Jesus vs. John McCain

Posted by Markoni

Friday, October 31, 2008

It's not 2000 anymore..

Posted by Doodface

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Thanks to Ernies for bringing this one to my attention. Kinda depressing, but there is hope for our future.

He's the One That Makes You Feel Alright

Posted by E

Monday, October 27, 2008

Music as an art form is an ever changing landscape, an entity unto itself that shifts and rolls like the daily tides, centering in on the societal and philosophical issues that bore into the minds of all thinking people. Though a subjective art, music allows us to expand boundaries, to commune on a primal level and to garner a greater understanding and appreciation of the myriad human experiences we all cope with. Inasmuch as it can relieve our burdens and soothe our pain, so too can it light a fire within us, bubbling passions to the forefront in a fiery thunderstorm of pent up energy.

Many communicate in this secondary language, though few achieve the fluency necessary to move and shape a generation. Every once in awhile, though, a piece of magnificence, an object of sheer beauty can find its way from the troubled and tormented psyche of the artist and shine forth to the world like a beacon of hope.

Happenings such as this are rare, only occurring a handful of times each generation. With the numerous volumes of music available at any time, it takes a great deal of effort to sort through the offerings and remove the chaff. But when one finds that connection with a masterpiece, it engenders a bond so strong that even the pains and rigors of life cannot strip them away from us. Music is as intrinsic to us as our names and are every bit as difficult to unwind from our egos.

But where to start the search for objects of perfection magnitudes higher than what we are daily presented? How best to seek out those melodies which will engage themselves in our deepest emotions? With the intimidating amount of musical information available to us, how do we determine what is best?

Music being subjective, there is no simple answer. We can, however, look to the opinions of those we know and trust in order to find the masterworks that define a generation. But one must be careful. For every "Cherry Pie", there are a thousand "Tommy" to be found. For each "Falco 3" there are endless "Dark Side of the Moon" afoot.

And so, without further ado, please allow me to take you on a journey through one of the great masterworks of the late 1980's. An album that encapsulates and exudes the raw, animal fear manifest in the streets of Los Angeles in a heated time in American history, as well as dealing with the range of emotions captured in our day to day interactions with one another. This is a piece that really allows you to exist within the minds of the creators, to share with them a slice of their life that will forever change you as a person, emotionally and spiritually.

I present to you... Dr. Feelgood.

The three chords which commence the album burst forth like a choir of cherubic trumpeting before the loud descent into madness. The horrors of street life are manifest in this first track, bleating of sirens coupled with the cold and dissonant voice of dispatch describing another OD'ed youth. The realities of the tough, gritty life no doubt currently lived by Vince Neil and cohorts is arrogantly shoved in your face. You may wish to turn your head to avoid the sights and sounds he and his motley crew present to you, but their reality exists up close and personal. Try as you might, you will never remove from your mind the horrors they wish to unleash. The terror mounts and multiplies until finally the track ends with the screeching of tires... capped off by the eerie silence of the inevitable crash's aftermath.

We are left, cold and alone, wondering what fate befell those whose tale we just experienced. But there's no time for past reflection. Much as Virgil led Dante Alighieri through the nine circles of damnation present in the afterlife, so too will Vincent serve as guide through the rigors of life, helping us to better understand the plight of our brothers, and perhaps to help us grow emotionally.

We are left with little time to reflect, however, as the guitars kick into the titular track of this LP, namely Dr. Feelgood. This song serves as warning to us average folk. It tells the tale of an average Joe, one Rat-Tailed Jimmy who begins his career as a lowlife thug, nothing more than a goon until he decides to engage in a personal enterprise based around the selling of cocaine and other inebriants.

Whereas Jimmy begins this tale with nothing more than the lint in his pockets, we are led to understand that he soon finds himself in control of a vast criminal enterprise, the cocky grin on his face belying his hubris. Jimmy feels that he has moved beyond the laws of man, having claimed a seat of power so all-encompassing that the combined force of all mankind could not bring him down.

As we know all too well, though, pride cometh before the fall, and before long there's a rumor going around that Jimmy is "going down". Apparently, this time it's going to stick. Unfortunately for Jimmy, his arrogance got the better of him, and like Tony Montana he found himself lulled into complacency by the intoxicating effects of money and power.

From one decadent vice to another we proceed and no sooner have the memories of Jimmy's downfall begun to fade than Neil returns to tell us a tale of seduction and intrigue in a direct and easy to understand manner.

Whereas many musicians of the day employed uncreative metaphor in order to discuss sexual matters, the Crue feel no need to hide behind obfuscatory language and instead engage the listener in a frank and honest discussion of the hedonistic desires that tear into them.

This song ("Slice of Your Pie" for those following along) seeks to force the listener to understand the quandary that Vince Neil has currently found himself embroiled in. Here he sits, lead singer for Motley Crue, a man who doubtless can have any woman he so desires, yet his current object of affection lies just beyond his grasp. He fears this conquest not because she presents a femininity stronger than he can comprehend, but because he fears both the accusatory glances of his friends and the possible statutory issues that could arise due to this forbidden love.

References are made in the song as to her age (nineteen, we're led to believe), though the general candor of lyrics would indicate that perhaps her age is a bit of a mystery. We are able to ascertain that she is a student, currently studying up and achieving good marks in "hoochie coochie", but again what level of education she is working on is left a mystery.

If she is of age, why the internal torment? Why can't Vince just admit to her his overwhelming feelings of love?

Many in the past have had to deal with these types of longing; Humbert Humbert and Kip Winger being two obvious examples.

Whatever the reason for his continued self restraint, we are never left with a satisfactory answer as to whether or not he ever claims his prize. I would wager not, which leads us into the next decadent tale of Epicurean delight, "Rattlesnake Shake".

The "Shake" picks up where "Pie" left off, a man in need of satisfaction but finding none available. Though Vince clearly lusts after the "kitten with a whip" presented before, no gratification was forthcoming, therefore he has had to turn elsewhere to find resolution.

It would seem that he found his way to a personal stash of some libidinous materials that he has squirreled away in his home, magazines and videotapes presenting myriad pleasures, all available at the touch of a button or the flick of a wrist, as it were.

Puns aside, here we have a man not afraid to take matters into his own hands. He's "got the rattle" as it were and his snake wants, no NEEDS "to spit". Unwilling to allow himself to remain unsated any longer he picks up the phone and dials a random 900 number so that the sultry voice on the other end can see him to the completion of the carnal act he was unable to perform with his previous desire.

With mankind's basest desire now satiated, we prepare ourselves for the next stage of the journey. For as the sexual act is the one that begins life, so too must we plumb the dark depths where the end of life lies. We may wish to avoid thinking of what lies beyond this mortal plane, but our own wishes mean nothing next to the power of the Crue's words and music.

The baritone rumblings of a motorcycle exhaust herald the beginning of our descent into death and eventual rebirth through resuscitative means. This song, "Kickstart My Heart", deals with the tragic heroin overdose experienced by bassist Nikki Sixx and his eventual return to life via two adrenaline shots directly to the heart.

Whereas most songs on this album employ a direct narrative, "Kickstart" focuses more on abstracts, drawing the listener in with the visions apparent to Sixx during his time away from Earth. If nothing else, they seek to bring about an understanding of the rush of feelings and surge of physical power manifested by those fateful shots.

Some may think of a return from death as a time to reflect upon our accomplishments in life, a chance to re-evaluate our purpose and drive on this plane. Others, like Sixx, think of naked skydiving and ladies with extraterrestrial bodies.

Having not been available at the time of writing, I do not wish to infer the deeper meanings of Sixx's metaphor, and as such I will refrain from commenting too heavily on this song. It is apparent that I do not need to, as this is one of Motley Crue's most famous and popular songs, no doubt because of the way the lyrics resonate so strongly with the average person's experience.

Having shared Sixx's death experiences, it is time to move forward with our musical journey, this time moving to the realm of emotions, namely "Without You".

This song's appearance on the album hearkens Vince Neil's triumphant return as lead protagonist in our ongoing tale. Though not explicitly stated, one could conclude that the object of affection to whom he is singing this song is the same "seductive ballerina" mentioned earlier. Only this time instead of secretly pining for her affection, Neil is actively courting her.

"Without You" is a chronicling of one man's struggle to achieve sexual congress. It is an endless procession of trite and groan inducing platitudes meant to incite emotional response. Though Neil could have this girl's physical affections at any moment he desires, he seeks to well up the excitement that doubtless burns in her loins.

Neil's intonations help us to understand the futility of ebullient language, forcing us to realize that sometimes a direct and honest communication of the feelings that lay within can provide greater results than the overly flowery wording that he attempts to use.

As Neil is our guide, his struggles are our struggles and his victories are claimed by us as well. Only by realizing the synergy between singer and listener can one truly begin to appreciate the depth of meaning inherent in this song.

What seems on its face like an endless string of empty platitudes is nothing more than the Machiavellian scheming of a man's mind, insistent that saying something intentionally over the top will swoon the lady towards him, even if those words, taken in context, might make him look the fool. It really is a brilliant tactic that Neil employs and one which we can only assume has worked for him before.

For the time being Neil gives up his conquest and we are whisked away to another soundscape, this time dealing with the homosexual element present in LA at the time, an element not unfamiliar to the Crue.

In "Same Ol' Situation" the band tells us the tale we've heard a million times before, relating to us with a sonic wink what we all know, deep down inside. And what do we know? That ALL women are lesbians. Every last one of them. They may seek to pretend that they are interested in the opposite sex, but all it takes is a Phillipino girl in a cellophane dress to turn them back to their rug munching ways.

As Neil puts it, "you just gotta laugh". Once again futility is the order of the day. The sometimes overwhelmingly nihilistic themes of the album come back to the forefront in this song. Why try? What good will it do? No matter how strong a foundation you attempt to build with someone, you can never fully trust their final intent. After all, "girls will be girls".

At least the band urges you to take these hits in stride. Sure, the love of your life may leave you some day for another female, but the fact of the matter is every last one of them ladies is a dyke, so to heck with it.

And now we're back to the conquest of the previous songs. This time Vince has to deal with unrequited desire. Though he has certainly convinced the "pretty, pretty with the sweet, sweet eyes" from his earlier crooning to be with him, perhaps even to go steady, to date they have yet to consummate this relationship.

The strain of unfulfillment wears heavily on our singer as he tears at the anguish roaring inside him. The only thing left in this world that he wants is the heavenly touch of his betrothed, yet for reasons beyond our comprehension he has yet to know her in the biblical sense.

Anxiety rips at his soul as he dreams about the "Sticky Sweet" treasures she doubtless contains in her trousers, yet for the moment fantasy will have to suffice. That is, until we reach the next song.

And here we are at track 10, the indisputed apex of the album. This is the song that we've been building up to the entire time. We have explored Vince's desires for the love of his life from every conceivable angle, from his first discovery at a young age through his courtship and eventual claiming.

But though they have been together in many ways, they have yet to "be together". And hence, "She Goes Down" represents the final consummation of their boundless affections.

Every song up to this point was laying the foundations for the act that entwines Vince and his lover for eternity. Her unselfish act of physical devotion forever seals their relationship, allowing them to blossom and grow into the nurturing and caring future that doubtless awaits them both.

Friction is introduced into their relationship shortly after the consummation, however, and before long Vince is asking his betrothed to leave. This is not done from spite, as we infer from the lyrics, but from a desire to test his lady fair.

He does not incite her with words of anger, nor does he seek to belittle or demean her in any fashion. He reminisces on the good times they shared together and then implores her to find her own way in life. He is not angry, he has simply lost his interest.

Considering the strong moral center displayed by young Neil, I suspect that his desire to see her go has something to do with the act they have just committed. He may have lusted after her endlessly, but the actual act of consecration was, in his eyes, an abomination to god due to their lack of matrimonial bond.

Not wanting to call into question her character, he simply urges her to find her way out of his life. She is not a bad person, she is just not the person he believed she was. He wanted a godly and motherly woman to care for him and their eventual offspring, when instead he found a woman willing to wallow in her lustful desires. Hence, "Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)".

There is little question that this album details Vince Neil's desire to find a decent woman of pure virtue with which to have a child. Without question his final intent is to procreate and birth into this world an object of pure love and beauty, which leads us into the final song, a plaintive pleading for change.

The Crue understood that the heinous ways of Los Angeles at the time this album was created were too much for any society to bear. In order for there to be peace and tranquility for the future progeny, mankind must take a step back and evaluate what really matters in this world.

They have presented to us a collage of modern life and given us the nudge as listener to go out and effect true change in our world. It's not too late, they tell you, things can still change for the better and the world can be made safer and more caring. Just as Vince searches for his one true love, so too can we go out and find those things that fulfill us, in order to make this Earth a little bit better.

There are not many albums I can think of that inspire the listener to change the world for the better. As bitter and cynical as many in this world have become, it's refreshing to see a young group of stand up gentlemen take a stance for decency and caring.

It warms the soul to know that not everybody on this earth only cares about sex and drugs.

Long live the Crue.

I Hate Airplanes

Posted by E

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Time for a little honesty. I hate airplanes. Not just air travel. Not just flying itself. I hate airplanes. I hate airports. I hate anything and everything to do with flying.

And not just your every day run of the mill hate, I'm talking full vitriol "Do I get to kill English" Mad Steven kind of hate. The kind of hate that's so rich and creamy you could melt it down and use it to make Rice Krispie treats.

The reason for this hatred is simple: fear.

That's right, I'm not too manly to admit that I'm terrified of airplanes. So scared that I get sick to my stomach just going to the airport to pick up friends. So horrified that I have to take handfuls of drugs just to get myself on a plane. So mind bogglingly phobic that every trip taken on an airplane ends in tears and near vomiting.

It's been this way for years. As a kid I LOVED flying. There was nothing more exciting to me than hopping on an airplane and feeling the ground melt away from me, soaring through the skies with reckless abandon. Oh sure, I would jokingly look to the wing to see if a gremlin was tearing it apart, but all in all I found it all rather enjoyable.

This all changed at the age of 21.

I hopped on a plane around Christmas of 1996 to head back to my old stomping grounds and spend some time with my childhood friends. I couldn't help but notice the sheer wall of all-encompassing panic that overtook me the second we were airborne.

This was no longer an enjoyable jaunt through the friendly skies, this was the tempting of fate, the spitting in the face of the gods all while being hurtled through the air in a metallic Tylenol coffin. I arrived at my destination rather shaken.

Whereas once flying had been a pleasant diversion, now it was almost unendurable. My friends could see the white pallor of panic borne across my face and all took turns trying to figure out just what the hell had spooked me so bad.

If only I had the answers.

I felt an overwhelming dread that entire visit, a horrific foreknowledge of what was to come; namely the return flight. I had become so jittery and inconsolable by that time that my friends propped me up at the airport bar and forced five or six drinks down my throat in the space of twenty minutes. All in the name of getting me to board the flight home.

You would think that this would abate over the years. Unfortunately for me (in more than one way) it hasn't. In fact, I found myself at a job a short time later that involved travel. Lots of travel. TONS of travel. I was soon the office joke, the punchline of a million guffaws due to my undeniable pussitude when it came to aviary travel.

But even in the midst of all this terror, I was able to find some humor in the situation. There are times when my affliction could cause downright funny situations.

Let me give you a couple.

About 8 years ago I took a flight from Amsterdam back home to the USA. I was returning from a three week stint in the Netherlands and was quite eager to get home. I'm not going to lie, YES, I partook in some of the luxuries that Amsterdam had to offer. But let's get something straight, I'm not stupid. There was no way in hell I would ever try and sneak any drugs back FROM AMSTERDAM. Might as well wear a giant flashing neon sign that says, "HEY DEA GUY, ARREST ME!!!"

But even though I would never dare bring the stuff home with me, I certainly had the look of the kind of guy that would imbibe of the local flavor. Dressed in my finest Pink Floyd shirt and having the disheveled look of a man who had taken too many drugs (just to get on the plane), I staggered from the plane down towards Customs and ultimately baggage return.

Luck wasn't with me that day, and as I stumbled out of the Death Tylenol, I noticed that all of my fellow passengers were geriatrics, straight from a lengthy tour of Europe. So after showing my passport and heading towards baggage claim, it was obvious where the attentions would lie.

Here we come down the elevator, towards the room with all of the drug sniffing dogs and armed security officers...

Old person.
Old person.
Old person.
Old person.
High looking guy with a Pink Floyd shirt.

It goes without saying that I suddenly found myself the center of attention. I did my best in my addled state (please note I was wasted off alcohol and Benadryl, NOT illegal narcotics) to be friendly and act coy. "How's it going, officers?"

I stood by the carousel with an officer and dog to my left, to my right and behind me. As each of my pieces of baggage came rolling towards me I had to pull them off the unit and hand them to each dog in order, so they could ascertain that I was not, in fact, attempting to smuggle four kilos of White Widow across the border.

On another occasion I found myself in San Francisco with one of our new sales associates, a young girl who had only been with the company a short while. She had certainly heard the tales of airline adventures to be had with E, but had never had to deal with them face to face. After three days in San Fran her and I made our way to the airport to make the cross country flight home.

"Hey, I'm gonna stop by the bar real quick, ok?" I asked, and she obligingly joined me.

I would say something along the lines of "I watched her face with bemusement as I guzzled back two beers and took a Benadryl," but the truth is better than fiction. In reality it was 4 bears and 3 Benadryl. And a partridge in a pear tree. And I sure as hell couldn't make out her face after all that.

From what I've been told she had to more or less drag me to the plane and have a stewardess assist her in getting me to my seat. As far as I could tell it was a rather dreamy flight. The fun really didn't start until we arrived at home.

This was an overnight flight, so I didn't actually make my way to the parking garage until around 5 in the morning. Mind you, I had drugged myself severely to get on the plane and had literally been asleep until the plane stopped. So once again I had that bedraggled look of unease that could possibly look to the uninformed like I was a bit unhinged, perhaps even dangerous.

The Marilyn Manson shirt didn't help.

I stumble my way through the parking lot, squinting through heavy lids in a lame attempt to find my car. I eventually succeed in doing so, but upon entering my vehicle I realize that I had left my lights on and was now left with no juice.

Off I go, wandering the parking garage looking like some junked up renegade, asking each and every person I see if I can "Get a jump".

In retrospect, I guess I can see why so many people were off-put by my appearance and why perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words.

Those were the days, I suppose. I'd love to pretend like I'll never board one of those monstrous things again, but I'm sure I'll be suckered into it at least one more time. I just know I'm gonna die in a crash. A three minute plunge towards blackest death.

Fuck planes.

Opie Endorses Obama

Let the Right One In

Posted by Markoni

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Låt Den Rätte Komma In is a Norwegian horror film directed by Tomas Alfredson. Set in the Stockholm suburb of Blackeberg in 1982, a bullied 12-year old boy named Oskar falls in love with a creepy girl name Eli. Things get complicated when he finds out that she's a vampire...

The Wilhelm Scream

Posted by Markoni

Monday, October 20, 2008

Chances are you've heard the Wilhelm Scream dozens of times in movies and TV and never realized it. The Wilhelm is a sound effect cliche that goes back more than half a century and was originally recorded for the 1951 film Distant Drums. Legend has it that Sheb Wooley, best known for his 1958 novelty hit Purple People Eater, provided the scream during the post production work on Distant Drums (in which he had an uncredited bit part).

Nobody Fucks with John McCain

Posted by Markoni

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Except the cheerleader chick from Heroes...

9

Posted by Markoni

Saturday, October 11, 2008

After witnessing the death of his mentor "5" at the hands of the malevolent construct, the rag doll "9" must confront his fears. He must destroy the creature and steal the talisman of trapped souls it carries as a trophy.

9 is a 2004 short film by Shane Acker that has accumulated quite a collection of awards and accolades. Focus Features, the specialty arm of Universal Pictures, is backing a feature length version with Tim Burton (among others) producing. Voice talent for the feature includes Jennifer Connelly, Elijah Wood, Christopher Plummer, and Martin Landau. It currently has a release date of December 26, 2008 in the United States.

My god. What have I done?

Posted by Markoni

Friday, October 10, 2008

SiriusSheila included a link to this video in her response to my Keith Olbermann Smack Down rant from earlier this week. I think it deserves a post of its own.

I Didn't Want to Talk Politics

Posted by E

Thursday, October 9, 2008

I remember laying on the floor back in 1984, eyes glazed over by the relentless boredom that was being drilled into my head by the two men arguing on stage. Two ancient men, by my reckoning, droning on and on about politics and the economy and a host of other things that I couldn't possibly care less about. Just a bunch of stuffy old dudes blathering their platitudes. Where were the lightsabers? Where was the excitement? Seriously, who could possibly give a shit about this?

Flash forward to modern times and I find myself transfixed by the same displays, transfixed with that same glassy stare, but at last understanding what all the hullaballoo is about. I never thought I'd reach the day where politics was interesting, but hey, I guess we all grow up some time.

In all honesty, I've tried to avoid writing about politics on this site. Political opinion is just that, opinion. What I may think or believe is inherently personal and it's really not my place to stuff my thoughts down the throats of others.

Of course, when we're discussing politics in modern day America, there are only two thoughts of belief. (Apparently) You are either a red-blooded Republican patriot who loves our country, supports our troops and believes that America is the greatest country on Earth. Or you're a liberal, a moist and mucilagenous being that feeds on the energies of pure hatred: hatred of America, hatred of our troops, hatred of babies and peace and love and capitalism.

I used to find these divisions amusing. It was entertaining watching the right-wing element of this country rise to power. It began slowly enough, just a radio show here and there, feeding its listeners on a diet of hate and vitriol until they successfully demonized the other side.

Look, current politics dictates that we're primarily a two party system. (Though in reality they're just two sides of the same coin.) But the way it's portrayed in our media, there is only one side. Because one side stands for all that is good and the other apparently wants to destroy the world, enslave the American people and deny Christ.

Really? Have we been so mislead in this country that overly emotional sentiments like that can actually affect public discourse?

Have you watched ANY "news" in this country the last few years? It's nothing but talking heads arguing the same things ad nauseum with nothing useful ever coming from it. It's all a game of who can yell the loudest. We all know that the louder you are, the more truth you're telling.

It's fine to have differing opinions, that's one of the beauties of having free speech. We all have the right to disagree. But all of this sensationalism is terrible for the American people as a whole and our country and culture in general.

Don't take this as me pointing fingers at the right. The left is every bit as guilty of these tactics, only they don't have as strong a voice in the media, despite what the right would have you believe.

The right owns talk radio. They have columnists in every newspaper. The media in general tends to be centrist or at least slightly right of center. But anything that doesn't fall directly within the parameters set by these talking heads is considered "far left" and "dangerous".

Lines of division have been scored deeply into the flesh of America and our media pushes us all ever closer to a teetering point.

Life is not always about black and white. You cannot sum up the entire breadth and range of political thought with buzzwords like left and right.

Your side is not always right. NOBODY'S side is ALWAYS right.

Obama, to the best of my knowledge, does not actually feast on the blood of infants, nor does he have any plans to open a series of "McBortion" clinics offering coffee, fries and baby killing. I don't think he intends to declare himself Fuhrer and set the Constitution alight, either.

And for that matter, I don't believe that McCain has any intention of surviving his term, nor do I think that Sarah Palin "knocked it out of the park" at the debates or otherwise has the experience in the public arena to actually lead this country.

Sigh. I tried to stay away from personal politics, but I guess my seething hatred of the right at the moment shone through. But guess what? I'm NOT a "liberal"! (Shhh!!!) Just because I don't like McCain doesn't mean I love Obama, just that I don't like McCain.

But you know what? I'll listen to what anybody has to say about McCain, I'll take their information, process it, do some research and (gasp) FORM MY OWN OPINION about things instead of just basing my life on the talking points of the various talking heads that make up our modern media.

Okay, this really was nothing more than a rant, but like I said, I've tried to avoid going political, but with things as charged and heated as they are currently in the USA, it's hard to keep my mouth shut.

P.S. If you want to see just how horrifying American political discourse has become, check out either: Sean Hannity's forums or any of the talkback on Digg.

Truly scary stuff.

Keith Olbermann puts the smack down

Posted by Markoni

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Keith Olbermann from MSNBC puts the smack down and tells it like it is.

So let's hurry up and send this stupid bitch back to her arctic wasteland and let McCain go home and fart dust instead of incessantly spewing nonsense to every gullible idiot that hasn't manage to see him for what he really is.

Look, it's just this simple. The democratic party was basically annihilated in the 2004 elections and George W. Bush and Dick Cheney had a republican congress all greased up to rip this country apart and rebuild it in their image. In the four years that followed, they've managed to line the pockets of themselves and all of their buddies, waste billions of dollars and kill millions of people in the middle east with no clear purpose or plan, devalue the dollar to near oblivion in the international markets, piss off half the world so that it's no longer safe for Americans to travel in many places, establish an unfettered domestic surveillance network, push us to the brink of outright socialism, and take a big steaming shit on the Constitution of the United States.

Fuck you and your flag pin patriotism. If you can honestly say that you are better off now than you were 2004, then you are part of the problem. Pull your head out of your ass and act like you've got a clue. This is not some stupid election for student body president or something. This is the REAL DEAL and your country is depending on you to make a good decision on November 4th. It already looks like the McCain/Palin ticket will lose by a comfortable margin. So why the rant?

I want to see the biggest landslide defeat in history and I want McCain's face to glow bright red just before he bursts into flames with his howls of pain echoing through the rotunda. I want to see Palin dragged away in chains and shipped off to Guantanamo where she can no longer embarrass us. Give Alaska to the Canucks and make Puerto Rico a state so we don't have to change the flag.

Oh yeah, and fuck you.

I Am Anti-Semantic

Posted by E

Monday, October 6, 2008

If there is one thing in this world that I cannot stand, it would be semantics.

We all have to deal with them every day. Some jackass who thinks he's being clever by correcting your "mistake" when in fact you were right all along. It's something that's bugged the hell out of me for as far back as I can remember.

Who finds it necessary to be difficult just for the sake of it? Yeah, we all enjoy a good laugh now and then and sometimes arguing semantics can be fun, but doing it for no real reason does nothing but aggravate me and turn what should be a humdrum everyday conversation into an exercise wherein I'm doing my best not to tear somebody's throat out.

Let me give you an example:

I walked into a McDonald's shortly after the movie Supersize Me was released. Due to the bad publicity rained down upon their business, McDonald's opted to remove "Super Sizing" from their menu, instead substituting it with "Large Size".

No harm, no foul, right? I mean, they're just looking out for their best interests while still giving the porcine masses what they really want. (Greasy food and LOTS OF IT.)

In I walk, completely oblivious to this new direction the company is taking.

"I'd like a number four with no pickles or onions, super sized with a Coke," I say in my best monotone, as this is the exact same thing I've ordered from this restaurant for the last decade.

"Oh, we don't have super size anymore," the clerk says, "just large size."

Ahh...semantics.

Had I been the bloke behind the counter, I would have simply rung up the order as a large size and sent the customer on his merry way. Oh sure, I may have taken the time to point out our new "branding", but I would see no reason to interject any needless arguments into the conversation.

Dopey McAcneface apparently saw things differently than I did.

"You don't have super size anymore?"
"Right."
"But you do have a larger size available still?"
"Right."
"Wouldn't that basically mean that the larger size IS the super size?"
"Yeah."

I defy you to look at that exchange and side with the person behind the counter. Seriously, was it worth the effort to block the arrival of my order by 30 seconds? Nowadays whenever I go to a fast food restaurant I order "Giganto-Size, Enormo-Size or even Uber-Size". You'd be amazed how many times I end up with regular size.

The most egregious example of this comes from further back in time. Somewhere in the early to mid 1990's I called up Domino's to order a pizza for my girlfriend and I. Times were lean and we didn't have a whole lot of cash, so I opted for a more meager portion.

"I'd like to order a small pepperoni pizza, please."
"We don't have small pizzas."

"You don't?"
"No sir, we have medium, large and extra large."

I'd love to say that I took the high road, rolled my eyes and opted for the medium. Instead I launched into a scathing tirade about the inanity of the previous statement.

A) I said SMALL, which would obviously indicate the smallest pizza you sell.
B) How in the hell is the smallest pizza a medium? Wouldn't medium indicate that there was some sort of upper and lower measurement, ie the midpoint between the small and the large?
C) Did you REALLY just tell me that you didn't have a small pizza and then list off three sizes, from smallest to largest?

Ugh.

No doubt I enjoyed a pizza covered with all sorts of saliva and floor sweepings, but at least I made a point. I just can't stand people being needlessly nitpicky.

Dis MoFo Fed Layin' It To Da Bone...Jacking me up. TIGHT------LY!

Posted by Arbitrage

Friday, October 3, 2008

"Arbitrage say he can't HANG!"


Angered, Speechless, Dumbfounded, Astonished, Pure Disbelief.


So a few days ago, you say no to giving someone a $700 billion line of credit.

Today you say ok, because of the following(which is only some of the things).

"Some of the goodies intended to attract the votes of individual members of Congress include $192 million for the rum producers of Puerto Rico and Virgin Islands, $128 million for car racing tracks, $33 million for corporations operating in American Samoa, and $10 million for small film and television productions. "

UNREAL.

Not too much more to say on the subject anymore.

If the above doesn't tell you who we are and what we've become then I don't know what else to say.

Cash $cam 101

Cash Scam 101...

Buy the rumor sell the fucking news. Below is the action from today during the passage of the bailout.

Open up in a new window.
See the blue arrow line, that was the point at which the vote count was still coming in, but there was enough Yeas to pass the bill. What happens next? 300 point drop ...bottom fell out.
Cash Scam 101 folks... buy the rumor sell the news.

"But wait, wasn't the bill suppose to be good for the economy?? ...I mean stock market was rising all day, so it passed, well where is the rally???"

"Well ummm yeah Mr. Sucker ..*cough* *cough* I mean Mr. Investor, the earlier prices reflect the passage of the bill, but we all know bill or no bill we're still up shit's creek without a paddle."

Cash Scam 101--


As a side note we just gave 700 Billion line of credit to Fed\Treas.. WOW.


**EDIT**
HAHAHAHA LMFAO

Just read the headline "DOW UP AFTER HOUSE OK's RESCUE"

Yeah ok, we just gave up 250+ points after it was passed.

HAHAHA.. no wonder why they steal 700 Billion from us.....

Don't Vote!

Posted by Markoni

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Shamisen Hero

Posted by Markoni

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Yoshida Kyōdai are Japanese musicians who are known internationally as the Yoshida Brothers and have been recording and performing since 1999. Ryōichirō Yoshida and Ken'ichi Yoshida are the ones rocking out on the shamisen, a traditional Japanese instrument dating back to the 16th century. You've probably heard their music in the background of Nintendo Wii commercials (a track called 'Kodo' from their 'Yoshida Brothers II' album).

The track 'Rising' is from their 2008 CD "Best of Yoshida Brothers".