attack with decay

we must prepare for the coming of gozer

2010-04-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

Before I could tell time, I remember begging my dad to wake me up from my nap in time to watch the Ghostbusters cartoon, which was my favorite show. Dad also had a double-VCR combo hooked up to the TV, and recorded both G-Buster movies onto a single tape, blatantly ignoring the FBI warnings because he loved his son so much, and would risk jail and up to a $120,000 fine to make him happy. I watched that tape ALL THE TIME, and I really thought the Ghostbusters were superheros.

This is a long way of saying that I loved (and love) Ghostbusters. And after watching the Transformers, GI Joe, and even Alvin and the Chipmunks bastardized with new millennium remakes, I realized that somebody will eventually redo and ruin Ghostbusters. The worst part? I immediately checked Google, and yes, there is a Ghostbusters 3 in production. This makes me sad-panda sad.

dls

'tis the season

2009-12-14T16:29:00.000-08:00

My friends and I have been discussing: shouldn't there be a Great Mall of China? There is that so-called Great Mall in Minneapolis, but I feel like there should be a mall that can claim that it's "so big, it can be seen from space." Wouldn't that be the ultimate tagline for a consumer playground?

dls

the jay-hover tour

2009-11-18T12:03:00.000-08:00

Against all odds, my pet ghost Marley has become a bit of a sensation in the underground hip-hop community as a pioneer of the emerging ghost-core scene. He has secured himself a series of gigs in Russia of all places, so he can now bill himself as the "internationally known" MC Thru Me, instead of the "people on YouTube are from all over" MC Thru Me.

We leave in a few weeks, and I am stocking up on fur-lined jackets and Yakov Smirnoff jokes.

dls

San Jose Taiko Rhythm Spirit 2009 Concert

2009-08-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

Concerts are fun -- here's one:

San Jose Taiko is presenting their annual RHYTHM SPIRIT Concerts on September 11 & 12. If you live in the Bay Area this is your ONLY chance to see their theatre production which is amazing. Check out theYouTube video on this page and then tell some friends/family about the show (after you buy your own tickets of course). http://www.taiko.org

When:
Friday, September 11 - 8:00PM
Saturday, September 12 - 2:00PM
Saturday, September 12 - 8:00PM

Where:
Campbell Heritage Theatre
1 West Campbell Ave.
Campbell, CA

Tickets: (all tickets are reserved seating)
$20 Students/Seniors
$25 Adults
Call the CHT Box office for tickets: 408-866-2700.
For more information check out their website: www.sjtaiko.org/rhythmspirit/

dls

gum is cheaper anyway

2009-08-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen a baby riding a dog in an elevator? Most people would have to say no. In fact, if I were one day younger, I would have to say no. But today happened.

I had signed up for a dentist visit with this schmancy DDS who works in a building just tall enough to call a high rise. In the lobby, I hit the elevator button, and watched the two side-by-side elevators mosey to the lobby.

The one on the left was maybe a floor or two from ground when I could hear a lot of commotion coming from the car -- shouting and banging -- sounds you don't usually want to hear from an elevator you are about to enter. By the time it hit the lobby level and dinged, you could hear what sounded like a fight inside the car. The doors slid open to reveal a baby dressed in but-a-diaper, riding a mangy-looking dingo-style dog that was bucking like a rodeo bronco. The baby was gripping the dog's fur with one hand, and the other was waving in the air, and the dog was howling, and both of them were crashing and banging into the sides of the elevator, which were totally polished mirrors from head-to-toe, which gave the impression of a giant elevator-room full of cowboy babies. Obviously, I let the door close again, and the sounds of banging slowly floated back up into the upper floors of the building.

So, I canceled my appointment, because hey, I may not be a Miss Cleo level psychic, but a baby riding an angry dog is probably a bad omen, and I'd rather just have dirty teeth.

dls

these snozzberries don't taste like snozzberries

2009-08-11T14:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know what things are like in the rest of the country, but here in Calley-fore-nigh-yay, I've noticed a ridiculous number of frozen yogurt shops opening up. I vaguely remember this being a fad in the mid-nineties before we all remembered that frozen yogurt cannot possibly beat real ice cream, and somebody invented Cold Stone instead.

And yet, I found myself waiting in line for frozen yogurt on Friday. I just don't understand how PinkBerry does it -- they are pushing Cold Stones out of business faster than a dramatic chipmunk can get dramatic, but their main product looks like pastel-colored poo.

If I am going to have to eat retro products that don't taste very good, can I at least have Crystal Pepsi back?

dls

basically, i want a briefcase car that flies

2009-06-24T14:21:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those days where you just feel like nothing seems real? I woke up today, but it feels like I just *dreamed* about waking up, and this is me having a boring dream about a slightly bizarro version of my life. I keep looking down to make sure I'm not naked in public, and looking up to make sure the audience is not naked, and at my hands to make sure I'm not holding a speech I'm supposed to give. Also, there should be no audience, since I work in an office.

It will be good to just get home and forget this weird day. I have been working on an awesome trick with Oedipus, my Great-Dane-Chihuahua mix -- when I shout "Wilma!", he says "Rye Ruv Roo Rorge!" I'm hoping to get a Hanna-Barbera sponsorship out of this one, but I'd settle for a robot maid. Or a regular maid.

dls

room for cream?

2009-05-01T17:10:00.000-07:00

The barista at this coffee shop today was a huge douche bag. It was like I stepped up in line and told him, "Hey, I heard somebody just overtook you in the race to be the biggest douche in the universe," and he just got a glint in his eye that said, "No way, that award is MINE." Dude, you are a barista, which if I learned anything in high school Spanish, is a word that means "lame, non-alcoholic bartender."

I wanted coffee, not an Americano. Yes, I know what an Americano is. Yes, I understand that means I have to wait longer because you now have to brew coffee. No, I do not believe you are out of coffee beans, because you SELL THEM BY THE POUND IN YOUR STORE, AND I CAN SEE THEM BEHIND YOU.

But you are right, it is unreasonable for a person to ask for coffee in a coffee shop. It IS OK to refuse to serve them unless they order a watered-down espresso because you are too lazy to grind some damn beans. And it is certainly OK to call me an ignorant dumbass when making your point.

Only an idiot would want to trade their money for your coffee.

dls

paul giamatti gets off the hook

2009-02-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

Wow, I just sat through an hour and a half of Edward Norton fumbling through The Illusionist. Apparently, a ~~German~~ Austrian accent sounds like an American ruining an English accent. I expected this from Jessica Biel, but not the legendary Tyler Durden. I am Jack's Underpaid Speech Coach.

dls

the nanny has a band?

2008-09-26T17:02:00.000-07:00

OK, who tricked me into thinking a John Darnielle album would be good? The lead singer of The Mountain Goats has a voice like an actual mountain goat. I wouldn't be surprised to meet him and realize he has the legs of a satyr, including the backwards-bent knees and cloven shoes to contain his cloven hooves.

He sounds like Eminem taught him to sing. He could be Billy Corgan's brutha-from-anotha-mutha. If I ever met him, I'd expect him to hike his pants to chest and say "Hey big guy! Got any cheese?" There are some unconventional rock voices out there for sure, but JD's voice is cheddar-cheese, wrought-iron, flash-flood storm grating.

dls

ghost rider and the whip?

2008-08-15T16:13:00.000-07:00

What do you call an undead MC and his canine DJ? No seriously, that isn't a joke, Marley still hasn't picked out his hip-hop handle. My suggestion was Mr. Phantasmic and Skooby Doo-Jay, but it was shot down like Biggie.

I also like MC Thru Me and Itch-n-Scratch, but apparently I just don't know the first thing about this "hipped hop" the kids are doing nowadays.

dls

i'm afraid of turning 40

2008-08-01T14:43:00.000-07:00

Men just flip out when they hit that magic age.

dls

all he needs is a feud with a notorious large father

2008-07-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

I have to admit, it was difficult to take the ambitions of a pet ghost seriously, but it is one month into his latest obsession, and Marley is still rockin' the beat. He envisions himself as the "white Tupac" -- rhyming from beyond the grave. I've trained Oedipus Rex to sit behind a little phonograph I found at a garage sale, with a pair of headphones balanced on his head. The two of them look like a Disney Channel version of what a DJ and rapper should be, but Marley gets crabby when I point out he's not even allowed to PLAY in the streets, let alone be FROM them.

Here's his latest gem:

Chicks moan when I'm on the mic,
moaning like
the most floaten-ist dopen-ist ghost in this
biz. I is unstoppable like a zombie fight
undead like Myers Mike,
and unafraid to get paid.

Don't tell me his rhymes aren't substantive -- he is a ghost. His essence is without substance. Plus, it took me 3 hours to write down using the Ouija board. I hate being his hype-man.

dls

marley marl and his platinum chains

2008-06-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

Marley-the-ghost is finally over his month-long obsession with Halloween-foods, but now he's really into hip-hop. He freestyles constantly, which sucks, because since he can't talk, I have to get the Ouija board out and "spit his writtens" for him. It is cute to see him floating over a pair of Chuck Taylors like he is wearing them, but if I have to spell out "wikka-wikka" one more time, I'm going to pop a cap in his ass.

dls

harold and kumar ate at the wrong restaurant

2008-05-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

Midwesterners have a funny little complex when it comes to food. They are OK knowing they have bad weather and Budweiser, but mention a fast food joint from one of the coasts, and they have to bring up their supposedly superior version. Well, I finally ate at the legendary Waffle Castle. Now, I'm not going to go trading in my gift certificates to In-N-Out (funny side note -- my gift certificates are all shaped like $20 bills, and I can get them from the ATM), but Waffle Castle is a pretty mighty experience.

If you go there for lunch, I suggest getting a triple order of Slyders smothered, covered, topped, and chicken-ringed. However, my favorite was actually the breakfast sandwich (I can't remember what it was called -- it was something slightly lame like Breakfastest Burger or Sunrise Slyder). It reminded me a lot of my Donut McMuffin, but with two pecan waffle-buns providing built-in finger grips. That is a sandwich whose one-handed eating convenience rivals the Taco Bell Good-To-Go.

If you want to try Waffle Castle for yourself, it is located in downtown St. Louis near the Arch, and across the street from the Bennihanagans Japanese-Irish-fusion restaurant. You can't miss it.

dls

hallmark is probably responsible for halloween too

2008-05-09T17:53:00.000-07:00

Marley, my pet ghost in the linen closet, has gotten really picky about his food lately. To be honest, I'm not sure if he needs to eat, but my parents taught me the basic needs of pets, and one of them is food in a bowl shaped so they can't knock it over and violate the 5-second rule. Until they come out with the "Ghostbusters Guide to Feeding a Ghost that Looks like it Starred in Pac-Man," I'll stick to what I know.

He has no hands or mouth that I can see, but the bowl of Alpo disappears all the same. This is all pure speculation on my part, because I don't have a degree in biology, but my guess is it is on his underside, like a jellyfish or octopus. He lowers himself like a magician's handkerchief over an outstretched hand, and when he rises up, *poof*, the food has vanished.

Anyway, it used to be Alpo, because Oedipus the dog eats that too. Now though, he'll only eat Halloween-themed things. For example, he won't eat a porterhouse steak, but he'll eat a bowl of candy corn. He won't eat an orange, but he will if I draw a carved-pumpkin face on it with a Sharpie. Right now I'm just sprinkling his dog food with Boo Berries.

It is annoying, but I just tell myself it could be worse -- I could be living with an undead vegan.

dls

damien rice - o

2008-04-28T14:56:00.000-07:00

Nothing good was ever named O. Depending on context, O could be a crappy infused rum, a crappy Shakespeare adaptation where Julia Stiles sleeps with a black guy, or the crappiest of the Cirque du Soleil Vegas shows.

I guess this album bucks the trend, but Damien has a lot of things working against him. For one, he is flirting with Jack Johnson territory -- a singer/songwriter that likes to write about love. Or in other words, dudes will hate him, but will put this album on for a significant other during lovin' time. Oh and he's European. And not smarmy European, but pale, Irish European -- so you know his concerts have a gender ratio opposite MIT's.

Unfortunately, he has an unhealthy obsession with strings. I hate Phil Specter and the damn wall-o-sound. If you play guitar and sing by yourself, it sounds stupid to suddenly have an orchestra playing the same note as you in the background. I will never understand why artists let producers do this to their work. If I wanted to listen to unoriginal orchestral strings, I would pop in a Lord of the Rings movie.

However, despite my prejudices toward this guy, his album ain't so bad. His songs follow a pretty simple formula -- start really quiet, get louder, and throw in some strings at the climax. I like his voice, although I wish he would really cut loose more often. He could stand to have some more accessible melodies, but really the deal-breaker is just those damn strings. I think I can listen to about half an album at a time before he drives me away with the Philharmonic wanna-be stuff.

dls

xiu xiu - forêt

2008-04-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

I had such hopes for this local act. The previews for this album made me think this could be the next coming of Talk Talk, but on caffeine. I didn't count on Xiu Xiu sucking so bad. Maybe it was the 7th-grader lyrics, maybe the electronic-for-electronica's-sake music, or maybe I just wanted the lead singer to sing in a real key and not an "I'm emotionally fragile" whisper.

I buy and listen to a lot of music, so I'm used to being disappointed by something that didn't live up to expectations, but this is a step beyond -- if normal disappointment is meeting Rachel Ray, then listening to Xiu Xiu is like meeting Rachael Ray's less-talented twin sister. I can only hope this took 30 minutes to make.

dls

one giant leap

2008-02-08T17:20:00.000-08:00

Man, 2008 is moving fast. Life used to be about rolodexes, Encyclopedia salesmen, and giant fold-out maps for the person riding shotgun. Next thing I know, I've settled an argument about koalas with a friend using my magic brick I keep in my pocket while a magic box tells me where to drive my car. This is IN MY LIFETIME. Time is like a being professional speed-walker -- you think you're just walking along, and then BAM! Gold medal.

Anyway, happy catch-up-with-the-sun month. Adding an extra day here and there is the only reliable way to slow down life.

dls

doppelgänger

2007-12-14T14:14:00.000-08:00

Seriously, Jeff Van Gundy is a living ringer for Ted Buckland from Scrubs.

dls

ygolohcysp

2007-11-26T15:34:00.000-08:00

How's that novel coming? You've got four more days in the National Novel Writing Month to get it going. I'm not saying you're going to fail, but I am EXPECTING you to fail.

dls

punching the nail in the head

2007-11-05T16:41:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but hammers remind me of mullets. You know, the kind with a claw in the back for pulling rusty nails from pieces of wood.

Also, check it out -- it is National Novel Writing Month, which is similar to Black History Month, except it happens in November instead of February, and there is a different theme. I'm too unmotivated, uncreative, and unvocabularious to put together a novel, so I decided that in the spirit of the many people who will start, but fail, to write a novel in the next 30 days, I will start sporadically writing in this journal again instead.

It's nothing to get excited about, but it's not a bad deal -- like finding a store that sells really inexpensive dental floss.

dls

steven wright, so right

2007-05-31T17:24:00.000-07:00

"I can levitate birds. No one cares."

dls

hobophobia

2007-05-10T16:44:00.000-07:00

I saw the homeless lumberjack again, this time from across the street. OK, to be honest, I saw him coming, and I jaywalked so we wouldn't cross paths. I swear, it wasn't that I am anti-change. It was because the guy was holding an axe. Not a make-believe cardboard-covered-in-tin-foil LARP-style "battle" axe either -- we are talking about the tool of woodsmen.

Last time I saw him, I thought his checkered flannel shirt and Fargo hat were all he had to wear. Now I have to consider the possibility of a lumberbum. I'm not sure which is scarier -- a bum with an axe and some thoughts on sodomy that he'd like to share, or a lumberjack who is lost in a concrete city with no trees.

Either way, you don't ever want to show fear to any living thing with sharp edges (lions, tigers, bears, oh my!), so I had to pretend that I just really needed to cross the street for the, um, hemorrhoids clinic. A little known fact: nobody sits in a hemorrhoid clinic waiting room. I had to stand too, lest I blow my cover with sitting that was too comfortable.

dls

the inventor and the beneficiary?

2007-04-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Today I was accosted by a homeless man in a red-checkered lumberjack shirt and one of those fur-lined hats with ear-flaps. He grabbed me by the arm as I waited at a crosswalk and gave me some advice. He said, "Remember, when it comes to anal sex, the man is the chicken AND the egg."

Let's be honest: he's either an X-rated Confucius or Eminem with a PhD in philosophy. But he brings up a good chicken-egg question: "Which came first? The ear-flap hat or the crazy person who wears it?"

dls

you want this? well, you can't have it!

2007-03-19T22:40:00.000-07:00

I took a new shortcut to the super-secret West Coast Dunkin' Donuts yesterday. Oedipus always drives with me these days -- now that I taught him to read a little bit, he likes to practice on street signs and building marquees. It's funny how excited he gets -- eyes squinting in the wind, mouth hanging slack, and tail always waving. Some say he's just a dog, he'd stick his head out the window anyway, and I need a better way to test his literacy, but to those straw men I say screw off.

Anyway, because Oedipus is into it, I've noticed signs a lot more. On the way to the 'Nuts, I was really excited, because I passed a huge building with glass walls and loads of people on exercise machinery inside, and the sign said, "La Vitesse." It sounded so vibrant and alive, and yet French at the same time. I had no idea what it meant, but I liked the idea of a group of people buying into a workout program that had the pretension of an art-house film, and it made me ashamed that I was going to a place called "Dunkin' Donuts." So literal -- the sort of donut shop that Hemingway would have opened if he were a Cambodian immigrant. I felt very American in that moment, and not in the simple-people-simple-life way, but more of the XXL-Hawaiian-shirt way.

The joke's on them though -- it turns out that the place was actually named LA Fitness. I just misread the sign. I still feel guilty for being an American, but that has more to do with the half-dozen donuts I wolfed down outside the gym's glass windows to tease the sweaty women in leotards.

dls

dog daze

2007-02-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

Oedipus, my chihuahua-great-dane attack dog, is full into teen-emo-angst right now. We're in constant danger, but every time I point out a masked man with a gun, or a wild-haired Chinese kung-fu master swinging a pair of nun chucks, he just huffs melodramatically, like he doesn't even have the energy to lift his lips out of the way of his breath, let alone save our lives -- existence is MEANINGLESS. Pointless as a naked porcupine. Let's make love, Connor Oberst.

It worries me a lot -- maybe I pushed too hard with the attack training, and now he's like some broken down Ugandan child soldier crossed with an Asian kid who's mom makes him play piano. You know, just way too much pressure way too early. Although, on the plus side, he's not going to go "goth" on me -- I put the Cure's first album and some Hot Topic boots out on the floor as a test, and he tore the Cure up and ignored the CD and shoes.

This is a pretty recent development -- maybe the last month or so. I hope he picks up, because I am pretty damn tired of Bright Eyes.

dls

behold, i stand at the door and mock

2007-02-02T11:37:00.000-08:00

If Jesus came to visit, would it be wrong to serve him bread and wine? I don't have anything else. I kinda need a quick answer -- he already rang the bell twice, and now he's pounding the door and pretending to be from some collection agency so that I'll let him in.

My refrigerator is completely empty, and I don't want to be a bad host... Oh screw it -- I just hope he doesn't believe in transubstantiation.

dls

hot dogs heal all wounds

2007-01-24T17:23:00.000-08:00

You know, it is a little embarrassing to admit this, but I was lost all Saturday in IKEA. I don't mean the usual IKEA-lost where you go because you need a cheap coffee table (LACK), but the damn store layout takes you by the pointless children's section and potted plant section and kitchenware section and you wonder if you are going crazy because stores usually have aisles and you think, "Wait, have I been by the candle section before? Have I made a big circle?" but then you come out into the Home Depot section where you can actually buy stuff and you realize you are almost out and not lost anymore. Not that kind of lost.

Jesus-on-a-donkey, I mean that I was actually lost. They make those IKEAs too damn big. I was there for 10 hours, and I never even found my coffee table. Every time I asked somebody dressed in blue and yellow for help, they just laughed and handed me a golf pencil. It was like a Swedish version of Cube. However, did you know that Ikea has 50 cent hot dogs? They may have been shot a few times before they are served, but when you eat one, it is like there is an after-party in your mouth, and shorties sip Bacardi, or however the song goes.

dls

bashing the jews, of course

2006-12-28T01:12:00.000-08:00

Quick, I need a review of Mel Gibson's Apocalypto in five words or less. Oh wait: "Worst Blue Man Group... Ever."

Here is a good sign that you might need to look up "plausible" in the dictionary before handing in that final draft of your screenplay -- your main character needs a solar eclipse, random jaguar attack, and the perfectly timed arrival of the Spanish to the New World to make it to the end of the movie.

Mr. Gibson, stick to what you are good at.

dls

unlike women, babies don't call them "fat pants"

2006-12-14T00:38:00.000-08:00

I really think there needs to be a designer clothing line for infants -- it would be called Gucci Goo, and you'd basically just need to sell to Britney Spears and Katie Holmes to be profitable. Plus, babies would outgrow their threads so fast, you could probably sell them the next size up before they left the store.

I wish I was president of fashion. And that babies had money and understood puns.

dls

home is where the heartless

2006-11-22T22:51:00.000-08:00

Happy Fuck Turkey's Day everyone. This is a solemn occasion when we give thanks to the Indians for showing us the easiest bird to catch since the pinata. We return to our parent's houses, so they can cook and clean for us like old times, and we sit around and laugh about the sanctioned genocide, cursing the turkeys for doping us up on trip-toe-fan, like it was their fault we roasted them in an oven with an onion in their ass.

dls

he doesn't know the name for a vcr

2006-10-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

Does anybody have an old 80's-era TiVo? I don't think I can afford one of these fancy new models with the auto-commercial-skipping, and the other digital-what-have-you's™.

dls

bruce leevi's?

2006-09-28T17:39:00.001-07:00

OK, so when I was a kid, it was definitely not cool to wear Converse. I was like the only kid in my school who didn't have inflatable pump shoes, or lightable shoes that ninjas... eschewed. I had Chuck Taylors. That my mom bought me. From an outlet store.

So believe me, I'm a bit worried that kids are growing up thinking that CT's are so, like, HIP now. Pretty soon, they'll be adults with kids of their own, and remembering how they owed their childhood popularity to Converse, they'll force them on their poor offspring, but the ever-turning wheel-of-cool will have spun around again, and their children will be laughingstocks because everybody else at school has Laser Jordans.

Anyway, I'm thinking that there is clearly only one way to save children from unpopularity, and that is to replace Chuck Taylors with an even dorkier Chuck, so parents are never fooled. That is right folks, the Chuck Norris needs to be made. No kid would wear shoes shaped like fists that had little minature beards on them. No parent would BUY a shoe that encouraged children to use karate to solve their problems. The round-house kick is dangerous in the wrong hands, and the last thing you need is your child in a coffin because he did "back-cuts" in the line for the water fountain, and some angry bully side-swiped his head like a grandma driving in a parking lot.

dls

if you order three-way chili, make sure you have protection

2006-09-12T11:22:00.000-07:00

Boy am I glad to be back. The mob was out to get me, because Marley borrowed all that money from them, but while trying to rustle up some cash to pay them off, I invented a new form of bling, so the government got involved. I spent a week in witness protection, and they relocated me to Cincinnati, where I was given the false identity "Hugh Jwang." Those FBI agents were pretty crappy -- I don't even look Chinese. Plus one of them couldn't stop laughing when we were training me to respond naturally to my new name. What a prick.

I held a temp position at the Jim Beam factory near Dayton, and I even got a bonus for showing up drunk -- this worked out way better than my job as a receptionist for MADD. And Cincinnati was such a friendly city, like how the rowdy group of black teens cheerfully called out, "Hello Mexicans!" to me and my Indian coworker.

But let me tell you, the by-far-best was the regional cuisine. I especially enjoyed the three-way chili (that's chili with two women -- I'm surprised this hasn't caught on elsewhere), although I also had my share of pulled pork and hotdogs. My first night, I was so full, you could have offered me the nectar of the gods and I would have patted my tummy and politely turned it down.

In the end, it turns out that my debt was forgiven when a gratefully blinged-out ninja volunteered to work for the mafia to pay off the money I owed. I was sensitive to the special needs of the stealthy, and the mob happens to be sensitive to the sharp edge of a katana, so I believe that is a win-win.

dls

i'm torn between black ice and pitch bling

2006-08-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'm the Thomas Edison of bad ideas, but this time, I have a money-making scheme that can prove fools. You know how there are reverse-trends when something gets too popular, like when disco got replaced by heavy 80's metal, or European men started wearing capri pants because Americans were so tall? Well dude, what would you pay to get in on the first anti-bling? It emits bling-cancellation frequencies, like a pair of expensive headphones. When you wear my bling, you shine LESS. It is like wearing a black hole so powerful, it bends the rules of cool.

That's right, I have invented ninja-bling. Ninjas can't go sacrificing all that stealth they worked so hard for. Like, say Ryu, the feared Dragon-assassin of Osaka, wanted to kill a guy and look awesome at the same time, but got his bling all tied up in his shuriken, and then his target noticed his ice winking from his hiding-place in the shadows. That would be a pretty bad spot for a senior-ranking ninja. I HAVE JUST SOLVED THAT PROBLEM.

If you want a position in my company, please send me a resume. Be advised -- you must have at least 5 years of bling experience or a doctorate in Dre.

dls

dick tracy is no longer a cool pop culture reference

2006-08-23T17:05:00.000-07:00

OK, so to recap: I owe the mob big because my pet ghost borrowed money from a well-known loanshark to buy himself a platinum chain to raise his spirits (no pun intended) after he thought I rejected him by accidentally washing him down the drain. This took some time to get out from Marley using the ouija board. It's like having a conversation with a kid who stutters -- you spend half the time mentally completing his sentence while he struggles to say "nobody cares about me."

So, what can I do besides go about my day just like normal, only with slightly more kevlar? I convinced Marley to give me back the bling so I could return it, so now I just have to come up with the interest on the down payment. What I really hate about these loansharks is that their payment schedule sucks -- they want it all at once, or they break your knees. If I can buy a BowFlex for a only Jackson-a-month and no money down, I should be given more than a couple of weeks to pay off Flattop Jones.

dls

100 posts -- sweet!

2006-08-17T18:41:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning out the refrigerator today, and I was wondering -- isn't "Carys" an inappropriate name for a sugar-free syrup?

dls

99 problems but a bitch ain't one

2006-08-08T15:47:00.000-07:00

Let me give you some advice: don't ever put a ghost in a washing machine. They tend to go missing-sock on you for a week or two, and then they come back, only for some reason they owe money to the Mob. That's right, I just received a visit from a man with an aluminum bat who really hates kneecaps. No worries -- mine are still there, but they've suffered some emotional trauma.

It looks like Oedipus is going to have to put his guard dog skills to use -- this is a big step up from all the ham hocks carved into busts of John Wayne Gacy that we've been practicing on.

dls

died in the woolite

2006-08-07T16:32:00.000-07:00

Marley is back! Ten days after I accidentally washed him down the drain when I stuck him in the washing machine, he showed up at the front door dressed in a soggy paper bag, cold and shaking like a baby held by an invisible British au pair. I ran and got him a nice fuzzy towel to drape over himself, and brought him inside. Oedipus puppy-pranced over, tail wagging, and got right to sniffing the air where, if he had a body, Marley's butt would be. It reminded me of a beautiful end-of-Homeward-Bound-type moment, right down to Michael J. Fox inexplicably showing up and shouting "Turkey!" while running through my house.

I called the cops. That shit was not cool.

dls

if i were a ghost, i'd be kind of a prude

2006-07-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

I put my pet ghost in the washing machine today, because the bottom of his sheet was all dirty from dragging it around like Linus with a blanket. When the wash was done, I pulled the sheet out, but Marley was not underneath it like usual -- it was all limp, not Pac-man-style round and floating.

I'm not sure which is worse -- the thought that I may have washed Marley down the drain, or the thought of a naked ghost sneaking around my apartment.

dls

i tried to cook an egg on the sidewalk, but some kid stepped in it

2006-07-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

Oh lord, it is hot. Seriously, if Al Gore had won that ever-elusive ninja vote in Florida, we'd all be driving our hybrid cars to see Bush's new movie where he explains how to eat a pretzal without dying. And we would need hot chocolates because it would be SO DAMN COLD.

Also, Marley, my pet ghost, has traded his Labor-Day-white for a paisley sheet. He doesn't match anything in the living room anymore. This summer bites.

dls

if you don't eat your vegetables, it will come back to haunt you

2006-07-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

Ever since our Hellen-Kelleresque breakthrough with the Ouija board, ghost Marley has been a lot less agitated. Communication is dial-up-modem slow, nay, clay-tablet-cuneiform slow, which is a bummer, but I prefer to focus on the positive -- Oedipus is finally learning to spell. Plus, it turns out Marley is like a monkey with a typewriter -- he's reproducing the works of Shakespeare, in the form of vegan recipes. He named this one himself:

Mock Ham(let)

1/2 lb dried bean milk sheets (aka tofu skins)
3/4 cup water
4 T soy sauce
1 T cider vinegar or wine vinegar
1 t raw cane sugar
1 T sesame oil

1. Break the sheets into small pieces.
2. Combine the water, soy sauce, vinegar and sugar in a large saucepan. Add the bean milk sheets and turn them into the sauce. Bring to the boil, then lower the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes until the sauce has been absorbed. Add the sesame oil.
3. Turn out on to a large piece of muslin and roll up the cloth into a sausage shape. Tie it up securely with lots of string. Steam it over hot water for 2 hours.
4. Remove from the heat and leave it to cool then chill it thoroughly before unwrapping and slicing it.

Unfortunately, just like any other vegan recipe, this is closer to tragedy than food.

dls

pass the ketchup, ouija?

2006-07-13T11:31:00.000-07:00

When we first discovered Marley, the ghost in our linen closet, things got off to a rough start. He liked to roam the halls while rattling his chains at night, which was almost as annoying as a hamster on a squeaky wheel -- I mean, come on, we're not even scared of you, so why do you keep doing it? Stupid hamster.

Anyway, that wasn't all -- it turned out that Marley was a vegan, and a vegan that can only communicate in moans-of-the-damned is even worse than the regular kind that can only communicate in righteous indignation. It's a good thing I still have my travel Ouija board from the time I was an honorary Ghostbuster (the membership card was printed on a box of Ecto Cooler). We didn't have candles, but I let some crayons melt in a pan on the stove, and we put Daniel Johnston's "Spirit World Rising" on repeat. I held Oedipus' paw and we took the planchette in hand.

"Oh Marley," I said in a passable Miss Cleo accent, "What the hell can we do to shut you up?" Like magic, the planchette began drifting around the board -- I swear, if I had known we were spelling out a damn vegan recipe, I would never have spent that hour hunched on the kitchen floor, smoke filling the room from the burnt sienna on the stove:

AUNT NETTIE'S MEATLOAF

2 pieces whole grain bread
1/2 C. soymilk
1 T. tamari
2 C. texturized vegetable protein
2/3 C. fine chopped onion
1 t. salt
1/2 t. garlic powder
1/4 t. ground black pepper
1 pinch cayenne pepper

1. Preheat oven to 375 F. Break toasted bread into small pieces and put into a large mixing bowl. Pour soymilk over and toss with hands to thoroughly wet all bread.
2. Add remaining ingredients to soaked bread and mix with the hands to incorporate all ingredients completely.
3. Defile that-which-is-Holy.
4. Pack mixture into a lightly oiled 9-inch x 5-inch metal loaf pan. Cover pan with aluminum foil, shiny side down, and bake at 375 F. for 30 minutes. Remove foil, and bake another 12 minutes. Cool 5 to 10 minutes and cut into serving slices. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

I don't know if we'll follow the directions exactly, but if it gets us a full night's sleep, I'll try anything.

dls

chains keep ghosts from floating away

2006-07-01T22:27:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a difficult week living with Marley, the ghost in our linen closet. It isn't the boo-scares, or the heavy iron chains that he drags around (which have scratched up our wood floors worse than lumberjacks promoting Nike's new Axe Jordans) -- it is his constant pro-vegan soapboxing. I mean, come on man -- how can a vengeful spirit be against the killing of the innocent? Not to mention that he doesn't have to eat, so it is a lot easier for him to be vegan. Stop with all the "meat is murder" propaganda and let me eat my Roasted Baby Corn in peace.

dls

how else do you stop a dog from sleeping on your bed?

2006-06-26T12:41:00.000-07:00

Today, Oedipus would not stop barking at the linen closet, which I thought was pretty weird, because I've been training him to AVOID bedsheets, not confront them. So I grabbed my shiny broadsword that the Jehovah's Witness gave me, hushed the puppy, and yanked the closet door open.

Out pops a ghost. How do I know? He was dressed in a white sheet, with eye holes, and he shouted "Boo!" when I opened the door. He also floats. He is like the embodiment of every ghost cliche I know, and he won't stop moaning, or rattling his stupid chains. I already hate him, and he's only been my new pet for like two hours. I call him Marley. Way to go out of your way to fulfill stereotypes, Marley. You are like a half-black half-Jewish sports doctor.

dls

a lot can go wrong in a bakery

2006-06-21T23:27:00.000-07:00

You know that cheap sitcom trick where two people are having a conversation, and a third sap sneaks in to hear only part of it, so they totally misinterpret what was being talked about, ensuring hijinks for the rest of the episode? Believe it or not, Mr. Ripley, but this actually happened to me today.

I was taking Oedipus for a poop-in-the-neighbor's-yard morning stroll, and I had just stepped into my favorite bakery (Challah At Me Dog) for a cheddar cheese bagel. It must have been a slow morning, because there was just one guy in line, dressed in a leather jacket like he was so cool, he could wear a fucking leather jacket in June. As I stepped in the store, he pulled a pretty hefty looking gun out from the front of his pants, pointed it at the cowering cashier, pointed it at the ceiling, and then fired a shot. I figured a roof must have killed his dad or something -- such aggression. But then he shouted, "Do it NOW!" and the cashier immediately started whimpering and reluctantly removing his clothing.

I stayed freeze-tag-still while he untied his apron and took off his shirt, but when he unbuckled his belt, I figured I should make a move before the kielbasa came out to play. Now maybe a lesser man might have backed slowly out of the store and left the cashier to his leather-buddy fate, but I am a man of action, so I walked to the front of the store and demanded to see the manager.

OK, no I didn't. That would have been crazy. Actually, I backed out of the store and without another thought to the half-naked cashier's predicament, untied Oedipus from the bike-rack and walked home. I feel a little bit guilty about it, but I tell myself that just before I came in, I missed the part of the conversation where the jacket-and-gun-guy tells the cashier, "Our mom is dead, killed in her sleep by the Jewish bakery you work in. I'll shoot it to keep it stunned, while you take off that evil bagel uniform, and then we'll make a break for Mexico. On my signal..."

dls

babies are the ultimate bling

2006-06-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today, I saw a dude standing at the bus stop dressed totally straight-up G-style -- baggy cargo pants, shoes with the phat laces, diamond studs in his ears, and a cap worn just slightly cocked -- except he had a baby strapped to his front. Check it -- the baby was holding some sort of Cabbage Patch doll, and the DOLL had on a platinum chain. TRIPLE BLING. This guy was wearing three levels of bling at once -- first, what could you strap around your neck that is more priceless than life you created? Second, he took us old-school with the Cabbage Patch Kid; according to the Antique Roadshow, a vintage CPK is worth more than most bling. Third, just in case he was being too subtle with the alterna-bling he was boldly presenting, he just draped some ice around that doll, so there could be no question.

Not just bling-bling. Bling-bling-bling. Triple bling.
Word to your mother.

dls

king solomon would have cut me in half

2006-06-12T17:09:00.000-07:00

My car was at the mechanic's this morning, so instead of a regular rectangular Nutri-grain breakfast, I was able to stay home and whip up some awesome-tangular Donut McMuffins. I had the bacon singing that sweet hiss, and the eggs were crackling in the pan like a four-year-old playing with bubble wrap. Needless to say, I was not in the right state of mind when the Jehovah's Witnesses showed up at my front door. I was surprised they got there at all -- Oedipus should have waged terrible war upon their ankles. But, there they were, and I was so serene with the joy that is the Donut McMuffin on a Monday when I should be at work, I didn't even question how Oedipus got that pork chop he was happily gnawing.

So here are these two smiling women with their Watchtower magazines, and I am feeling so generous, that I INVITE THEM IN. Now, it isn't that I felt bad for all the hostility they endure as door-to-doorsmen, I just figured that every second they spent in my home was a second they were not bothering anybody else, and that sacrifice was What Jesus Would Do.

I cleared space for them at the kitchen table, which was overflowing with packets of instant margarita mix I won in a bet, and they each took a seat. I grinned at them, crossed my arms, and then asked a grandly ignorant question about their religion just to get them talking: "So, if I was dying in front of you, and ONLY YOUR BLOOD could save my life, would you give me a transfusion?" Man, I don't think I should have said that. I didn't really listen to their response, but it sounded like angry hens clucking, and if there is one thing I know, it is how to tell if a chicken is pissed off.

Of course, just when I was wondering if it was a mistake inviting these two in to kill time, I got another knock on the door. I excused myself to answer it, and diggity damn, would you believe it -- two strapping young men wearing short-sleeved collared shirts and holding helmets. Crew cuts. Metallic name tags clipped to their shirt pockets. One held a couple of books that looked Biblical, but weren't. That's right folks: Mormons at the front door. For the record, I am afraid of Mormons like George Bush is afraid of pretzals.

Just as I'm telling them, "Sorry guys, not today," the two Jay-Wits peek out of the kitchen, and I feel like I'm in one of those movies where the girlfriend shows up at 3am "just to talk," and my one-night-stand steps into view behind me, wearing only a towel. Holy crap. As soon as they saw the two men, they froze. I tried to diffuse the situation, explaining to the pissed-off Mormons, "Look, they came on to ME okay? This is NOT what it looks like." This was high-noon tension right on my doorstep, and it did not look pretty. I backed the fuck up, and even Oedipus knew to join me behind the couch. Bill and Ted Mormon were snarling as they snapped on their helmets and pulled out nunchucks from holsters strapped to their shins. One of the women pulled a Saturday night special out of her bra, and the other one unsheathed a gleaming broadsword -- I have no idea how she hid that under her frumpy dress.

I was about to watch a literal battle for my soul, and I was terrified. I always thought I'd meet my end at the hands of an overzealous US Marshall who chased me off a waterfall, but it looked like I might become a cult crossfire casualty. There was a moment right before the two groups charged: the four combatants slowed their breathing, and held themselves still as they measured each other, playing out their opening moves in their minds, like the scene right before Michael Caine laid the smack down on that rival butler in Remains of the Day.

And suddenly, the moment passed, and the Mormons rushed the door, one in front of the other. The Witnesses must have sensed that the door was a choke point, because just as quickly, the lady with the gun shot the first Mormon to step inside, while the one with the sword closed in to take him down before his friend could pull him out of the house. But surprise! The Mormons were rocking the Kevlar, and in the narrow entryway of my house, there was no room for the unwieldy broadsword the woman was brandishing. Her mistake was in letting herself be drawn into the same choke point she was trying to take advantage of. In moments, she was on the defensive, awkwardly parrying nunchuck strikes. With the way she was blocking the entrance, her friend couldn't even get a clean shot from the living room.

She was scratching the hell out of the walls of the entryway, and I was vowing to pledge my allegiance to the religion that got my full security deposit back despite all the collateral damage, when God called me on my cell phone. OK, so it was actually a guy asking if I was interested in switching to Capital One, but I was thinking quickly. The combatants had ignored the ringing, but they all stopped when they heard me say, "Oh, hi God." That threw the guy on the phone a bit -- he laughed uncomfortably before starting up his pitch again, but I just talked right over him: "No way God, you just called me to say that all religions should stop using your name as an excuse to kill each other? Wow, you say that if man could just learn to love his fellow man, we could focus our attention on more important problems like how to stop puppies from aging? Yeah God, I totally agree. I mean, it is so timely that you just called like that." I stopped to look meaningfully at the folks in my house, "Yeah, I hope we can all learn from this too. Uh-huh, take care. Bye." I hung up, and hoped that they hadn't heard the phone-off-the-hook dialtone at the end of the call.

The Mormons looked sheepish, and the Jehovah's Witnesses were positively ashamed -- which they should be. Pacifists my ass. Anyway, the woman with the gun was the first to act: she clicked the safety back on and stuffed her gun back down her bra. The Mormons folded up their nunchucks and put them down by the front door, and after her friend gave her a stern look, the William-Wallace-wannabe shrugged, and put her sword in the umbrella stand.

I was happy to have averted a religious war, so I invited them in to the kitchen for some Donut McMuffins, hoping that such a deliciously greasy snack might blunt their bloodlust. The one I had been cooking before was all burned by now, but I gave it to Oedipus, who happily gobbled it up, so I guess that in the end, everybody won.

dls

fiddle me this, batman

2006-06-06T16:00:00.000-07:00

I attended a friend's recital last night. She plays in an Amadeus-style classical music trio (piano-cello-violin, and at least two Asians), where you can only cough between movements, and people get angry when you try to start the "wave." Unfortunately, I'm not such a fan of any music where old people don't cover their ears like they just heard Michael J. Fox shred the guitar, but she is my friend, and as they say, friendship is not a river in Egypt.

So I confess, I zoned out the music a bit, but I have to admit that she looked pretty damn cool rocking out on the piano. Likewise, the cello player had girls screaming her name like she was channeling the two dead Beatles. On the other hand, the violinist looked like she had a giant tumor sticking out of her neck. Speaking of, I once had a friend with a real giant neck tumor. One time he showed up at our annual Halloween party with no costume, except he drew a smiley face on his goiter in black sharpie. We had always avoided bringing it up in conversation -- I guess this was his way of saying, "Be my guest."

dls

doggie doors are the next logical step after mudflaps

2006-05-29T21:56:00.000-07:00

You know what would be a clever name for an indie-rock band? The Sippee Cups. They would be a Polyphonic Spree splinter group, and all their lyrics would sound like baby-talk. You know what is definitely NOT clever? Let us say that it is never a good idea to train a dog to use a litter box.

I was just so damn tired of waking up early in the morning to let Oedipus do his business. I thought, hey cats can do it, and they are stupider than stupid-is-as-stupid-does, so dogs should be awesome at pooping in a box. And believe me, I was right. Oedipus was like a dump truck on a construction site -- it was his natural environment. Unfortunately, it turns out dogs enjoy the taste of kitty litter, and it also happens to make them violently ill.

There was a logical next step: fill the box with toilet paper. I thought, people use it -- we don't number two on it directly, but it seemed like it would be an OK stop-gap until I figured out a more permanent solution. I gave it a shot, but the wet toilet paper disintegrated faster than Oasis. I was in my neighbor's yard, hosing out the sludge from the litter box, when it hit me -- what the hell was I doing opening the door for Oedipus when he should be opening his own damn door? That was that -- the doggie flap was installed yesterday, and now I need to train Oedipus to take some responsibility in his life.

dls

you can't fire me, i'm wet!

2006-05-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

Do you think anyone would hire me as a "squirrel taster?" It sounds cool.

dls

niche cage

2006-05-22T13:26:00.000-07:00

I just rented Lord of War recently, so I can give you a brief synopsis: Nicholas Cage beats a horse-corpse for two hours. Lord of War is such a shit movie, I feel bad for shit. It is more preachy than Al Sharpton addressing a room full of men who stole candy from babies. For fuck's sake, we know guns are bad.

The worst is that Cage has been typecast as a neurotic loser with an interesting job. Matchstick Men? Adaptation? Weatherman? Today's forecast calls for scattered screenplays and plots that improbably escalate into violence and/or recreational drug use.

dls

the public library is very educational

2006-05-11T13:41:00.000-07:00

When Oedipus and I do the leash-walk thing, I like to take him to the library, because being a dog is no excuse for illiteracy. Now, I'm not stupid -- I'm pretty sure dogs aren't smart enough to read me bedtime stories or anything -- I just want him to be able to recognize stop signs, or read James Frey novels.

Anyway, the prototypographical library contains three groups who would otherwise never interact in the wild -- old retired men, small children, and homeless people. Today, as usual, I was in the children's section studying up on my Doctor Doolittle, when a bearded dude who reeked of urine and had maybe three teeth stood up and shouted, "I have a bigger cock than the President!"

Man, you should have seen it -- soccer-moms dove out from between piles of books to cover their children's ears, like goalies in the World Cup. It was now quiet in the library. I mean, it was quiet before, but now it was like crucial-moment-in-a-movie quiet. How can you follow up such a bold claim? The guy was idiot-grinning and holding his hands up like Jesus before the disciples, and boom, guess what could possibly be better than a crazy guy in the children's section of a library? That's right: two crazies. ANOTHER guy piped up -- this one was wearing a dirty pair of jeans with a gigantic rip in the crotch, like they were attacked by a fat man who liked to eat denim. Thank God that hobo preferred boxers over briefs. So this new one says, "Liar! Everybody knows the president of the United States is elected based on penis-size."

I'm looking around like, what the fuck is going on here? At this point, the two hobos began to circle each other in a sort of martial-arts crouch, hands ready to strike. The wanna-be president is still boasting, saying stuff like, "My dick is so big, it has a nickname for ME," and crotchless man responding to everything with, "You ain't president, you stupid crazy hobo," which is the most amazing pot-calling-kettle moment I've ever witnessed in person.

Other random homeless folks began forming a ring around the two combatants, chanting "Sneech! Sneech! Sneech!" in unison. I really, really wish I understood what was going on, but just when we thought the first annual Hobo Debate was going to end in some sort of sneech fight to the death, the librarian behind the checkout counter fired a shotgun into the ceiling and threatened to call the police. The homeless folks scattered like underage kids at a party, and the rest of us could only stare blankly at each other, trying to make sense of all we had just seen.

Oedipus and I might take a break from libraries for a while. Reading is just too stressful.

dls

that's a load of crap off my back

2006-05-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

So I went to this schmancy Hawaiian restaurant -- the kind where even your beer comes with a little umbrella, and a live ukelele band covers Brother Iz and makes conversation impossible. Waiters wear brightly flowered shirts that no ninja would ever be caught wearing in public, and tables of drunk dudes demand to be "lei'd" by the hostess. Even non-island food is exotified, like the "Mauna Kea Burger" or the "Kona Koffee Burrito" or whatever. You've got the mental picture.

Anyway, my bladder can only take so many umbrella-beers before it is time to water the garden, so I beelined for the bathroom, which was next to a giant Tiki-head with glowing-red eyes, like something out of a Polynesian horror flick. The door was locked, I knocked, and a dude gave me the "just-a-minute," so I kicked it with Humpty (the Tiki-head) and pretended not to look at the dinner guests facing my direction.

Dude took like five minutes in there, so I knew he was waiting for the evacuation, and not the flood. Finally, just as I'm about to suck it up and try the women's stall, there is a flush, and the dude comes out immediately, surrounded by a foul stench. This, I decide, will not do. He was not in there long enough post-flush to wash his hands, and he wasn't the least bit concerned, even though I was giving him the, um, stink eye. I stared at him as he made his way back to his table, and as he sat, he just gave me a grin, daring me to call him out.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the courage, plus I really had to pee. I did request Ween's "Don't Shit Where You Eat" from the ukelele band, but they didn't know that one.

dls

remove the chain, 'cause that's off it

2006-04-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

Do not feed your dog a whole can of those Altoids shaped like peeled tangerines, no matter how funny it is to watch him whine because they are so sour. He will only puke them up on your bed and totally disgust you by then eating his own puke and whining because it is so sour.

dls

if someone offered you 10 40's, you'd say yes, right?

2006-04-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

Filing taxes is like typing on a qwerty keyboard -- it doesn't make any sense, but everybody has to do it. Seriously, tax forms are infected-eye-scratchingly frustrating. Every box is a little riddle, wrapped in an enigma. I stare at my 1099-MISC form, and pray that I am supposed to fill out the conveniently-named Schedule C-EZ, and not Schedule SE -- but hey, direct all questions to Publication 533. Which is online. But the link is broken. Fuck you.

Death may be unavoidable, but you don't have to fill out paperwork to die.

dls

...the milkman, the paperboy, and even mtv?

2006-04-05T11:12:00.000-07:00

What ever happened to The Possibilities? I remember thinking they were on the edge of the verge of the cusp of awesome, held down only by their lead singer's cheese grater of a voice. Another thing, what ever happened to the Energy Beer? I loved those things for the few short months they existed. It was the only energy drink I ever tasted that wasn't saccharine sweet, plus it was a beer (did I mention?).

Speaking of beer, I had to go to traffic school this weekend for "driving in the bike lane." Please, if I wasn't supposed to hit bikers, then why do they wear little blinking lights so I can find them in the dark? In court, I told this to the judge (the cop who arrested me told me to), and I think he agreed -- he gave me a free jump suit, although it wasn't really my color. Sadly, it turned out I had to give it back once spring break was over. Spring break kind of sucked by the way -- it was kind of a sausage-fest, and I didn't get out as much as I would have liked.

dls

thin mints are not as good as everyone says

2006-04-02T23:51:00.000-07:00

Whew, I had to go to traffic school today, which is like regular school except people aren't impressed when you tell them you graduated. The best part was sitting next to an ice cream man who had converted his freezer-mobile into a giant soft-serve ice cream, hoping children would hail his vehicle as a god, like those kids who worshipped the giant Moon Pie in "Honey, I Shrunk a Bunch of Stuff." Unfortunately, he got arrested for making a car that looked like a coiled crap. Chocolate was pretty much the worst flavor he could have chosen.

Which reminds me -- you know how little girls sometimes dress like poops? I mean, parents have to lie and tell their kids that Santa made them "brownie" girl scouts because he ran out of green fabric (he isn't being mean, it is just that the elves wear a lot of XXL sizes, and what can he do? It would be hypocritical to put THEM on a diet), but I hope those kids ask themselves, "Who buys cookies from squeaky turds?"

Also, I think little girls sound a lot like mice.

dls

beautiful dreamer

2006-03-28T09:01:00.000-08:00

You know what's weird? Last night I had a dream about eating a giant pillow, and when I woke up, I was COVERED in marshmallows.

dls

bagels are like anti-depressants

2006-03-22T16:36:00.000-08:00

Have you ever suddenly had a craving for a cheddar cheese bagel? I mean, a craving that comes upon you so holey-spirit-like that you rise up and shake off the doldrums stuck all over your shirt? A literal thirst for bagels that makes you cry, because bagel juice has not been invented, and only it's sweet tang could ever slake your desire? This is a long way of saying that today, I really wanted a bagel for lunch, so I put on some underwear, walked down the street, and bought one.

dls

a twelve-year-old's tips for successful world domination

2006-03-19T21:10:00.000-08:00

I came across my "Tips for Successful World Domination," written when I was twelve and addressed to me, which is very scary -- one, as a child, I thought it might be important to have a list of reminders for my eventual ascension as the ruler of a planet -- and two, I managed to forget that I once had schemes to enslave humanity. Also, check out tip number one -- I don't know if Oedipus is a harbinger, but I'm officially a little creeped out.

1. If you plan to mate great Danes and chihuahuas to create a race of super-chihuahuas, you can reuse the old great Danes. Every unquestioned ruler of the world needs glue.
2. Before threatening to kill all the world leaders at the UN summit, make sure you are wearing real dynamite and not hot dogs, like in your practice run at the White House.
3. Razor scooters are not as fiendishly dangerous as they sound.
4. Lasers have been around for years, and there is already a hole in the ozone.
5. A large purple dinosaur with the ability to control the minds of all the children in the world has already been done.
6. Trust nobody except your closest, most trusted right-hand-man.
7. Shoot famous secret agents on sight. Resist the temptation to set up elaborate and ironic death traps that kill slowly. Do not reveal your evil plans, even if you are sure they are dead. Do not shoot them in painful places, laughing evilly. Shoot to kill, or they will survive, escape, and come back to shove their crutches up your ass.
8. Somebody has already attempted to create a "super-cow."
9. They may be scary-looking, and very big, but gigantic cucumbers still cannot move.
10. Don't install a "clapper" in your war room if you want your generals to applaud your every word.
11. Disposing of dead bodies is a problem for any budding dictator. Creative and practical solutions: life-like department-store dummies, biodegradable scarecrow, or glue (always need more glue).

dls

nobody recognizes a vampire from his picture on a milk carton

2006-03-17T13:48:00.000-08:00

Well, it has been a virtual four-score since I last heard from Drake, my vampire roommate. Since his trip to visit the homeless who live underneath the New York subway system, I haven't received so much as a postcard written in the blood of his latest victim. I have been thinking of putting up "missing person" fliers, but I don't have any photographs of him. Let's just say that it is easier to steal the soul of an African tribesman than to catch a vampire on film. Plus, I doubt it would do any good, since Drake is in New York, and I can't throw a flier folded into a paper airplane that far.

I guess I'm just worried that one day the police will show up because of an anonymous tip from the neighbors, and they will find the amazing amounts of vampire porn Drake has hidden underneath his blood-stained coffin. They might mistake me for some wacko necrophiliac, or worse, a Smashing Pumpkins fan. One morning yonder, that could be me being led out in cuffs by the blue-boys, the fifties, the hogs. Madder than a pig stuck in a frozen mudhole, I would curse the day I met my vampire roommate, while they wrote down everything I said to be used against me in a court of law. Oedipus, our body-guard-dog, would be locked in a furious gun battle, raining bullets down on the squard cars from the upstairs window as policemen screamed for backup, because there must be, like, five more guys up there. Suddenly, we would hear a sharp crack from the roof of the apartment across the street, the initial sound echoing between the rows of houses, and the guns would fall silent. We all look up, and see the police sniper wearily climbing down from his perch. As the SWAT team stormed up the stairs, they would find no bodies, as they were expecting, only the bullet-riddled corpse of poor Oedipus, valiant friend-to-the-end. "It's only a puppy," one of the swatmen would say sadly, his heart broken because he thought he was fighting a hardened killer, and instead one so young died so needlessly.

All of this trouble, just so Drake could get his pecker some exercise. I'm going to burn those magazines right now.

dls

how do you train a dog to shoot a gun?

2006-03-16T23:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I painted a series of concentric rings on the inside of Oedipus' doggie bowl. It's a long way from Clint Eastwood shooting down a man sentenced to death by hanging, but since I've heard that animals kill almost exclusively for food (once in a while to impress hot dames), I figure that when we hit the range, Oedipus won't have any trouble summoning up his kibble-lust when he sees the targets. Adding the gun to the equation is going to be tricky though. Dogs solve most of their problems by biting. Or humpng.

dls

opposable thumbs are not as important as we like to think

2006-03-13T20:40:00.000-08:00

Considering our close encounter with the carjacked bank robber, and the gang of children who really-really wanted ice cream, I realize that there is no other option -- Oedipus is going to have to learn to use a gun. He may think it is a fun game to be a guard dog, but it is completely unfair to make him fight crime while naked. Batman's costume may leave frighteningly little to the imagination (picture George Clooney's womanly nipples), but at least he has a utility belt and a mask to hide his shame.

I think that Oedipus would appreciate a little kelvar doggie sweater and a six-shooter. And don't make some joke about needing opposable thumbs. Animals shoot people all the time.

dls

a lot of people would pay to see ghostbusters iii

2006-03-06T22:44:00.000-08:00

A breakthrough in training! Oedipus, the chihuahua-great-dane mix breed I have been training as a guard dog, foiled his first real burglary today! His exercise regimen consisted of my throwing bacon strips on small children who wandered away from their parents (they are a good starting size -- not too fast, and they won't fight back), but I was getting worried, because kids were beginning to avoid our street, and Oedipus still seemed to need a lot more practice.

However, today, we were at the bank depositing a ten dollar mail-in rebate that I got for buying fifty bags of "Dill Pickle" flavored Lays potato chips (what can I say? I am a sucker for things that have my second-grade nickname on them). Anywho, I am filling out my deposit slip, trying to decide how much cash back I should ask for, when a guy wearing a ski mask throws open the front door like he is walking into a saloon. He fires a gun in the air and uses his outside voice to tell us, "Nobody move! This is a stick-up!" and other bank-robbery cliches. We all had to give him our wallets, get face-down, and "taste the ground motherfuckers." This was not fun, and poor Oedipus was leashed to a bike rack outside, probably wondering whether I had dumped him for a declawed koala like I threatened because he was so bad at attacking preschoolers. The bank tellers dumped a bunch of money in a duffel bag the guy had, he fired a shot at the security guard's desk, just to show us he hated desks, and then he was out the door.

I know what you are thinking, but no Oedipus didn't take him out -- thank God. The dude was holding a gun for damn sakes! You don't make the jump from children to armed bank heisters in the time it took to build Rome. Actually, the man had left his car running outside for his get-away, but apparently somebody stole his car while he was robbing us! It was daylight, and the guy was wearing a ski mask and holding a gun. And a big sack of money. He was like a ninja dressed in black trying to sneak around a bakery. His only chance of a clean, flour-free getaway was if the cops saw him, but concluded, "Naw, it's too obvious, no bank robber would actually be walking around looking like a bank robber!" So what does he do? He tries to come back in the bank! But the security guard was pretty fast, and had pressed some secret button that automatically locked the front doors. We got to watch from behind bulletproof glass as the police came and arrested the guy. We even got our wallets back right there! No paperwork or anything! To top it off, the bank finished depositing my three dollars (I decided on seven bucks cash back) after the cops were done.

On the way home, we passed an ice cream truck, and I stopped to get Oedipus a treat for having to wait outside during the whole ordeal. A lot of kids had crowded around the truck, and one big bully kid was pushing the other children and trying to take their money. None of the kids were defending themselves, and it looked like the ice cream man didn't care, as long as the bully used all his ill-gotten gains on desserts. Oedipus knew that this was the moment he had trained for, so he didn't even hesitate when I told him, "Oedipus, clear out these kids." He went straight for the smallest one he could find, just like I taught him, and the other kids all ran away screaming. They were probably pretty thankful that we stopped that bully before he could steal more of their money, and we got our ice cream with no wait. I also bought an Ecto-Cooler, Ghostbusters-style, which I didn't know they still made.

dls

the best art should be eaten

2006-03-03T17:09:00.000-08:00

Today, I watched Oedipus lunge for a piece of pineapple that dropped on the floor. He acted as though it was a steak, and he was the canine-equivalent of a hungry cheetah. Dogs will put anything in their mouths that drops from their master's hands -- of course, maybe they are just worried about the five-second rule. They don't know shit about how bacteria work. They don't know about mitosis, or DNA, or that evil pigs are responsible for the Asian Bird Flu. They just get there as fast as they can while silently counting to five. But dude, pineapple. Even the hairless tropical jumping dogs of Western Fiji don't eat pineapple in the wild. Why, Oedipus, did you want it? You knew it was a pineapple -- with the wonder-schnozz that you have, you could work as a bomb-sniffer, drug-sniffer, panty-sniffer, whatever job ends in sniffer, you wouldn't even need a list of references. I don't know.

Anyway, the fact that Oedipus would put anything in his mouth reminded me that little children are the same way -- which is why Happy Meals should be marketed to another demographic. However, I got a really awesome idea out of all this. Check it: edible macaroni and glitter-glue pictures! I mean, macaroni is already there, right? And kids eat paste all the time, so I am told in cartoons. Besides, Elmer's is non-toxic and stuff, and it has a cow on it, which I assume implies it is practically a side of beef. The other, other white meat. Now that I think about it, Elmer's is pretty fucked up to put a cow on a glue bottle and then not to tell kids why.

Anyway, all I really need is edible glitter, and maybe paper, although I've heard that children eat that too! Then, you could have kindergarten art projects where five-year-olds make their abstract art (it's a dinosaur, can you tell?), boil them, and serve them with spaghetti sauce! Kids would learn many valuable lessons -- take two more big bites, clean up isn't always a chore, and that great art ~~comes out of your ass~~ is always inside you.

dls

taking drugs to make music to take drugs to

2006-03-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

Oh man, I haven't thought about Spacemen 3 in so long, but hey, you never know what will jog your memory.

Did you read the link yet? Can you believe this guy would go to such lengths to help his kid win? What happened to American-style knee-bashing? Or is that only for ice skaters who box and opponents of Daniel-San? You know what they say -- drugs are never the answer. Unless the question is, "what is not the answer?"

dls

oh the irony

2006-02-27T10:55:00.000-08:00

Isn't it ironic that people are always using the word "ironic" improperly?

dls

i should have tried this

2006-02-24T22:54:00.000-08:00

dls

chuck norris would be jealous

2006-02-23T01:01:00.000-08:00

Today, I was doing "donut runs" to prepare for the triathalon my friends pressured me into. Basically, I run around the block, then stop at the donut shop on the corner for a classic fat man's wedding ring. I repeat until I am tired, or full. I've never looked forward to exercising, but this is working out beautifully. You really feel the burn if you shout, "Bam, another notch!" every time you finish a donut.

Anyway, I was on like my fourth rep, when Oedipus-the-dog (my spotter) spotted a really suspicious old lady and took off to bite her ankles before she robbed us. She was wearing a do-rag (might have been a hair net), she had blinged out her teeth with this enamel colored platinum, and she was decked out head to toe in Fubu gear (or really saggy panty hose -- it was hard to tell). Well, this witch starts yelling at me to keep my "freak-dog" on a leash, and how she should kick my ass and stuff, so I was like, "OK homes -- let's throw down." You better believe old ladies can move. She just stopped talking, and assumed "praying mantis" stance, totally karate kid old-school-style, except with a walker. Like a fool, I walked right into it, and she kicked me square in the chin. Next thing I know, she is rolling all around me, taking shots at my kidneys, and every time I try to hit her, she dodges out of the way, only to come back with some counter-punches. I was really worried that I had somehow picked a fight with the only old white lady in the city who dressed like a gangsta but was secretly a retired ninja.

At that point, she got into this Jean Claude Van Damme kicking routine and I saw my opening. I grabbed a handful of dirt, much like Bloodsport, and blew that stuff in her eyes so she was temporarily blinded. I then kicked her walker away with a beautiful roundhouse that sent the thing flying into the street, and then finished it up with a 22-hit Ultra combo that I learned playing Killer Instinct. I let Oedipus get a few licks in too, since she called him a freak-dog.

It is clear that Oedipus will have to learn more effective techniques for attacking old ladies as part of his guard-dog training. I just don't feel safe knowing I have to attack them myself.

dls

can the undead "re-live" the past?

2006-02-20T00:13:00.000-08:00

Well, Oedipus and I have the house to ourselves for the foreseeable. We were watching a documentary called "Dark Days," which is about homeless crackheads (sorry, that was insensitive -- crack-PEOPLE) who live underground in a sunless rat-infested shantytown for years at a time. But I mean, actually, it was pretty nice: they had painted houses, television, and electric razors. Anyway, cue my roommate Drake, who was homeless before he moved into mine: his eyes get all saucer-like, and he gets the idea that this village of eternal night would be home to a homeless vampire. So he gives me Oedipus' leash and collar, does the turning-into-bats thing, and I suppose the best word is "migrates" to New York.

The first day, Oedipus was really frantic with Drake gone, but I treated him to an In-N-Out Double-Double ("animal style" obviously), and he calmed down like a baby in a topless bar.

dls

my friends will be the life of me

2006-02-15T23:29:00.000-08:00

So today I was cornered by a group of so-called friends demanding that I join up for a team-triathalon with them. Peer pressure used to be about drinking and smoking things, not running and swimming at the plumber-butt of dawn.

This whole situation was totally wiggidy, especially because the ring-leader was a professional pastry chef. How could a person who majored in cake tell me I need more exercise in my diet? Of course, she is one of those post-post-modern chefs of the French new school. In other words, she makes dessert that you look at, and if you try to touch it or take a picture, a volunteer docent from a nearby senior center asks you to stay behind the velvet rope. I'm obviously not a fan of having cake and not being able to eat it too, but I do appreciate some of her work -- she specializes in cakes with moving parts. Not like a flip-top so a naked lady can hide from the law, but like an Alexander Calder sculpture. It is almost hypnotic watching carefully balanced cake-parts swivel slowly with the wind. The way it turns toward people as they pass in a rush of air, it is like it is aware of their presence. I kind of get a little teary when I eat it -- I feel I am snuffing out some flicker of life, which is weird since I never think twice when eating gingerbread men, and those fuckers are always staring right at me.

dls

not a good day to be a dick

2006-02-14T14:28:00.000-08:00

Well, I thought the second amendment had already faced it's darkest hour: Dick Cheney as Elmer Fudd. I was wrong. Latest studies show that while Cheerios are good for your heart, shotgun pellets are like tiny, injectable bacon bits. This has now become the funniest shooting-your-friend-in-the-face incident since sliced bread. I live with an HIV-positive vampire and a guard dog raised on a diet of ankles, and we don't have accidents like this. Of course, I found out the reason Cheney pulled the trigger without thinking -- check out poor Harry's driver's license picture:

Dick just gets a little twitchy around his black friends.

dls

dog shoots man

2006-02-12T20:57:00.000-08:00

Did you hear about the trouble Vice President Dick Cheney got himself into? Who gives a paranoid old man with a heart condition a gun, and then camouflages his friends? This is the worst idea since I carved a snowman out of a giant block of sponge, soaked it in ten gallons of lighter fluid, and then gave him a corn cob pipe.

dls

teaching a new dog an old trick

2006-02-10T15:31:00.000-08:00

I was watching Blue Crush (for the articles, I swear), when I got the best idea ever! A dog that barks on command! It is like having a talking parrot that only learned to say one word, but who mispronounces it so it is completely unintelligible. Anyway, Oedipus now barks whenever anybody says "holla at me dog!" Even my roommate agrees that this is pretty much the funniest thing ever. Plus, we will quickly be alerted to Beenie Man break-ins.

dls

say hello to my little friend!

2006-02-09T01:22:00.000-08:00

Did you hear? There was a coke bust at Stanford! I had heard murmurs from a few different sources, but now that it is printed in the Stanford Daily, I know for sure it is fact -- when has the Daily ever been wrong?

Anyway, the whole situation has me humming "Z St." by the Antipop Consortium. Actually I am kidding, I don't think those guys have a single hummable song. Tron Man sounds like a Stanford music major.

dls

nature vs nurture: training a chihuahua guard dog

2006-02-08T02:02:00.000-08:00

I am teaching little Oedipus to hunt, because I think he would make a beware-of-dog-sign-worthy guard dog. No thief would suspect the chihuahua with huge paws until it was too late. Because of his height disadvantage, I think we'll replace "go for the jugular" with "go for the achilles, wait for the victim to fall down, then go for the jugular."

That is my ultimate goal, but we're taking baby steps. I started by rubbing old socks with hamburger and letting Oedipus chew them up. That should get him thinking along the right lines.

dls

who names their dog oedipus rex?

2006-02-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

Drake, my vampire roommate, has become pretty inseparable from Oedipus, who has graduated from his cardboard-box-confines to free reign of the downstairs area. We have one of those baby fences keeping him from heading upstairs, since he still has accidents once in a while. He is a chihuahua-great-dane mix, which makes him look like he stepped in a transporter built by Jeff Goldblum. I've been told that such rare cross-breeds fetch top dollar in Japan, since chihuahuas and great danes rarely interbreed in the wild. And believe me, all the stories you've heard about vampires and their pet dogs are true.

On another positive note, Drake is feeling upbeat after he found an online support group for vampires who have contracted diseases fatal to humans. He has been chatting with a German lady-vamp who developed Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease from one of her victims. It sounds like after a big scare, his future is looking practically UV-esque.

dls

white ninja is more of a dog person

2006-01-31T18:11:00.000-08:00

dls

vampires should not be treated by dr. van helsing

2006-01-29T01:55:00.000-08:00

I just convinced my vampire roommate that he may actually want to visit a doctor for advice on whether or not he can die from AIDS, and who gets assigned to him? Doctor Leopold van Helsing. That is like being really afraid of clowns, and then your mom starts dating a guy with a rainbow-colored afro. We'll try again later.

Also, Oedipus is looking sluggish. Perhaps I'm not feeding him enough sugar?

dls

vampires should watch out for hiv

2006-01-24T13:36:00.000-08:00

Well, it is not a happy time living with Drake, my vampire roommate. He recently found out he has contracted HIV, and while it took us both by surprise, I can't exactly say it is a complete shock, since he drinks blood and all. We have not been the most successful roommating, but this has really put the house under a dark cloud. I never know what to say to a friend going through tough times, so I bought him a puppy named Oedipus. Hehe, Oedipus Rex.

We are still hopeful that although he has HIV, he can't actually develop AIDS and die. Since he's, you know, dead. Still, the house is pretty subdued, except for Oedipus' yapping. We keep him in a big cardboard box since he isn't house-trained yet.

dls

a werewolf bites the silver bullet

2006-01-02T13:07:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty glad it happened, since it means I'm still alive and all, but I watched a werewolf die from alcohol poisoning on New Years Eve. My vampire roommate and I had counted down the remaining seconds of 2005 for Colorado residents, and we were at the front door, ready to head for a bar where we could watch the Times-Square time-delay broadcast tailored for our own time zone. Right as I'm opening the door, this hairy dude, obvious werewolf, rushes into our house, beelines for the bathroom, and pukes all over toilet. All over, none in, no aim: it is obvious this guy is in bad shape, and has fangs.

My roommate, despite the fact that he is ALREADY DEAD and shouldn't be afraid of werewolves, is shaking like Count Chocula going through sugar withdrawal, and while I voluntarily live with a vampire who wants to kill me, I'm not totally stupid, so I don't try to approach the goddamn wolfman who is hugging the toilet with perfect going-to-be-sick form. He's clutching the sides and peering into the bowl's brown eye like he can see the future, and his claws are absolutely tearing up the linoleum.

Anyway, we can't leave the house with this random dude inside, so I crack open the 36 pack of Coors Lite we were saving for a monster game of Baghdad (it's like Beirut, but... eh, tangent), and my roommate and I get to drinking. Wolfman eventually "finishes his business" and comes out. Without even hesitating, he grabs a can. We are speechless at the gall of this guy, but the guy is like 8 feet tall and snarling. So what did we do? Turned the TV back on, watched a post-stroke Dick Clark (um, I mean, Regis Philbin), and finish the Borg-cube of beers, plus our entire stock of tequila.

We all passed out around two, but while I woke up alive, and my roommate woke up dead, Wolfman was straight-up stone-cold. Coors really is the silver bullet. Taste the fucking Rockies, man.

dls

three word haiku on communism

2005-12-31T01:35:00.000-08:00

Overencumbered
Anticapitalistic
Proletariat.

dls

hapa haiku

2005-12-31T01:33:00.000-08:00

People call me mutt.
Drops of color in my veins.
Tinted or tainted?

dls

peter jackson makes me hate monkeys

2005-12-19T11:39:00.000-08:00

King Kong blows. Let me elaborate: Three hours. Jack Black. Kill me now.

Peter Jackson is the most overrated director since M. Night Shamalantana. It's like he won't rest until he's found a way to make me groan continuously throughout the movie. Overly-dramatic dialogue? More strings than the Boston Symphony Orchestra playing Cat's Cradle? Main characters who put themselves in incredible danger for completely unbelievable reasons? THREE FUCKING HOURS? I wasn't watching a remake of a classic story about hot monkey-love, I was watching a Lord of the Rings sequel.

One day, when I meet Peter Jackson in hell, I'm going to demand my money back.

dls

spoked word

2005-12-15T14:29:00.000-08:00

Last night, my roommate guilted me into seeing him perform at a spoken word performance. Now, I like spoken word, but I can only take fifteen minutes or so at a time before I start to bite the skin off the inside of my lip in frustration. I hate that half the people read their poems off a piece of paper, or out of a notebook, and they stumble over their own punchlines, because they haven't taken the time to practice before jumping on stage and shouting at me. I hate that people use their crack-voices to read their poems. Loud, manic screaming, mixed with paranoid mumbling. People who talk like that usually eat at soup kitchens.

Anyway, my roommate did a piece too, and it was pretty damn creepy. His poem was about his unending desires to defile the bodies of innocent victims, and how he sometimes stands over me when I am sleeping and fights the urge to rip me open and bath in my innards. Everybody in the audience thought it was some sort of political metaphor, because he kept shouting "nigger" every so often when reading, and there was that one guy in the audience who thinks everything that ends in a pause is deep, so he has to say something like "yeah, brother!" or "uh-HUH!" just to show that he GETS it. People were applauding him when he finished, like this was a statement, and not just my formerly homeless, undead, and probably racist roommate. Me, I was thinking about maybe adding more garlic to my diet.

The night wasn't all bad, though. There was a really awesome spoken word using Oregon Trail as a metaphor for picking up women (I'll never look at covered wagons the same way again).

dls

i can't believe i spent a cash-wad on you dick-wads

2005-12-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

Brad Mehldau, for letting Warner Bros put copy protection on your album "Places," I nominate you for the seventh circle of hell, where a bearded woman will stick YOUR PIANO UP YOUR ASS.

The Bad Plus, for even being associated with Sony and their border-collie retarded XCP copy protection on "Suspicious Activity," I will pray that a giant dunks you in a vat of his saliva.

Autechre, your "Draft 7.30" rips perfectly fine -- EXCEPT FOR THE LAST TRACK WHICH IS COPY PROTECTED. For almost being nice guys, but then sticking out your assholes anyway, I will stab you with pencils until you die of lead poisoning. Or graphite poisoning. Fuck you, as long as it hurts.

Buck 65, for pulling THE SAME GODDAMN SHIT as Autechre on both "Vertex" and "Square," which is A FUCKING EXPENSIVE IMPORT. You fucking shithead wannabe underground hip-hop ass-diaper. You of all people should know it is about the music. I BOUGHT YOUR STUPID CANADIAN SHIT, and all I want to do is trade it for some good Canadian shit (which, coincidentally, is also illegal to reproduce). You fuck, for doing it to me twice, I hope you get your balls shot off, then surgically reattached through an experimental procedure, then ripped off again. I also hope you turn yellow for some reason.

When I bought an iPod, I threw out my Discman without a care, and now all I want to do is strangle a puppy.

dls

a hot dog p.s.a.

2005-11-29T11:21:00.000-08:00

Philippe inspired me to make a list. Please don't try this at home.

You cannot cook a hot dog :

- By giving it cigarette burns.
- By leaving it in the tailpipe of your car.
- With a tanning booth.
- With a magnifying glass.
- By holding it in front of an angry dragon.
- By slingshotting it into the sun.
- With acidic Alien blood.

Please be aware. Better safe than sorry.

dls

to sleep, perchance to dream?

2005-11-28T01:24:00.000-08:00

Yo, I thought you'd like to know that I had a dream that the director of Princess and the Warrior was an Indian guy who was doing an interview to promote his movie, but the whole time he was really nervous because he hadn't shaved his shoulders in weeks.

I would assume shoulder stubble is the worst possible stubble after scrotal stubble.

dls

my neighbors think i'm hell-bound, but it is not too late to turn it around

2005-11-25T15:37:00.000-08:00

So, I mean, not MY neighbors, but my parent's neighbors who came over for Thanksgiving. They gave me three books as a kind of belated-graduation-slash-(dash?)-early-Christmas present. Titles? "Don't Waste Your Life" with a bonus DVD, "Your Work Matters to God," and of course, the "Your Work Matters to God Study Guide," because I'm not supposed to just read the book -- I am supposed to pore over the contents and do problem sets so I do well on the "Your Work Matters to God Final."

If I were depressed enough to need these books, would I have the energy to make it through the study guide?

On a vaguely related note, I watched Constantine last night. The movie was so terrible, I almost turned it off. However, there was one scene that made the entire movie worthwhile: the set-up is that Neo is depressed, has lung cancer, fights demons, is damned to hell, and has just killed himself. The devil is about to drag his ass away, when all of a sudden God's light shines all over the place and Neo starts floating up to heaven. With the devil there shouting, "No, he's mine," and angelic mood-music playing to make the audience believe this is An Important Scene, Neo gives Lucifer the finger. As he is floating up to heaven. With his body laid out like Christ on the cross.

In a movie that has not had a single moment of comic relief, the director chose to completely break the mood at the climax of the entire film. It was stunning. I know somebody who needs to read up on plot devices, or perhaps spend some time contemplating "Your Work Matters to God."

Wow. Thanksgiving is the best gravy-smothered holiday of the year. At least my family and I pigged like the parents in Spirited Away.

dls

philippe knows about hot dogs

2005-11-19T17:07:00.000-08:00

"The WORST way to cook a hot dog? Point a keychain laser at it. I wasted almost an hour!"

dls

dose one can't rap

2005-11-14T10:16:00.000-08:00

People act pretentious to pass shitty music off as cerebral.
People act pretentious to pass cerebral music off as shitty.

dls

charlie chaplin was an ass

2005-11-12T22:18:00.000-08:00

dls

robot bikini

2005-11-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

Is a "robot bikini" swimwear for a water-proof robot, or a digitally enhanced smart-bikini that affords the wearer untold levels of comfort? The important thing, of course, is that nobody be allowed to build one, because computers near breasts can only mean newspapers will come up with a way to include the words "silicon" and "silicone" in a single headline.

dls

a classic gag to pull on a vampire

2005-11-08T23:45:00.000-08:00

Man, I freaked my roommate out today. You know those arrow-through-the-head gags that everybody knows about, but nobody has ever seen in real life? Well I made a wooden-stake-through-the-head from a bit of 2x4 and a wire coat hanger. It was pretty good, and I had saved some of my hair from my last hair cut to cover the wire, so you couldn't even see how the stake was attached to my head.

Anyway, my roommate was just getting out of his coffin around sunset when I burst into his room shouting, "Vampire hunters! They've got me!" I then collapsed to the floor and chewed a ketchup packet I hid in my mouth so it looked like I had blood seeping out from internal injuries like Neo when he is plugged into the Matrix.

I know it is cliche, but he "screamed like a little girl," and -- swear to God -- peed in his coffin. When I suddenly "came back to life," he screamed again, and -- really, I wish I could say I was making this up -- he turned into a bunch of bats and flew out of his open window to safety.

He came back in about fifteen minutes, looking pretty sheepish, and I was laughing so hard that I think I gave myself a sports hernia. I felt kind of bad about giving him such a scare, so I helped him hose down his coffin outside. A little Pine-Sol, and his bed is burial-fresh.

The gross thing, though, is that vampire piss is red.

dls

i need new light bulbs

2005-11-04T11:14:00.000-08:00

Holy Jesus, I hate my stupid vampire roommate. If he weren't a member of the undead, I would wish a fate worse than death on him.

Story: So now that it gets dark so early, I haven't been able to tan regularly, which is pretty much the only thing I can do to piss my roommate off. He is so jealous about my ability to withstand the awesome power of the sun, and let me tell you, it is incredibly satisfying to watch a vampire seeth. In any case, if I lose my tan, I won't be able to annoy him as much, which is obviously unacceptable.

Anyway, my solution was to buy a few halogen lamps and cluster them over my bed, that way I could tan as I sleep. They may not work as quickly as real sunlight, and it is pretty hard to fall asleep with the lights on, but my awesome bronzed skin would be worth it. However, I tried it last night, and when I woke up, all the lamps were off, and the fuse had blown in my room, which meant I had overslept my electricity-deprived alarm clock, which meant I was late for work. It also turns out I can't return the halogen lamps since I used them and they are not in their original packaging.

So if anybody has any low-wattage halogen lightbulb solutions, that would be awesome.

dls

a good point about swords

2005-10-27T03:16:00.000-07:00

So I had been swinging my katana around the past few days and studying the "sword" character from Hero, looking for a weakness in Broken Sword's technique, and my roommate asked me what I was doing. I explained my logic that swords were pretty much way more intimidating than guns, because there are a large number of movies where the most badass character kills a bunch of gun-wielders with some sort of blade (Uma from Kill Bill and Miho from Sin City are recent examples), and this has psychologically trained us to fear sharp objects and scoff at loud ones (like sharks versus pomeranians, or iron maidens versus crying babies... the list goes on).

Ah, apparently my roommate gained wisdom as one of his vampiric abilities. He calmly pointed out that in The Last Samurai, the Japanese soldiers easily shot all the sword-wielding samurai, except for Tom Cruise, who must have felt like the one death-cult member who didn't have the nerve to drink the Kool-Aid. How could I have overlooked this stunning damnation of the effectiveness of swords? I realized I have much to learn from the sage-like Tom Cruise -- a man wise enough to teach the emperor of Japan about Japanese history -- so I immediately dropped the sword-play and have started studying something my enemies would truly fear: Scientology.

dls

guns are for losers

2005-10-23T15:57:00.000-07:00

Ever since I began living with a vampire roommate, I have become very aware of my own mortality. The fragile shell that houses my soul is like a delicate and beautiful flower. Because of that, I am learning to use a sword in case I ever need to defend myself. It is better to be prepared, right? And the way I figure, so many people have watched a Rambo or Dirty Harry marathon on TNT, nobody is afraid of guns any more. People see 50 Cent mumbling like he's Muhammad Ali, and they say, "Didn't that guy get shot a bunch of times? Isn't he now rich and famous now? Does that mean I need to be shot to get ahead?"

So the sword thing. I think people still get freaked out when someone spazzes out with a katana in their hand. If a dude is swinging a switchblade, people are falling all over themselves to be the first to shout in an Australian accent, "You call that a KNOIFE?!" But when a guy is holding a full-blown sword, damn you better step back, because he's either crazy or a ninja. Plus, bullets can't kill everything. For example, I would be able to take on the Highlander, should he ever mistake me for an immortal. More importantly, I could drive it through the heart of an enraged vampire who didn't pay his goddamn rent on time... again.

dls

i am a genius

2005-10-21T01:20:00.000-07:00

I have invented a new tasty food: the Donut McMuffin. It is basically bacon and egg on a donut, which I invented because I thought we had bagels, but when I was finished cooking my eggs and bacon, I realized all I had was a glazed donut. Still, it was pretty good, kind of like when you pour syrup on your pancakes, but it gets all over your sausages and hash browns, and you eat it anyway, because it really does taste awesome. That is how I would summerize my Donut McMuffin -- like a breakfast that accidently got covered in donut-flavored syrup.

dls