A few months ago while I was at work, I was robbed. Someone stole the catalytic converter off the bottom of my car (part of the exhaust). Apparently, you can recycle the little buggers for about 60-70 dollars. Who knew? Not me, cause I probably would have turned it in myself for weed money, even if it did make my car sound like an incredibly irate woolly mammoth.
A couple weeks ago, some one stole my whole car. Ironically, I was at work that day telling everyone how this new trolley station I went to was so much safer and secure.
I miss the trolley. I miss the people that were weird and ignored me, but somehow not as much as the people who were weird and engaged me. Now, I'm assuming this is like the whole "I miss being in a relationship" thing, where you focus on the happy times, and forget about the times when your girlfriend was a drunk idiot, or when a punk 17 year old tries to fight a middle aged woman. But dammit I miss it.
I took the bus a few times, but that sucked.
Those people are losers.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Check this out right now
Byron Garcia is the warden of a prison in the Philippines.
These are his movies.
We really have a long, long way to go, don't we?
These are his movies.
We really have a long, long way to go, don't we?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Looking for work
As I am always looking for the newest, latest, greatest adventure out there, I have decided to look for additional employment! Here are my credentials:
* I can get up really early.
* I have the ability to wear a paper hat.
*If given a water-based cleaning utensil, I can get a lot of water where it shouldn't be.
*I know a shitload of other ways to piss Tom off.
If anyone needs anybody with that description, lemme know!
* I can get up really early.
* I have the ability to wear a paper hat.
*If given a water-based cleaning utensil, I can get a lot of water where it shouldn't be.
*I know a shitload of other ways to piss Tom off.
If anyone needs anybody with that description, lemme know!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Shut Up
I've found the perfect way to get to work. First, I take a commuter bus part of the way, a nice clean bus that is filled only with sleeping Asians. Then I take the subway three stops to Montgomery Station. Simple. Piece of cake. So the other day I'm walking from the bus stop to the subway and I pass a homeless guy with a walker. He looked to be in his 40s or 50s. We were walking in the same direction and as I passed him, I coughed.
"Shut up," he replied, in a deliberate, disgusted tone.
I stopped, turned around, and looked at him. Then I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I'll admit I was taken aback and a little hurt, but the sheer magnitude of his disdain, its misdirection towards me, and the absurdity of the whole situation just wouldn't let me take it seriously. "What an asshole," I said to myself as I turned and went to down the stairs into the subway station, still laughing.
"Shut up," he replied, in a deliberate, disgusted tone.
I stopped, turned around, and looked at him. Then I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I'll admit I was taken aback and a little hurt, but the sheer magnitude of his disdain, its misdirection towards me, and the absurdity of the whole situation just wouldn't let me take it seriously. "What an asshole," I said to myself as I turned and went to down the stairs into the subway station, still laughing.
Busking With the Best of Them
The subway is fucking annoying. People act like rats down there. When I come up the escalator the first thing I encounter after I pass through the turnstile is the little troll who sits in the newstand booth. The booth is just a little aluminum cage that says "Newsstand" on it. This homeless-looking guy with a pointy nose and long, stringy grey hair sits inside of it in the morning and sells newspapers. He's usually wearing a pair of those headphones that have an FM radio built in them. One morning as I was coming up the escalator the strap on my backpack came loose (huh-huh, I said "strap on"). I set it down on the aluminum cage and the instantly the troll was on me. "Can you move that? Please? PLEASE!" You remember that scene in Rain Man where Dustin Hoffman goes bonkers? That's what this was like. I didn't even see it coming.
Anyways, this was about busking. Here's a list of some of the regular buskers I see at the Montgomery Station:
1. Jesse Morris - He's a punk rock kid who sings like Johnny Cash. Just like Johnny Cash. It's great to see him down there at 8:00 on a Monday morning, totally decked out in punk regalia singing Ring of Fire to uptight paperpushers on their way to the office, but to me it begs an obvious question- why? If I were him I'd move to Vegas and make a hundred grand a year like all those shitty Michael Jackson impersonators instead of waking up early as fuck and getting my mohawk ready so I could go down into the subway and wait for the Financial District herd to throw coins at me.
2. Asshole and Mandolin Man - Not their real names. Mandolin Man is a sturdy-looking, small, bearded man who sits on a stool. Usually he just plays leads over the Asshole on guitar, almost always harmonic minor scales. It's boring but ignorable. I call the guitar player asshole because he plays guitar like Jack Johnson, everything has that annoyingly crisp, punchy backbeat. I fucking hate Jack Johnson more han I hate Nazis, because he IS a Nazi. He's a fucking World War's worth of lame, uninspired, mediocre music. And the Asshole down in Montgomery Station who plays sort of like him is folkier. It's brutal. I picture the music video to his hit single having a sing along with a bunch of people in mom jeans shaking heir butts in front of the camera. Like cheesy 90s shit that makes you feel awkward while you're watching it.
3. Mariachi Guy - He's a short Mexican guy who wears a cowboy hat and sings songs like "Cielito Lindo". His guitar is almost always out of tune. Needless to say, I give him the nod almost everytime I walk by.
I gave it a try a couple of times. It was fun and I made about $10 during the hour and a half I played, but who the fuck wants to be underground with the rats any more than you have to be?
Anyways, this was about busking. Here's a list of some of the regular buskers I see at the Montgomery Station:
1. Jesse Morris - He's a punk rock kid who sings like Johnny Cash. Just like Johnny Cash. It's great to see him down there at 8:00 on a Monday morning, totally decked out in punk regalia singing Ring of Fire to uptight paperpushers on their way to the office, but to me it begs an obvious question- why? If I were him I'd move to Vegas and make a hundred grand a year like all those shitty Michael Jackson impersonators instead of waking up early as fuck and getting my mohawk ready so I could go down into the subway and wait for the Financial District herd to throw coins at me.
2. Asshole and Mandolin Man - Not their real names. Mandolin Man is a sturdy-looking, small, bearded man who sits on a stool. Usually he just plays leads over the Asshole on guitar, almost always harmonic minor scales. It's boring but ignorable. I call the guitar player asshole because he plays guitar like Jack Johnson, everything has that annoyingly crisp, punchy backbeat. I fucking hate Jack Johnson more han I hate Nazis, because he IS a Nazi. He's a fucking World War's worth of lame, uninspired, mediocre music. And the Asshole down in Montgomery Station who plays sort of like him is folkier. It's brutal. I picture the music video to his hit single having a sing along with a bunch of people in mom jeans shaking heir butts in front of the camera. Like cheesy 90s shit that makes you feel awkward while you're watching it.
3. Mariachi Guy - He's a short Mexican guy who wears a cowboy hat and sings songs like "Cielito Lindo". His guitar is almost always out of tune. Needless to say, I give him the nod almost everytime I walk by.
I gave it a try a couple of times. It was fun and I made about $10 during the hour and a half I played, but who the fuck wants to be underground with the rats any more than you have to be?
People Waking Me Up
Why do people seem confused when I yell at them for waking me up early? Why does crashing around on my roof and spraying water in my apartment seem like a perfecly natural thing to be doing at 7:30 on a Sunday morning? Those fuckers. There's a Chinese restaurant below us and they have a big fan on top of our roof. Every once in a while they send this asshole with a paper bag on his head to clean it. I mean, i's not like I have to endure a war or anything, but fuck man. Next time I'm going over to his house at 7:30 and taking big corn shit on his lawn.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Assassination Aspirations
Being assassinated has been one of my long term goals for a few years now. It is my intention to say things that are so inflammatory/irritating to certain people that I am hunted down and assassinated (as in a Martin Luther King Jr. way, not an Adolph Hitler way). Whether I am shot by a lone, possibly CIA-employed gunman as I'm eating an apple, or executed for committing treason against a government that I did not give consent to "govern" me is irrelevant. As a means of making an exit from this severely ridiculous little comedy, it appeals to me for four reasons:
1. You have to be considered important enough to be assassinated instead of just being murdered. Any old slob can be murdered, but if you're assassinated it means you've done something special with your life.
2. Since only stupid, insane people kill other people, I'll have pissed off the right people.
3. Since we're all going to die someday and I accept that, I might as well go out with a bang.
4. Revolutions are sexy. If I'm lucky enough to foment one and get shot or pushed off of a cliff because of it, tant mieux.
I think it'd be fun to radically alter traditional governmental and societal organizations that appear to be both suppressing human evolution and hastening the moment of our extinction. Extinction appears to be inevitable, however my current worldview is predicated on the beliefs that a) we don't have to like it, b) it is unacceptable to throw up one's hands, give up on any hope of clarity brought about by moral and philosophical development, and go about spending the rest of our days feverishly trying to accumulate more stuff (houses, money, cars, etc., the traditional rewards of human social games) to the detriment of the environment and future generations, and c) I might be wrong about everything.
1. You have to be considered important enough to be assassinated instead of just being murdered. Any old slob can be murdered, but if you're assassinated it means you've done something special with your life.
2. Since only stupid, insane people kill other people, I'll have pissed off the right people.
3. Since we're all going to die someday and I accept that, I might as well go out with a bang.
4. Revolutions are sexy. If I'm lucky enough to foment one and get shot or pushed off of a cliff because of it, tant mieux.
I think it'd be fun to radically alter traditional governmental and societal organizations that appear to be both suppressing human evolution and hastening the moment of our extinction. Extinction appears to be inevitable, however my current worldview is predicated on the beliefs that a) we don't have to like it, b) it is unacceptable to throw up one's hands, give up on any hope of clarity brought about by moral and philosophical development, and go about spending the rest of our days feverishly trying to accumulate more stuff (houses, money, cars, etc., the traditional rewards of human social games) to the detriment of the environment and future generations, and c) I might be wrong about everything.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Two things that I feel silly for being afraid of
1. People hearing me fart in the bathroom at work.
I really don't need to be afraid of this, but I am. I get so embarassed. I clench my cheeks and hope nothing squeaks out. Hopefully one of these days I'll work up the nerve to let a nice big froggy gurgler loose right when the boss is pissing in the urinal next to me.
2. Boogers in my nose.
What if someone saw me with a booger hanging out of my nose? I'd never be cool again. Oh wait, nobody thinks I'm cool anyways. Who the hell cares about a few bats in the belfry? Just scoop 'em out and go about your business.
I really don't need to be afraid of this, but I am. I get so embarassed. I clench my cheeks and hope nothing squeaks out. Hopefully one of these days I'll work up the nerve to let a nice big froggy gurgler loose right when the boss is pissing in the urinal next to me.
2. Boogers in my nose.
What if someone saw me with a booger hanging out of my nose? I'd never be cool again. Oh wait, nobody thinks I'm cool anyways. Who the hell cares about a few bats in the belfry? Just scoop 'em out and go about your business.
The Fart Police
The Fart Police don't bust you for farting. They forcibly fart on people who richly deserve it. They'd have a lot of work to do here in San Fran.
There was the mother and her stupid kids on the train the other day. She kept screaming at them and they kept screaming back, fighting with each other and bumping into other people on the crowded N-Judah. That was a job for the fart police. I could see them getting on the train, handcuffing the woman and farting right into her nostrils. Her kids probably didn't deserve a full blast but they still would have gotten a little squirt.
I'd also like to see some of the obnoxious, angry homeless fuckheads around this town get farted on. Most homeless people are peaceful. Some are downright charming. I'm talking about the mean ones who yell at you when you don't give them money. I am trying to use my time on Earth to live and further the happiness of all mankind. Please do not hate me because I buy clothes from the thrift store slightly more often than you do. If you give me any shit, then splat! You're going to get beefed on.
It seems like there's a lot of angry black people here, far more so than down in SoCal. Of course there seems to be something mighty suspicious about the Oakland/SF disparity. It's hard not to imagine that some form of segregation is at work in the Yay Area. But I'm sorry Mr. Hustla, I am not "the man". I was not born here and I will not live out the rest of my life here. I am not the reason your life sucks. I am cool with people. If you give me a hard time, the Fart Police will find you and you will inhale shit air. At this point I feel like I should mention all of the white people who'd get farted on too; there's a lot of them. But the truth is I don't usually concentrate on black and white and red and brown and all of those other inaccurate melatonin-based labels. I only mention angry black folks because I'd never seen anything quite like it until I moved here. Witness my disillusionment.
The same goes for angry homos. I am not the jock who picked on you in high school. I absolutely do not give a shit about what you do with your cock or your pussy so please, leave me the fuck out of it. Or the Fart Police will come to your circuit party.
And last but certainly not least, I would unleash the Fart Police on any self-righteous asshole who thinks I'm a homophobic racist because I get annoyed by stupid people of every ethnicity, sexual orientation, and social class. So just to be a good sport, I'd also have them fart on the CEOs of every credit card company.
There was the mother and her stupid kids on the train the other day. She kept screaming at them and they kept screaming back, fighting with each other and bumping into other people on the crowded N-Judah. That was a job for the fart police. I could see them getting on the train, handcuffing the woman and farting right into her nostrils. Her kids probably didn't deserve a full blast but they still would have gotten a little squirt.
I'd also like to see some of the obnoxious, angry homeless fuckheads around this town get farted on. Most homeless people are peaceful. Some are downright charming. I'm talking about the mean ones who yell at you when you don't give them money. I am trying to use my time on Earth to live and further the happiness of all mankind. Please do not hate me because I buy clothes from the thrift store slightly more often than you do. If you give me any shit, then splat! You're going to get beefed on.
It seems like there's a lot of angry black people here, far more so than down in SoCal. Of course there seems to be something mighty suspicious about the Oakland/SF disparity. It's hard not to imagine that some form of segregation is at work in the Yay Area. But I'm sorry Mr. Hustla, I am not "the man". I was not born here and I will not live out the rest of my life here. I am not the reason your life sucks. I am cool with people. If you give me a hard time, the Fart Police will find you and you will inhale shit air. At this point I feel like I should mention all of the white people who'd get farted on too; there's a lot of them. But the truth is I don't usually concentrate on black and white and red and brown and all of those other inaccurate melatonin-based labels. I only mention angry black folks because I'd never seen anything quite like it until I moved here. Witness my disillusionment.
The same goes for angry homos. I am not the jock who picked on you in high school. I absolutely do not give a shit about what you do with your cock or your pussy so please, leave me the fuck out of it. Or the Fart Police will come to your circuit party.
And last but certainly not least, I would unleash the Fart Police on any self-righteous asshole who thinks I'm a homophobic racist because I get annoyed by stupid people of every ethnicity, sexual orientation, and social class. So just to be a good sport, I'd also have them fart on the CEOs of every credit card company.
Friday, March 02, 2007
I play video games in my head with fucking mack trucks!
I was driving home from practice today, and was heading towards the freeway. As I chose my lane, I looked in the rear view mirror. Mack truck. I looked forward, and saw that if I took the left lane, and he the right, we would successfully fill up the turn lanes perfectly.
Look, I saw my opportunity and took it. I played tetris with the world.
I think this is just one more example I can give when I explain my "interstate 15" tattoo.
Look, I saw my opportunity and took it. I played tetris with the world.
I think this is just one more example I can give when I explain my "interstate 15" tattoo.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
For once, I agree with the Vatican
I wasn't even aware that the Catholic church was officially against capital punishment- haw haw! Go figure! Hoo-boy. Times sure have changed.
Anyhow, check this shit out:
"An execution is always tragic news, reason for sadness, even in the case of a person who is guilty of grave crimes," the Holy See's spokesman, Rev. Federico Lombardi, said in a statement released by the Vatican press office.
Earlier in the morning, Lombardi made similar comments on Vatican Radio.
"The position of the Catholic Church — against the death penalty — has been reiterated many times," the spokesman said in the statement, referring to the Vatican's overall opposition to capital punishment.
"Killing the guilty one is not the way to rebuild justice and reconcile society," the spokesman said. "On the contrary, there is the risk that the spirit of revenge is fueled and that the seeds of new violence are sown."
In other words, capital punishment is UN-PIG. I couldn't agree with you more, Reverend.
Anyhow, check this shit out:
"An execution is always tragic news, reason for sadness, even in the case of a person who is guilty of grave crimes," the Holy See's spokesman, Rev. Federico Lombardi, said in a statement released by the Vatican press office.
Earlier in the morning, Lombardi made similar comments on Vatican Radio.
"The position of the Catholic Church — against the death penalty — has been reiterated many times," the spokesman said in the statement, referring to the Vatican's overall opposition to capital punishment.
"Killing the guilty one is not the way to rebuild justice and reconcile society," the spokesman said. "On the contrary, there is the risk that the spirit of revenge is fueled and that the seeds of new violence are sown."
In other words, capital punishment is UN-PIG. I couldn't agree with you more, Reverend.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Duty calls
Satan: Tony.
Tony: Umm....yes?
Satan: It's Satan. You know tom, don't you?
Tony: Tom? Sure. Why?
Satan: Well, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you. I need-
Tony: Well that's rude.
Satan: What?
Tony: You didn't even give me a chance to consider whether or not I should help you out, before you start blathering about what you need! I hate that!
Satan: So sue me. I'm Satan.
Tony: Fair enough. Continue.
Satan: It's just that lately, he keeps complaining about his life, hee-hawing about this or that. It's like he wants me to solve all his problems! I mean, on one hand, he's giving me the best press I've had in years, but then again, it's just not my gig! I don't help, I hinder!
Tony: So you're saying you don't want to help.
Satan: Not quite. I feel that I've helped too much already, and besides, I need to get back on track with my "buy your soul" shtick. Any ideas for some openers next time I see him?
Tony: Well, why should I help? I mean, before you came along, I was Tom's go-to guy for lifes little problems. What's in it for me?
Satan: Hows about this huge bag of weed?
Tony: Awesome! I say offer him infinite volume. That'll get him interested. If not, try the weed.
Satan: HahahahahahHahahaha! Jokes on you! That weed is cursed!
Tony: Weed's weed. Fuck you.
Satan: Awwwww......
Tune in next time for a careful analysis of my motivations in "Am I Lazy"!
Tony: Umm....yes?
Satan: It's Satan. You know tom, don't you?
Tony: Tom? Sure. Why?
Satan: Well, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you. I need-
Tony: Well that's rude.
Satan: What?
Tony: You didn't even give me a chance to consider whether or not I should help you out, before you start blathering about what you need! I hate that!
Satan: So sue me. I'm Satan.
Tony: Fair enough. Continue.
Satan: It's just that lately, he keeps complaining about his life, hee-hawing about this or that. It's like he wants me to solve all his problems! I mean, on one hand, he's giving me the best press I've had in years, but then again, it's just not my gig! I don't help, I hinder!
Tony: So you're saying you don't want to help.
Satan: Not quite. I feel that I've helped too much already, and besides, I need to get back on track with my "buy your soul" shtick. Any ideas for some openers next time I see him?
Tony: Well, why should I help? I mean, before you came along, I was Tom's go-to guy for lifes little problems. What's in it for me?
Satan: Hows about this huge bag of weed?
Tony: Awesome! I say offer him infinite volume. That'll get him interested. If not, try the weed.
Satan: HahahahahahHahahaha! Jokes on you! That weed is cursed!
Tony: Weed's weed. Fuck you.
Satan: Awwwww......
Tune in next time for a careful analysis of my motivations in "Am I Lazy"!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Homeless, but not pornless.
I'm riding the trolley this morning, and as we pull away from the civic center, I see a man walking down the sidewalk, with an optimistic rythym to his walk. Obviously homeless, he wore a slightly dirty beanie, topped with a fitted baseball cap stylistically cocked to the side, all the while precariously hanging on his head. His mouth was a jokers smile, held in company with a cigarette that wasn't daring to become any shorter. he looked relatively healthy for his economic state. A few sweatshirts found their way under a few more coats, and I couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of how warm he must be under all that. Numerous pairs of pants didn't keep him from displaying white underwear, and only about half of the pants were anywhere near the waist. The most stunning detail, however, was his reading material. he had what, at a moments notice I could only deduce as a "cheri"(a particularly middle of the road porno mag, nowhere as good as "score") folded cover in, so that anyone seeing either side was gifted to a viewing of semen covered pussy, or face. He also had a cd player in the same hand, but that seemed to pale in comparison. He kinda looked like flava flav. Public enemy is coming to the house of blues. I kinda wanna go, but I also know I'll wanna leave right after I get there, cause I feel anxious in public places where I know few people.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
San Francisco Moment #4
Sometimes when I ride the N car in the mornings there's a guy on there with Down's syndrome. He's often interested in one of the ladies on the rain and will strike up a pleasant, boring conversation. One morning I saw him trying to talk to a young lady seated near one of the doors. Then a rough, really down on his luck Farmer John looking homeless guy sits down next to the girl. It's about all she can take. After a few seconds she gets up and hurries to the other side of the car. A beat goes by before the guy who was sitting next to her looks up and says to the homeless guy, "Jesus dude, take a bath!", then walks off to the other side of the train. The homeless guys mumbles a few disparaging, unintelligible remarks to himself and settles in for the ride. Another beat goes by and he notices the guy with Down's syndrome.
"You ever take an I.Q. test?" the homeless guy asks the guy with Down's syndrome.
"Shut up!" says the Down's syndrome guy. "I'll slap your mouth!" The homeless guy mutters a few more disparaging, unintelligle remarks, this time with a smile on his face. He gets off at the next stop, the guy with Down's syndrome one stop later.
I turn to the lady sitting next to me. "Man," I said, "That was something. I just watched that situation go from bad to worse." The lady looked at me. She nodded her head and smiled. She still had her headphones in.
"You ever take an I.Q. test?" the homeless guy asks the guy with Down's syndrome.
"Shut up!" says the Down's syndrome guy. "I'll slap your mouth!" The homeless guy mutters a few more disparaging, unintelligle remarks, this time with a smile on his face. He gets off at the next stop, the guy with Down's syndrome one stop later.
I turn to the lady sitting next to me. "Man," I said, "That was something. I just watched that situation go from bad to worse." The lady looked at me. She nodded her head and smiled. She still had her headphones in.
Our gay cats
I've watched an interesting thing unravel for the past few months: my cats' burgeoning homosexuality. I never thought I'd be the proud father of two gay cats, but then again I never thought I'd one day hold degrees in music and French and work for a life insurance company.
I've left them no alternative. For better or worse, they're indoor cats. They only have each other. And Cutus... Cutus was clearly taken away from his mother too early. He also looks and acts like a runt: awkward, clumsy, badly proportioned, his face permanently plastered with a look that is equal parts vague fear and profound bewilderment.
One evening, Cutus began sucking on Army's mantits. It was unexpected and unnerving. The loud, incessant slurping sound was the most disturbing part of it. Once we got used to it, only the slurping continued to bother us. On a moral and ethical level it's still alright wth me, it just pisses me off when it's so loud it wakes me up out of a dead sleep.
I've left them no alternative. For better or worse, they're indoor cats. They only have each other. And Cutus... Cutus was clearly taken away from his mother too early. He also looks and acts like a runt: awkward, clumsy, badly proportioned, his face permanently plastered with a look that is equal parts vague fear and profound bewilderment.
One evening, Cutus began sucking on Army's mantits. It was unexpected and unnerving. The loud, incessant slurping sound was the most disturbing part of it. Once we got used to it, only the slurping continued to bother us. On a moral and ethical level it's still alright wth me, it just pisses me off when it's so loud it wakes me up out of a dead sleep.
Monday, November 20, 2006
An open letter to Taylor Rain and Lexington Steele
Hi guys,
You two are like, my favorite pornstars in the whole world. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come and have sex at my next birthday party? I mean shit, I already got a drunken mobility scooter ride for my birthday this year- where the hell do I go from there? The only thing I can think of to top this year's celebration is a kickass house party feature a live performance by the porn industry's two brightest stars. Of course this wouldn't be a money-making venture on my part. It's just that you both seem to exemplify the good qualities about porn: your partners always seem to have a good time, you give believable performaces, and you push the sexual envelope. Perhaps in the future we'll see sex in movies as frequently as it happens in real life. In the meantime, keep making that great porn and remember: you have the power to make a young man's dreams come true.
Thank you,
Tom Amans
You two are like, my favorite pornstars in the whole world. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come and have sex at my next birthday party? I mean shit, I already got a drunken mobility scooter ride for my birthday this year- where the hell do I go from there? The only thing I can think of to top this year's celebration is a kickass house party feature a live performance by the porn industry's two brightest stars. Of course this wouldn't be a money-making venture on my part. It's just that you both seem to exemplify the good qualities about porn: your partners always seem to have a good time, you give believable performaces, and you push the sexual envelope. Perhaps in the future we'll see sex in movies as frequently as it happens in real life. In the meantime, keep making that great porn and remember: you have the power to make a young man's dreams come true.
Thank you,
Tom Amans
Friday, October 20, 2006
Happy Birthday to Me
I think, as a b'day present to myself, I'm going to kick everyone else off of this blog. No one contributes anymore anyways. Hell, I don't think anyone even reads it. Baron von Puerco may have been here a while ago, but he's in France trying to get back together with an old girlfriend, so fuck him. I'm jealous about the France part.
But that's not half as fun as the birthday present Kendra's going to get me. You know those motorized cart-thingies that really fat old people ride around on at the grocery store? I believe two of the brand names for them are Amigo and Rascal. They rent them by the hour down at Fisherman's Wharf. I've asked Kendra to get me a fifth of good bourbon and one of those carts for a few hours.
Pictures will follow.
But that's not half as fun as the birthday present Kendra's going to get me. You know those motorized cart-thingies that really fat old people ride around on at the grocery store? I believe two of the brand names for them are Amigo and Rascal. They rent them by the hour down at Fisherman's Wharf. I've asked Kendra to get me a fifth of good bourbon and one of those carts for a few hours.
Pictures will follow.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Lord Nasty - R.I.P.
Lord Nasty is dead. The band, not the singer. Last month we had a good show up in his hometown of Ukiah. A couple of bands rented out a hall and hired us on as headliners, since Lord Nasty has something of a following up there. It was an all ages show and the kids loved it. The Lord came out in his choir robe and they started bowing down to him. They were bumping and grinding through the whole show, even made us play an encore. Yeah.
Last Monday I was supposed to play my first show in the city with them. Lord Nasty never got on the Greyhound bus from Ukiah. He didn't even call anyone to say he wasn't going to show up. Instead he left a message on his answering machine saying that he had renounced Lord Nasty and the past nine years of filth that had been spread in his name. Singing absurd, XXX-rated lyrics was no way to thank God after surviving a near-death experience. Apparently he has some issues.
So that's it. You can still download the tunes on myspace. Oh well. Us survivors might start a funk band called "Astroglyde". We'll see.
Last Monday I was supposed to play my first show in the city with them. Lord Nasty never got on the Greyhound bus from Ukiah. He didn't even call anyone to say he wasn't going to show up. Instead he left a message on his answering machine saying that he had renounced Lord Nasty and the past nine years of filth that had been spread in his name. Singing absurd, XXX-rated lyrics was no way to thank God after surviving a near-death experience. Apparently he has some issues.
So that's it. You can still download the tunes on myspace. Oh well. Us survivors might start a funk band called "Astroglyde". We'll see.
San Francisco Moment #2
I caught the N-Judah heading towards downtown. I didn't even see the guy when I first got on. I was standing up reading my newspaper and I felt "the stare". The guy was about two feet in front of me and the train was crowded. I looked up and saw him looking right back at me. Rough looking, obviously homeless. "How ya doin?" I asked. No reply. He looked away. A good ten seconds later he says "Fine, thanks." Then he starts singing metal tunes. I couldn't tell you exactly what he sang but I knew by the high-pitched delivery and fantastic lyrics that it was 80s hair metal. He went off for a good five minutes or so, looking at people as he sang and gestured. Like I said, it was a crowded train, but people still found space to move away from him.
He kept looking at me while he was singing, so during a pause I asked him if he knew any Judas Priest. He hesitated. "You know," I said, "Hellbent, hellbent for leather!" That was all it took. For the rest of the ride downtown it was all about JP. Judas motherfuckin Priest.
About halfway through "Breakin the Law" he paused and a look of great pain came over his face. It was emotional pain, like he was going to start crying or something. "I can't..." he said, "I can't... No. No I can't." Look of pain again. "That's why I'm gonna drink this." And with that he pulled a tall can from his coat pocket and took a swig. Then he went right back into it. People kept moving and looking away. I did the only thing a person can do when a sad nutty drunk guy is singing you Judas Priest all the way to work on a Tuesday morning- I banged my head right along with him.
He kept looking at me while he was singing, so during a pause I asked him if he knew any Judas Priest. He hesitated. "You know," I said, "Hellbent, hellbent for leather!" That was all it took. For the rest of the ride downtown it was all about JP. Judas motherfuckin Priest.
About halfway through "Breakin the Law" he paused and a look of great pain came over his face. It was emotional pain, like he was going to start crying or something. "I can't..." he said, "I can't... No. No I can't." Look of pain again. "That's why I'm gonna drink this." And with that he pulled a tall can from his coat pocket and took a swig. Then he went right back into it. People kept moving and looking away. I did the only thing a person can do when a sad nutty drunk guy is singing you Judas Priest all the way to work on a Tuesday morning- I banged my head right along with him.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
San Francisco Moment #1
I am currently really really pissed off at Earthlink. I'm not going to get into it here. I was on a payphone attempting to convince Earthlink to stop taking my money and not providing me with phone service. This homeless-looking black guy walks up to me with a Fex Ex package under his arm. I notice him trying to get my attention and when I look at him he gestures to me. "Hold on," I say to the Earthlink representative. "What do you need?" I ask the guy with the package.
"You wan' buy this?" he asks me in a drunken, slurred voice.
"Um, no," I say.
He gives me a dirty look and then, realizing the utter, absolute stupidity of what he's proposing, his face goes blank and he walks away. Yes that's right dude. You are an asshole. You got mad at me because I didn't want to pay you money for a stolen FedEx mystery package. Sure there could have been something good in there. There could have been a million dollars in there but I will never know. No thanks, fuckface.
"You wan' buy this?" he asks me in a drunken, slurred voice.
"Um, no," I say.
He gives me a dirty look and then, realizing the utter, absolute stupidity of what he's proposing, his face goes blank and he walks away. Yes that's right dude. You are an asshole. You got mad at me because I didn't want to pay you money for a stolen FedEx mystery package. Sure there could have been something good in there. There could have been a million dollars in there but I will never know. No thanks, fuckface.
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