partying every night, drinking forties while playing NHL hockey on Sega Genesis stoned.   From seeing the video of my favorite song "Rhyme The Rhyme Well" off the album "To The 5 Boroughs" on a television in a popkin shop in Bulgaria, to hunting down their recent limited "Record Store Day" vinyl releases, to their last 2011 album "Hot Sauce Committee Part Two" making my best of the year list... I have always been excited about news from MCA, Mike D & Ad Rock...and I thought they would be one of those bands that would be around forever.  Aging into a straight up instrumental funk band like they made famous on "The In Sound From Way Out!".   I never pictured them not being Three.
   Brotherhood, youth, ignorance, innocence, friendship, boom boxes, turntables, smoke machines, strobe lights, plastic cups, house parties, intoxication praying mantis style, fist fights, enlightenment, cruising, debauchery, laughter, snowboarding, record hunting at Atomic, playing hack at Jerry Ct, make out sessions, one night stands, true love, ...these are the images and sensations I feel when I hear the Beastie Boys.  Mike D, Ad Rock and MCA.  Thank You.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Fresh Balls

I never had jock itch before I lived on the surface of the Sun, and like Nate Dogg sang it "Ain't No Fun".  The itch is omnipotent.  Crotch rot is an infectious fungus which lives and thrives in warm, moist areas...also known as South Florida.  I always thought jock itch was centralized to the area between your inner thighs and groin area, but creeps all the way up onto your balls for Pete's Sake!  All you can do for temporary relief is constantly yank at your sack!  It seemed that my good ol' go-to bottle of Gold Bond ball powder just couldn't compete with the never yielding dog day dankness of Dade County.  After a series of small victories thanks to an aerosol sprayed assault of Lotrimin AF, I was able to kill the cursed beast once and for all.  During this time, I heard an ad on Howard Stern for a product called Fresh Balls.  I listened to the testimonials and at this point was willing to try anything.  I submitted my order and got free shipping thanks to the Howard Stern promotional code.  My bottle arrived within the week and I didn't hesitate to slap it on my sweaty sack!

 JGoon's Application Procedure:
1. Shake before use (the lotion, not your dork)
2. Put a small amount in your hand and rub over your balls and inner thigh.  Think of the boundaries being your shaft and taint.  Don't be afraid to get all up in there!  At this stage, for some reason I make a funny face consisting of intense concentration and instant relief from the coolness of the application.  If my wife catches me amidst this procedure, she makes fun of this face and will mimic my expression.
4. At this point you want it to dry.  I'll usually manually fan myself with my boxers or a towel, but if at all possible I will use my wife's hair dryer and set the fan for cool.  Oh my lord, it's a mind scramble.

I've been using Fresh Balls for about a year or more and am happy to report I've had no more visits from the fungal fairy!  The product is advertised as aluminum free and not tested on animals, so just like your balls, you can give your conscience a rest.  A tube usually lasts me a couple of months.  I do admit I still have to powder the doughnuts a few times after work, but remember I do live on the extreme side of  hot & humid climate.  Fresh Balls has definitely made it more tolerable for my nether regions to exist in this clammy netherworld.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

4 Short Tendrils of Sanity Unravelling

1. Went to Einsteins in Miami Beach.  Saw a sign advertising a bagel, w/ regular cream cheese and medium coffee for $3.99.
"I'll have a bagel toasted with cream cheese and a medium iced coffee"
"OK that'll be $4.91"
"Oh....I thought the sign said $3.99"
(squints to look at sign like it's never been seen before)  "Oh that's not for iced coffee"
"...But the picture shows an iced coffee"
"Yeah, they send us a lot of those deals on posters but they don't work here"
2. Went to Einsteins again.  I've got a quick 5 minutes to grab a bagel and iced coffee.  There is a sloppy, obese woman paying for her purchase at the register who proceeds to pull out a purse of all coins and dump them on the counter.  I then watch, as the minutes slip by, that the person behind the counter and la hefe are trying to pick out the US coins apart from whatever other cocksucking currency she has in her purse.  My time is up, I turn around and walk out the door.  They are still picking out american nickels.  I'll pick at my lunch for breakfast.
3.  Walked my Pooch last night at 9pm.  We (as did at least a dozen people) walked by a homeless twenty-something who smelled absolutely vomit inducing putrid, his pants were below his ass and he had a vice grips and a coathanger in a parking meter.  He was wrenching and wrenching on it and then moved to the next and nobody seemed to care.  HAHAHA!!! I'M LOSING MY MIND!!!! 
4.  They've finally installed pedestrian crossing poles/markers/things in the middle of the road at every crossing on West Ave.  Sounds good in theory.  Biggest problem though is that people don't know what the fuck they mean so they treat every one like a 4-way stop!   Takes an extra 20 minutes to drive down West to get to our building....GOOD CHRIST LET ME LEAVE THIS FUCKING BACKWARDS WORLD I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!!HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA!!!!

Friday, July 27, 2012

My 6 Month Old's Top Ten Playlist JULY 2012

 These songs for some reason always make my daughter smile n snort...Might be because I jump around with her like a fool and play her like an air guitar...


Friday, July 13, 2012

If I Could Have A Superpower...It Would be... point at someone and slowly pull the trigger...the result...a Free Falling Skydive Of Fecal Discharge. Yes, I'm talking about making someone Shit In Their Pants with but a single thought. There could be nothing more rewarding. An enemy Slain By Brain Of Anal Drain. Intellect hellbent on Telekinetic Violent Rear End Eruptions Of Vengeance. Being able to fly...strength...invulnerability....Nothing could compare to staring a nemesis in the eyes and squeezing The Trigger Of The Trots.
Think about it...some Asshole cuts you off (no signal) and then applies the brakes. You point & pull the Shit-Monger Induction Of Destruction...Shoulders hunch, car swerves and plunges into the ocean...No Survivors.
An irate customer asks to speak to your manager. With but a Shower Of Crap Finger Snap, lips quiver. But these lips are not of the face...oh no. Not Yet. Before those quiver, his asshole is speaking sloppy Spanglish to his Square Bob Spongepants.
Think of any situation and tell me there would be anything more satisfying. Someone skips you at CVS? BLART!!! Someone is obnoxiously loud on their cellphone? HSSSPHHT!!! Teenagers continuously talking in a darkened movie theatre? ShhPLOOT!!! HsssSLOSHH!!! A dog takes a shit on your front lawn and the owner doesn't pick it up? ROOOWRRR?! (whoops hit the dog) PFFFFSHHT!!!(that's better)...
You can keep your radioactive spider or your gamma rays. I pray for the Dark Lord Of Dung to bestow The Know Of The Brown Fluid Flow! The Gift Of The Short Wick Gravy SlickThe Magical Power Of The Chocolate Lava Shower!!!

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Driving In South Florida

     South Florida drivers are the worst I’ve ever seen.  I’ve lived in New York City, where the volume of traffic is even greater, but at least the people there know how to drive.  If there is anything as small as a standard traffic stop, every single South Florida driver has to rubberneck and create a unnecessary traffic jam, because every South Florida driver is a nosy, obnoxious asshole with Styrofoam peanuts bouncing around in their cranium.  Their ignorance of the laws and just plain common sense is astounding.  Maybe it’s partially due to the fact that driver’s education is not required in Florida to operate a potential killing machine. You are only required to be home schooled by your parents, who most likely are terrible drivers themselves, before taking your exam with some other fool, (who most likely has a pharmaceutical scam going on the side).  Another part of the problem is that you rarely see the police enforcing the traffic laws.  If you tried to just park your vehicle in a lane of traffic while chatting with a friend who’s walking their dog on the sidewalk (cars backed up for blocks behind) where I'm from, you'd have a ticket in less than 10 minutes!  From these tickets you learn not to do this shit!!  People do whatever the fuck they want to here with no consequence.  I'm in favor of a police state, at this point.
     Their biggest failure is their brains not being able to understand the cause and effect of the “blinker” or turn signal.  They actually take pride in their stupidity!  “We don’t use blinkers in Florida!  Ha Ha!”  I’ve actually heard people say this.  Well guess what dumb-fuck?  YOU ARE THE PROBLEM!  When did it become uncool to use a blinker?  Why is this even a question?!  Being able to indicate to other drivers your intentions is a form of vehicle communication.  With this communication we could potentially reduce the hours and hours of life wasted sitting on the pavement in this nightmare of Florida traffic.  It really is such a simple, yet effective tool.  It's a shame your brains are second-fiddle.  
     Look!  There is a flashing sign above the highway letting us know that this coming weekend there will be work performed on exit 77!  Well, being as half of the population can’t read English, they assume it’s a warning of some kind and immediately slow down fearing the unknown and/or deportation.  Anytime you see a flashing sign, just know you're fucked.
     Oh God!  It’s raining!!  Even the lightest of showers sends shivers down the spines of the drivers in this realm of dipshits.  Even in their massive SUVs, with tire treads tough enough to off-road through the Everglades, they can’t grasp the concept that their condo on wheels is built to drive in the rain.  The common reaction to any kind of water hitting the windshield is to:

A) Reduce speed to 25mph
B) Turn on your hazards (this must be the use for this button)
C) Immediately go into the far left lane (no blinker)

     Much of your time spent behind the wheel in South Florida involves gridlock traffic, especially on the highway.  Up ahead the right lane will be closed due to construction.  A merge sign is presented.  This is interpreted by the South Floridian Neanderthals to stay in the right lane as long as you can, only to merge at the last moment.  Fuck everyone else!  Another common practice which baffles me, are the cars that literally speed by, passing everyone using the emergency lane.  Go Fuck Yourself!  I've probably witnessed this a hundred times and NOT ONCE have I seen any type of law enforcement punishment.  Speaking of lawlessness, it seems that motorcycles & mopeds here do not need to adhere to any type of rules either, as they wear sandals and no helmets and lanes don't exist to them.  The best is when you are the first car at a red light.  They will come from behind, pull alongside your vehicle and then just park right ahead of you.   Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't see you there..(light turns green)  Fuck you Blanco Diablo!  Another common one I haven't witnessed until living here, begins with the same scenario as before.  You're the first car waiting at a red light.  There is another car across from you, waiting just like yourself.  The light turns green and that car floors it and turns in front of you and everybody else.  Very Prouda Ya FuckFace!!!  But, be very careful to lay on the horn or tell someone how you feel, as they are likely armed.  I've seen someone honk at another driver and that person sped past them, blocked their passage, got out of the vehicle, punched the honker in the mouth and drove off. 
     South Florida is also one of the least pedestrian friendly cities in the entire US.  You can be waiting at a pedestrian crossing with a baby in a carriage, standing underneath a bright yellow sign and in the middle of the road is a flashing electronic billboard stating that it is STATE LAW TO YIELD TO PEDESTRIANS.  VIOLATORS WILL BE TICKETED!!  and not one person will stop...and not one person will be ticketed.  Pretty much, the rule of thumb for any pedestrian in South Florida trying to cross any type of road would be to always look around you, 360 degrees for any potential vehicle that could kill you.  Even going so far as to predicting possible threats before they actually happen.  Just remember that just because you made it to the sidewalk, you're still not safe and could die at any moment... Perhaps by a 16 year old high on bath salts going home from clubbing Tuesday night.

     Here's some additional advice:    
  • Don’t come here unless absolutely necessary. 
  •   Stay away from white vans, BMW's, vehicles with more than one registration sticker & vehicles hauling anything (roofing tar, couches, hot dogs, etc.) as they are most likely not properly hitched.
  •  Avoid taxis, as they are the worst drivers by far.  Nothing against taxi drivers (NYC’s are excellent), but they really don’t give a fuck about getting anywhere (especially with a paying passenger) and will delay your journey
  • Keep in mind that for some reason it’s perfectly legal here to make a U-turn at a traffic light and also to throw your workers or family in your truck bed and get on the highway for a road trip.   
  • The left lane is the slowest and the right lane will be the fastest.  Standard operating procedure for most Floridians is to immediately pull into the left lane and slow down.  Just remember, everything is ass-backwards here in the land of sunshine.  Whatever may seem logical, expect the opposite to happen.  If you apply this concept to everything in South Florida, you may survive your stay.  Pretend you're living on Htrae... you know, Bizarro's home planet.      
     Sometimes when I'm having an extra bad day driving home, it amuses me to pretend I have telekinetic powers and I pick up the offending vehicles, Kids In The Hall-style and throw them into the ocean.  I imagine the hell spawn of a driver contorting in agony as his body is crushed and then set ablaze in an explosion of metal, before sinking into the murky depths of the Atlantic, picked apart by the sharks, their bloody stumps laying to rest with empty beer bottles and discarded hypodermic needles on the ocean floor.  

Almost home...

Friday, July 6, 2012

My New Favorite Word...

(verb) : to smother and suffocate

My wife and I were watching My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding (or something like that) on TV and one of the cousins, now brother-in-law (yes, it's an actual inbred wedding) said his dress shirt was "SMOTHERCATING" him!!!  We couldn't stop laughing!!! God Bless America.




Saturday, June 30, 2012

Deviant Dale's IPA

For the last 5 years or so, my go-to beer of choice has been Lyons, Colorado's Dale's Pale Ale from Oskar Blues Brewery.  Weighing in at 6.5% ABV it's a hoppy bastard of an ale with a nice kick to the pants.  But, you pretty much can't go wrong with any of the Oskar Blues Brews.  I especially like how their craft beers are all canned.  There's nothing like having a delicious ice cold beer straight outta the can.  Be sure to check the bottom of these bad boys to see the canned date and funny statements like "Kills Vampires" or "Pop Top For Prize".  I'm a big fan of the hops, and Oskar's really are distinguishable by a unique combination of it's higher ABV and bitter sweet flavor .  Among my other favorites are a delicious hoppy Double Red Ale G' Knight (8.7% ABV), and an amazing Imperial IPA called Gubna (10% ABV).  My new favorite is the new 16 oz. Deviant Dale's IPA.  Sold in 4-packs and costing around $12.99, this new concoction amps up the ABV to 8% and as the writing on the can states, there's nothing as good as "Sippin' On A Tall Boy", as you get a full 4 oz more than your standard mild-mannered Dale's Pale Ale.  As with most of the Oskar Blues Hop Family, it has a slight sweetness and citrus aftertaste.  You get a firm handshake from the malt, while being bitch-slapped across the face from the omnipotent hops.  Another Oskar Blues rule-of-school standard is the higher alcohol content...always complimenting, never over-powering.  Now, as my best friend's brother/bartender Matt used to tell us as young, inexperienced drinkers, I pass on to you... "SUCK UP AND SHUT UP!"...Long Live Zur Krone!!

Thursday, June 21, 2012


Sometime since 2007's hopeful, yet underwhelming last full length "Zeitgeist" sole surviving Pumpkin Billy Corgan had some kind of emotional quake to invoke this much yin & yang of beauty and fury, which has always been the key combination to the most dearly loved of Smashing Pumpkins anthems.  Yes... this is the album Pumpkins fans have been waiting for.  Fans of "Gish" & "Siamese Dream" take notice.  Guitars wail in distortion amid tribal beats ("Quasar", "Panopticon", "The Chimera", "Inkless").  Heart strings are yanked at and torn off by the teeth ("The Celestials", "One Diamond, One Heart", and the phenomenal "Violet Rays"). Progressive electronic elements explored on previous albums like "Adore" are borrowed from, but never overwhelm, adding to the beautiful sonic atmosphere ("Pinwheels"and the amazing closer "Wildflower").  The entire album flows easily cohesive and satisfying.  A concept album of the heart.  A simple, age old concept which seems to get more and more lost within this digital age.  It's ironic how just a few years ago Corgan was so vocal about releasing only downloadable singles, shying away from the full album mentality,  to produce something that makes you remember why the album as a whole is so vital in the first place.  One of the best of 2012.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Tug Toner

A co-worker showed me this today.  I laughed so hard that I actually let out a little squeaker of a fart.  Worse yet, there were three of us in an enclosed space about 5' X 15'. 

Monday, June 11, 2012

La Goon


FL Registration Sticker Phenomenon

My grandfather used to always say they need to teach a class in common sense.  After living in Florida with so many cretins for so many years, I would make that class a 4 year program.

Among the many different avenues of idiocy here, this strictly south Florida phenomenon is such a laughable mystery to me.  People just cannot grasp the concept of replacing your existing vehicle registration sticker with the new one mailed to you.  Let's say this month you get your new registration sticker for June.  It is perfectly fine to replace your JUN 12 sticker with JUN 13 today!  You need not wait until the end of the month!  That sticker is now saying that your vehicle is registered until the end of June 2013!!!  Holy Shit! What a mind scramble!!  These SoFla nimrods seem to think that you need to keep putting on the stickers all over your plate. (See above photo...I actually just noticed that the plate holder is on upside-down as well! HAHA!!)  I've literally seen plates where the stickers are covering parts of the alphanumeric.  It's actually become a driving game of sorts for my wife and I, shouting out the oldest sticker year seen...pointing at the lummox behind the wheel!  I've noticed I will actually judge a driver ahead of me if I see them to be a perpetrator of this practice.  I will immediately steer clear or move ahead of this person based on their displayed intelligence.  In Florida, I live by the general rule that it doesn't pay to be a do-gooder.  For example, when operating a vehicle and somebody is trying to get into my lane, very rarely would I let them in.  If your license plate is chock full of registration stickers dating back to 2002, there is no way in Hell you are getting in front of me.  Your stupidity will definitely cause a delay in my journey.  Farewell to you.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Friday, June 8, 2012


It is common to see some of our local "bluebirds" making sure our lawn out front is perfect. They plant new grass or put sod in areas where the dogs dig up or where the occasional moron decides to park illegally. They are always tweaking the sprinkler system, fine tuning it to go off at the perfect time and to cover the perfect amount of area. Well, the new elevator was delivered yesterday in a steel cargo hold, like one of the cars from the train that crashed in Super-8. It probably weighs over a ton and they dropped it off right on the front lawn. The indentation goes down 3 feet. The vehicle that dropped off said cargo had a good old time literally destroying every square inch of the front lawn. Sprinkler system lines are trashed and sticking out like broken bones. They're probably looking at $10,000 of damage. Ah well, just add it to the owner's monthly maintenence bill. It must be awesome to pay for every-idiot-you-live-with’s mistakes. 
Man, that thing is as big as a billboard.  I can't help but think how crushing it would be to these people to have something really stupid like "F-A-R-T" spraypainted across the streetside of the monstrosity.  We'd be known as the puke green building with the giant FART box on the front lawn...maybe I can contract a hit with the local hooligans...
Get off my shoulder, you devil you.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012


The Ramones are one of my all-time favorite bands.  Joey is one of my all-time favorite lead singers.  The majority of my most cherished Ramones songs are the “Joey” ones like “Oh Oh I Love Her So”, “I Remember You”, “Slug”, “Danny Says”, “Don’t Go”, “7-11”, etc.   So, when I heard about his brother Mickey Leigh putting together his final recordings for “…Ya Know?”, I was naturally pretty psyched.  This is his 2nd posthumous album, following the fantastic “Don’t Worry About Me” which was released in 2002, a year after he died of lymphoma.  From what I’ve heard, much of the accompanying music was created after Joey was already gone.  Mickey was able to amass a pretty formidable crew of musicians to finish off these tracks including himself, Andy Shernoff & Handsome Dick Manitoba (The Dictators), Holly Beth Vincent (Holly & The Italians), Steven Van Zandt (E-Street Band), Ed Stasium, Richie Ramone and Joan Jett to name a few.  I liked that he kept the group within the family circle.  This sense of brotherhood is nowhere more apparent than on the song “New York City”, an open love letter sing-a-long with the whole gang.  The album could have been a disaster if anybody like the Black Eyed Peas or Good Charlotte were allowed in to the fold.

The album starts off with “Rock N Roll Is The Answer” which is a Friday-night-feel-good-finger-snapper coasting on an AC/DC-like strut.  The guitar solo feels a little strange to me in regards to anything Ramones related, but it works in this instance.  The next track “Going Nowhere Fast” could possibly be my favorite on the album.  It has the most straight up Ramones feel to it.  It could have fit quite comfortably on the “Road To Ruin” album from ‘78.  The drawn out “Giiiiiiirl” and “Baaaaaaby” before the chorus is so pure aching-heart Joey goodness.  Another favorite is the steam driven “Waiting For That Railroad”, a laid back catchy tune, heavy on the ‘whoa-oh’s (try not to sing along).  Two short and sweet ditties “Make Me Tremble” and the simplistic “Cabin Fever” rely on just a couple of verses and focus entirely on the vocal melody. It didn’t take long to get in my sub-consciousness walking around like a drooling idiot babbling “LaLaLaLaLaLa…” and “BabyBabyBabyBabyBabyBaby…” over and over.   Joey’s love of that Phil Spector sound of the early 60’s is apparent on tracks like “I Couldn’t Sleep” and “Party Line”.  The former, a hand jive vibe recalling Joey’s track “No Go” off the Ramones “Too Tough To Die” & the latter, a sugary sweet duet with Holly Vincent (I wish they would have included their fantastic cover of Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe”).  “What Did I Do To Deserve You” has a chorus that sounds like an alternative take from the one found on “Beat On The Brat”.   The remainder, “Seven Days Of Gloom”, “Eyes Of Green” and the Joan Jett collaboration “21st Century Girl” sound lush and infectious.

The sequencing is perfect with the acoustic version of “Life’s A Gas” to finish off these final recordings with a soft, somber smile.  I swear nobody sings a “baby” or “girl”, or for that matter… “ooh”, “aaah”, “whoa”, “aw” or “la-la” like Joey Ramone.  I’m not sure I’d compare this to his other solo album “Don’t Worry About Me” as much as it’s a companion to it.  It’s like the second disc in the deluxe edition of the Joey Ramone solo recordings, and a perfect bookend to an amazing, weird, towering, hopeless-romantic, punk rock crooner’s career. 

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Saturday, May 19, 2012

For Christ's Sake Will You Cover Yourself!*

*Originally posted at the Eulogy site August 2008