M J

I refuse to talk about that stupid pedo!

She had a lovely backside, so she did!

An old woman sat on her rocking chair one evening rocking away her life of limitless toil. Since she had just turned eighteen and the sun was out and she was driving in her car, she did not rock in her rocking char. She came to a stop light, which being green was inneptly named. Turning left onto a one way street which had a sign proclaiming "BRIDGE OUT" she realised that her life was moving in a strange direction. Tumbling through the air like an Italian gymnast in a circus who travels around the country in a troupe of like minded acrobats who are not related yet refer to themselves as the Guido Brothers, she had occasion to look back and ponder what had brought her to this end.

Of course, the the thing she first considered was the sign she saw earlier. What if it had said "BRIDGE IN"? In what? What was the bridge, in fact, out of? Could the potentially misleading sign not be replaced with "LACK OF ROADWAY" or "POTENTIAL LIFE THREATENING PLUMMET ENSUES"?

When the old girl of eighteen was still a lass of fifty she had married a man who had one eye. This eye always had a far away look in it which made her often wonder if it was looking for its missing twin. This endeared him to her instantly as she thought it was a perfect metaphor concerning life, religion and love. She also liked his mustache.

Clem was as hard a man to love as he was to look at, but they were very happy. When she gave him their third child at the ripe old age of thirteen, he cried tears of joy. Oddly enough the tears came out of both eyes. (I hope this answers at least one of the reader's here to before unanswered questions.) He looked down at her in the delivery bed, sweaty and not necessarily as beautiful as a fire hydrant (not if you've seen a pretty, new one!), but glowing with an inner warmth and radiance like a toaster or an electric cigarette lighter. "Ophelia" he said with love licking every syllable, "Whyn'choo git up offn that sorled bed an leep upn mah harms!" With the light of love leaping from her doe eyes, she did. The two kissed and cooed as the warm trickle of blood from the split stitches of her caesarian section bathed them both in the wonder and joy that is parenthood.

"Em'r fahn tames" Ophelia thought as the water under the BRIDGE OUT came toward her car. Not quickly like in one of those new action movies, nor quickly like one of the old action movies, but slowly like one of the action movies from the eighties, when people first decided that it would be groovy to draw out the inevitable in order to subliminaly force rapt audiences to eat just one more handfull of soy substitute laced popcorn product with recycled kernal filler.

It was March third eighteen sixty three. The civil war was in full swing and the grapes of wrath had been wrung through the clenched fists of the citizens of America from two of the cardinal points of the compass. Ophelia had not yet been born...She decided to think of something else.

In the far reaches of space the leader of the Great Tribunal of Warriors solemnly approached the dais. His multi-jointed jaws opened and a strand of ammonia rich spittle stained the ceremonial robes, causing them to turn a fetted brown color. A slow murmer rose from the crowd at this faux pas. A visiting potentate from the neighboring nebula quietly commented on the age of Tar, the great leader.

Tar's eyes, normaly a pale orange, which in his youth had been the talk of many a handmaiden in the royal entourage, became livid and green. They expanded to fill the sunken cavities of his eye sockets as a waft of red smoke filtered upward from his cerebrum. With a finger upraised as if to make a momentus statement, he toppled forward, his great bulk splintering the lecturn and causing panicked shrieks, glurps and gabumps to erupt from the gathered crowd.

Captain James Tiberius Kirk, in a geostationary orbit over the capital haled his newly modified transporter room.
"Scotty, did the death ray work as planned?"
"Aye sir, we seem te' have directed all of the power directly inte' the Overlord's cranium."
"Good work Scotty. Bridge out."

Ophelia immediatly regretted the halucinogenics she took in the seventies when she was a crazy fourty year old college student. She began to think about the things in her life that had brought her so much joy. Her many pets, her family, her wonderfull orthodontics which she had left at home...huh, she thought, I seem to have left my own bridge out. She laughed and laughed as gravity innevitably turned her into raspberry jam at the bottom of the ravine.
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About the author:
Chad Schmegpole is a lunatic mail carrier from Shitheel Cove, Kenya. He spends his days with his neighbor's son N*Boke, who enjoys reading Mr. Schmegpole's books and playing with his dog N*Tobe, who enjoys scratching that spot behind his ear which seems to have some type of exema and chasing the mail carrier Chad Schmegpole who enjoys brown water rafting, engaging in impossible tasks and screaming at strangers. He is married to Mrs. Schmegpole, a half whit taxidermist and has three children...with one body...who desperately need your help. For information regarding the fund to cure the three headed deformity, or FuCThD, write to Schmegpole and Jizburp Assc., 1 Garbage Dump Lane, Shitheel Cove, Kenya 00006.

Drunken rants about pop stars and you: what you need to know

Wow. Talk about drunken blogging. Sorry everybody. I guess I'm more passionate about pop music than I thought. Anyways, I just wanted to take the time to share some things I've learned about Craigslist over the past couple months....

First off, the personals of women for men are basically a single mom buffet. If you ever wanted to date a milf, this is your chance. Not only that, but often the picture they post is a cropped picture of them together with their last boyfriend; propably the guy that gave them the kid. I find this hysterical.

Secondly, the crossroads nearby where I live are a hot spot for "erotic services." Apparently, after all those nights when I would have given my liver (and that means a lot to me) for some complete stranger action, I could have just gone down to the corner. Silly me.

Third: No picture. No nothing. If there isn't a picture, it's a thirty year old professional serial killer selling a stolen guitar out of his stolen Civic before going off to sell crack to your little sister. If I don't see a picture, I won't even trust my roommate, who's the only serial killer I can really ever trust these days.

Leave her alone

I don't get fired up often, unless I'm drunk... or haven't drank in a while, but one thing that pisses me off is when people get picked on; especially women. That's why when I read about all the backlash from the VMAs and Britney Speares' performance, I got irate. First off, the VMAs, in my opinion, were much better than previous years. I saw more live performances, mixes of artists, and even debauchery than the past five years combined. I don't even like MTV or the VMAs. In fact, I hate them. But I was forced to watch by my roommate who scared me by scouring the internet for everything mentioned, even a visible phrase on a rapper's t-shirt. And you know what, it wasn't bad. Even Timberlake had the balls to call out MTV on something I've been harping about for a long, long time - a lack of music. But the next day, while I'm checking the world news, I happen on articles, blogs, and every other kind of crap written about how the VMAs sucked and Britney's performance was the "death knell" for the VMAs. Flabby, awkward, drugged out. Maybe so. Yeah, I admit she could have done better. In fact, I would have advised her not to jump back into the circus so early, but she did and it was bad. But when I have to watch someone on E talk about how lame her excuses were and how her career is over, I turn red with rage. How many times do we have to remind ourselves that celebrities are people; people with the same problems as us. In fact, I would venture to say that being rich and famous only makes these problems much worse. I drink. A lot. It's bad enough to have to hear comments about it or even have to talk about it with my close friends, let alone have to watch someone spitting in my face on TV, in magazines, and the internet. Let's face it everyone in the business seems to want to tear Britney down. I never liked her music because, well.... I'm a guy, but when someone shaves their head and goes to rehab, I feel bad for them. It's a serious problem which should be taken seriously. And I understand that the people lauding all her mistakes have to, at least to some extent, because that's their business and it's very competitive but if you were fresh out of rehab, would you really be excited about going to Las Vegas to perform in front of the world. I know I wouldn't even get on the plane. What she did took balls. Yeah, balls. Maybe it was a gamble. In fact, it certainly was, but its harder to do and more courageous than standing with your hands in your pockets making smug comments about the weight of a mother of two to a laughing audience. Which brings me to Sarah Silverman - awful. Seriously. As a professional comedian in a room full of celebrities, don't you think that picking out Spears is just a tad too easy? Pete could have done the same thing and he's not funny at all. Not in the least. So I stand with Britney. People make mistakes but how those mistakes are handled is what makes them who they are. It's a cliche, but it's true. Not to mention, she only went to rehab. For celebrities, that's pretty common. Maybe the shaved head thing was a little freaky, but hey, I'm an artist and sometimes we do weird shit to ouselves as some form of expression. Not that we should dismiss her but there's a difference between holding someone accountable and ostracizing them, then having the gall to tell them that their career is over. She didn't even get arrested for anything! I think it's because people are jealous. The business watches as a girl turns into bombshell with hit singles (this is before american idol or other modern teen pop stars, who by the way have hit rehab/jail way quicker than Spears), what's the only thing that can happen next? Green eyed jealousy. It's fun to watch stars rise but it's much more satisfying to watch them plummet in a ball of fiery disgrace and then turn around to the rest of the band wagon and say, "see I knew it would happen." Yeah, lady, the odds were against you on a prediction like that; your intuitive vision amazes me... I'm proud of the fact that it took a loser ex-husband, two kids, thousands of nay sayers and a mental melt down for someone to finally succumb... for a while. Hell, look at Robert Downey Jr.! So fuck off, fashion reporters and celebrity gossip mongers. The only people I look down on are you.

So Long Nifong

I'll make this a quick summation. As you may or may not beware, Mike Nifong was disbarred this weekend for the handling of the Duke LaCrosse case. Do i agree with what his disbarment? Absolutely. However i find it unfortunate that the alleged perpetrators are not going to sue him. I realize that he only has $11,000 to his name, but i would absolutely take that from him.

But here is my beef with the resolution with this case. Where are Jesse Jackson and Al Sharptons apologies? When the whole scenario started they were all up in the media talking about how this was another horrible instance of white on black crime. Jesse Jackson went even so far as to make the claim that he would personally pay for the accusers education due to the tragic events. Well now that we see that this was another instance of someone trying to take advantage of a situation where did the civil rights front runners go? Have they ever seen something to is conclusion or once the face time on TV is over to they run to the next media friendly cause? I think we know the answer to this.

If i was the 3 accused gentlemen i would demand a written apology from them and make it a public spectacle just like they would.