It was a busy weekend in my head but I ran short on time to actually type it all out so stick with me as I blast it all out at once… Every time I sat down to begin, someone or something needed my attention and I never got any time to myself at all! It was especially frustrating this weekend because Teresa and Becca are in Pennsylvania and I was looking forward to finishing up a lot of loose ends. I normally spend the weekend trying to get to the puter and never getting there because I want to spend all my time with T and B. But now it is apparent that I am just not meant to get on that stupid computer and that it is ridiculous and wasteful for me to even HAVE a computer at the house because I never get any work done on it. Ah futility, it is in my nature to bitch and moan about things that I can change but chose not to…
Actually, I had a nice Father’s Day even if Becca was out of town. Last weekend they made me breakfast because they knew I’d be alone yesterday. When I got back in town she left presents for me, a shirt, a hat some candy but the coolest thing was a CD she made. She sang a song for me and put it on CD. I’ve listened to it a million times already.
I kept calling my dad but he was out most of the day. They had a nice church event and then they all went out for dinner. I finally got through to him around 9 at night. I watched a movie later that night as I was going to bed. There was a line in there that I thought about a lot. The kid in the movie is a real screw-up and he wants to gain his father’s respect so he keeps trying and it only gets worse. At one point he’s talking with his father about “trying to salvage what’s left of our relationship” and the father replies with “Relationship? What are we dating? I’m not your best-friend, that’s your mother’s part. I’m your father; I tell you when you screw up!”
I thought it sounded a little harsh but also a little true. I started thinking about my father and how some of the screw-ups I’ve been through (none as bad as in the movie) and realized that both parts can be consolidated into one. A father can be a friend as well as the necessary boot to the head when needed. I know mine was. I hope Becca sees me the same way I see my father after she grows up. With resounding respect and love.
Everyone is stuck on this superstitious 666 thing from last week. I was looking at T-shirts this weekend and saw one that I felt needed correcting.
It said, “00110 – 00110 – 00110 – Evil Genius”
It should say, “1010011010 – Evil Genius” shouldn’t it?
The fact that I pointed it out, does that make me an even MORE evil genius? Or just an evil nerd?
Of course, there was the one that said, “999, Evil when I do hand-stands”. I prefer, but haven’t seen, “665, the Neighbor of the Beast”. Or, “333, Son of a Beast”
So, on my way down to Miami this morning, I was listening to my iPod. I usually listen to all my Podcasts and then switch over to my “Recently Added” mix. It plays all the music I’ve added in the last 20 days.
Last week, before she went to PA, Teresa had me acquire a few songs for her, Becca and Lizzy. So during my drive I ended up hearing “Honky Tonk Bedonkadonk” or whatever the hell it’s called.
I want to see if I can find a karaoke version of this song. If you can ignore the brain-dead lyrics, (and that’s a BIG if) I don’t think many people could tell this song apart from any 80′s rock songs. It’s not country, it’s redneck-metal! That is, aside from the lyrics.
From the first seconds of the song, it’s obvious that someone really wants to sound like a rough and tough redneck. That “I’ve drank a lot of beer and I need to get in a fight” sound. Alright, we’ll allow him his sound but he does has to answer for his choice in lyrics. Dancing girls, loud music, that’s fine but what the hell is “She’s got it going on like Donkey Kong” mean? What the fuck? I’ve written some stupid shit in my life (VERY stupid shit) but I’ve never just given up trying to find something intelligible and landed on something as moronic as “She’s got it going on like Donkey Kong”. The other lyrics run something like, “shut my mouth, slap your grandma”. I fucking hate rednecks….. I know there have been bad lyrics written by most genres and in most all generations but what the fuck is it with country music? Do they have a patent on stupidity?
I just ran into this over the weekend. Sitting in a restaurant and a bunch of rednecks behind me talking in code. All analogies, all the time. “He’s as honest as the day is long.” “She’s as hard working as the trees are tall.” “It’s hotter than a raccoon wearing a wool sweater in a sauna in the middle of July.” Increase the gene pool; KILL ALL WHITE TRASH!!!!!!!!
The days are shorter in the winter so if he’s as honest as the days are long, then it stands to reason that he’s not as honest during the winter as he is in the summer. Who the hell puts wool sweaters on raccoons and why are they in the sauna? Assuming the sauna is inside (otherwise it wouldn’t work very well) why does it matter if it’s July or if it’s February? Saunas are hot. We get it. Adding in the July thing is redundant and unnecessary. It’s about as stupid as a hog wearin’ a pink dress trying to do arithmetic while driving a unicycle. Morons. Go drink your moonshine in the corn field and pass out after banging your sister and hopefully the combine harvester won’t notice you until its too late!
OK, sorry I got carried away there, back to music, the best lyric story I have is because of my Mom. I was still living at home and mom decided to help me out by taking my truck in for the emission inspection. When I came home from work she sat me down and started asking how I was feeling and if I was depressed. After going through this for a while, she told me that while going through my glove box looking for my registration and insurance, she found my suicide note.
It took a long time to get her to believe that they were in fact lyrics to Metallica’s “Fade to Black”. The singer in the band I was in at the time couldn’t remember lyrics to save his life so I took to writing them down so he could fumble through them. (This is the same reason I still go into convulsions when I hear “For Whom the Bell Tolls”)
I think the suicide rate is possible proof that we’ll never invent time machines. Some people think it’s the money trail but I think it’s the suicide rate. Money can be (and must be) hidden from the IRS so people would go through great lengths to keep it from public view if they were going back in time and playing the lottery or making bets but there are too many preventable deaths happening for time travel to exist.
Don’t you think that if we ever invented that ability to travel through time, people would go back to keep loved ones and famous people from premature deaths? As long as there are tragic deaths, it is proof that no one is coming back in time to prevent them. And if not, then what the hell use is a time machine then? Is the Star Trek code of non-interference SOOOO critical that no one ever breaks the law? Imagine going back in time and keeping Jimi Hendrix from getting on the plane. Or even better, Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly and JP Richardson. Maybe go back in time and warn Kennedy or Lincoln. John Lennon.
Of course, every time someone does goes back in time to prevent Kurt Cobain and Dale Earnhardt from dying, someone like me goes back to make sure it does happen. Too much money to be made off of the death of some people. Money and fame, some people have an express interest in keeping Coban dead. If he didn’t paint the walls with his own brain matter then we probably wouldn’t have ever heard of Courtney Love and Dave Grohl would still be wasting away playing drums for the whining flannel buffoon.
Oh man, I’m just full of love today aren’t I?
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