Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
May I Squier You?
There are two proven ways for a modern man to become a man. One, fornicate with another human. Two, watch this video and use it as a basis for everything you do from the moment it ends. I warn you, if you are easily mesmerized, run. If amazing things tend to make your head explode, turn away from the screen. You are about to experience God’s shining light. This is the reason we were made. This rendered everything done before it obsolete, and all done since pointless. I feel I may be underselling what you are about to see. Without this, we would never know what a whipsy swirl flippy spin bouncy prance looks like. Now, enjoy....
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Brody vs. Brodie: Gas Prices
Brodie
Alright Brody. Now you’re sixteen, and you’re getting ready to take your newly purchased ‘94 Camry to Navy Pier to walk around, maybe score a few beers with your brother’s ID. One problem, your tank needs to be filled. You got 40 bucks? Maybe, between you, Eddie, and D-man. But D-man needs that money to buy the beers for the three girls you meet down there. Only they are not there, because they didn’t have the 40 bucks between them.
Where am I going with this? Gas prices. The prices keep rising. Instability in the Middle East and North Africa they say. Libya is at war with their beautiful Gadda, so there must be an oil shortage. Lack of access, right? It’s really a bunch of bullshit. Speculation on Wall Street is the reason for the bump. Wall Street and the oil companies LOVE when any country that drains its people and it resources has a conflict. They love watching Libyans die. Why? They use it as an excuse. And they make a killing off all the killing. How oil is allowed to be traded as a commodity to be speculated on is beyond me. The assholes buying and selling oil will never use it. It’s a little gambling dance. Only gambling where the speculators and big oil executives make the rules and pocket the money. They drive up prices every time there is conflict in a oil bearing nation. I’d love to see the giant erections they got after the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Well, I wouldn’t love to see their giant erections, I was speaking figuratively, of course. But, back to their giant erections, I mean Japan, back to Japan. Japan produces about 1/15th the oil that Libya does. Don’t think it won’t affect prices though. Just as good of an excuse as any other.
Don’t expect any politician, from your local tea party jag hole to Barack Obama to talk about this obvious money suck. There are all kinds power players (see campaign contributors and influences) to alienate by pointing out this glaring problem. There are reserves to keep the oil flowing for as long as they need. There are shipments of oil just hanging out in tankers. Shipments being held back. Reserves never touched.
These people think we are stupid, and how can you blame them? The GOP recently championed an idea to change EPA climate rules in order to thwart rising gas prices. Are you fucking kidding me? These people are well aware of the speculation driven price hikes and they just wave the shiny ball of climate restrictions in front of us. They might as well say that the unemployed or the gays are behind it as well.
Will we ever wise up to the “hey look over here, while we get rich” charade that executive elite pukes out on us? And you wonder why Wesley Snipes doesn’t want to pay taxes. God bless you Wesley.
Brody
I’m not super good with sarcasm, but I think you are not really on Wesley Snipes’ side. Which is fine with me. He is part of the problem with the gas prices. Not to mention the unions. Those damn teachers are making so much money, they are sucking all of are oil resources dry. Do the oil companies even receive any subsidies or tax breaks? Probably not. They have to pay for some of their own oil spill cleanup. Not like the teachers and other union members. They get paid by us. They should take all their extra money and pay for our gas.
What a great idea. I love these little debates we have Brodie. The teachers should give their pay increases to the oil companies in order to keep gas prices low. And then on weekends and winter break and summer break, they can actually pump our gas. That will negate the bump in price from the savages in foreign lands who are cutting each other’s heads off.
Speaking of said savages, at the heart of it all is the Muslims. Now not only do I have to keep my head on a swivel at all times to make sure they’re not trying to blow me up or feed me Muslim food, but now I have to worry about them fighting each other and jacking up my gas prices. I’m totally conflicted. My go to line in the food court at the mall used to be, “go back to your country”. Sometimes I’d even throw in a little something like “camel boy” or “turban cowboy” or even “get Jafar away as you can”. But now, sending them back to their country would only increase the foreign conflict, thus causing me to shell out at the pump.
As for Wall Street, well, I hate a banker just as much as the next guy. But I trust an American man in a suit over a bunch of dusty, rock throwers in the Middle East. Let’s just hope that this conflict in Libya doesn’t spread to Africa. Bee-rody, lates.
Extremely Short Stories
Disillusioned
Reuben told me that he sold scarves and is turned on by images of polar bears. Turns out he was only half a liar.
The Parking Meter
Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. Tabitha was freezing. The weather report said it was ten below with the windchill. Only five more minutes. Maybe she should have worn gloves. A hat would have been practical. She was determined to get her money’s worth.
Jim Tuck
Jim never forgot to tuck in his shirt. T-shirt into sweatpants. Button-down into slacks. Friday night, collar-up, half-zip cotton shirt into jeans.
On Tuesday he wore a loose fitting long-sleeve workout shirt seemingly tucked into his running shorts. The shirt was one size too big. He was sloppy with the back tuck. The taxi door was closed too quickly. Jim was dragged twelve blocks.
His mother now tucks in his shirts for him. Right after she bathes him.
The Hotel Night Manager
Everything was open to Belmont Johnson. His home was pillared. His marriage allowed for outside partners. He drove a convertible. He neglected to wear a toupee or shave his head completely. A lifetime of preparation for his new job.
Oklahoma Spot Thieves
The world seemed like a wonderful place to Elizabeth. That was before she moved to Tulsa. She doesn’t know whether she will ever see her dog again.
The Eulogy
Jerry: “Do not brandish that.”
Gary: “Brandish?”
Jerry: “You’re brandishing your firearm.”
Gary: “Shut your mouth.”
Jerry: “I only ask that you don’t brandish-”
Gary “We may never figure out how Jerry ended up dead in an abandoned warehouse. He was a great man. He was a fancy word-user. Used words like daunting, flourish and brandish. We’ll miss you Jerry.”
The Newborn
Reginald?
No.
Bernard?
Noooooo.
Matthew?
Ohhhh. No.
Timothy?
Horace. Not now.
He’s about to be here. How ’bout Robert?
Your father? Horace he was a……..ohhhhhh…..sex pervert.
Randall?
No.
Daniel?
Stop. These are all terrible.
William?
No.
Alec, Stephen?
Stop naming Baldwins!
Jaden?
Please.
I've got it.
Ladies and Gentleman, the 53rd President of the United States of America.
Years ago, at my birth, a young nurse brought a basket of fruit into the delivery room. Such was fate. Now me and my unusual name will lead us through the second half of the 21st Century.
The Arm Wrestler
Bill clutched his opponent's hand. He pushed as hard as he could. Thoughts of his childhood flashed in front of him. He loved to wear the finger gloves. Before all the glory and the weightlifting and the hand exercising, he loved those gloves. He was wearing them now.
The Arm Wrestler
It is a mental game. Believe me. Columbus, Rockford, Mobile, the cities and the workouts change, but the game remains the same. Courtney was a female in a man’s world, but this was a gay bar. She felt even more alien at this competition. Then she put on her gloves and the powder. She strapped her elbow in place. Darius looked affected by his surroundings.
A third place finish and an advance towards her bus ticket to Scotsdale. She now knew she could handle anything.
The Arm Wrestler
“David! David, get in here.”
“Yes, dad.”
“I tripped over your flippin’ skateboard again. What did I tell you?”
“Mom said it was okay.”
“Dammit. I’m the man out there and I’m the man in this house.”
Reuben told me that he sold scarves and is turned on by images of polar bears. Turns out he was only half a liar.
The Parking Meter
Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. Tabitha was freezing. The weather report said it was ten below with the windchill. Only five more minutes. Maybe she should have worn gloves. A hat would have been practical. She was determined to get her money’s worth.
Jim Tuck
Jim never forgot to tuck in his shirt. T-shirt into sweatpants. Button-down into slacks. Friday night, collar-up, half-zip cotton shirt into jeans.
On Tuesday he wore a loose fitting long-sleeve workout shirt seemingly tucked into his running shorts. The shirt was one size too big. He was sloppy with the back tuck. The taxi door was closed too quickly. Jim was dragged twelve blocks.
His mother now tucks in his shirts for him. Right after she bathes him.
The Hotel Night Manager
Everything was open to Belmont Johnson. His home was pillared. His marriage allowed for outside partners. He drove a convertible. He neglected to wear a toupee or shave his head completely. A lifetime of preparation for his new job.
Oklahoma Spot Thieves
The world seemed like a wonderful place to Elizabeth. That was before she moved to Tulsa. She doesn’t know whether she will ever see her dog again.
The Eulogy
Jerry: “Do not brandish that.”
Gary: “Brandish?”
Jerry: “You’re brandishing your firearm.”
Gary: “Shut your mouth.”
Jerry: “I only ask that you don’t brandish-”
Gary “We may never figure out how Jerry ended up dead in an abandoned warehouse. He was a great man. He was a fancy word-user. Used words like daunting, flourish and brandish. We’ll miss you Jerry.”
The Newborn
Reginald?
No.
Bernard?
Noooooo.
Matthew?
Ohhhh. No.
Timothy?
Horace. Not now.
He’s about to be here. How ’bout Robert?
Your father? Horace he was a……..ohhhhhh…..sex pervert.
Randall?
No.
Daniel?
Stop. These are all terrible.
William?
No.
Alec, Stephen?
Stop naming Baldwins!
Jaden?
Please.
I've got it.
Ladies and Gentleman, the 53rd President of the United States of America.
Years ago, at my birth, a young nurse brought a basket of fruit into the delivery room. Such was fate. Now me and my unusual name will lead us through the second half of the 21st Century.
The Arm Wrestler
Bill clutched his opponent's hand. He pushed as hard as he could. Thoughts of his childhood flashed in front of him. He loved to wear the finger gloves. Before all the glory and the weightlifting and the hand exercising, he loved those gloves. He was wearing them now.
The Arm Wrestler
It is a mental game. Believe me. Columbus, Rockford, Mobile, the cities and the workouts change, but the game remains the same. Courtney was a female in a man’s world, but this was a gay bar. She felt even more alien at this competition. Then she put on her gloves and the powder. She strapped her elbow in place. Darius looked affected by his surroundings.
A third place finish and an advance towards her bus ticket to Scotsdale. She now knew she could handle anything.
The Arm Wrestler
“David! David, get in here.”
“Yes, dad.”
“I tripped over your flippin’ skateboard again. What did I tell you?”
“Mom said it was okay.”
“Dammit. I’m the man out there and I’m the man in this house.”
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