A drunk announcement

Tonight, while I’m too drunk at 10:45 p.m. on a Thursday, I will admit a nearly decade-long secret that I have shared with former WWE wrestler Nick Foley: I like, or at least liked, Tori Amos.

Here, read his account of his relationship with the broodingly hot redhead.

Now, as of this post I have not read Foley’s whole post, but I read some earlier post about Foley’s post and I feel that is enough.

Anyway, since I’m too drunk right now I will admit that I’ve been to a Tori Amos concert. It was at UWGB and I was aged in the range of 17-19 years old. I was a brooding stoner and I appreciated her moody, piano-playing, super-self absorbed ruminations.

I have not listened to her in about a decade and I am not sure whether it is because she put out a couple albums my lady friends at the time labeled as “not good” or if it’s because the inner chauvinist in me won and declared that only pussies listen to Tori Amos. Either way, I have no idea what direction Amos’s career has taken in the last 7 or 8 years, but Mick Foley’s, Cactus Jack’s article reminded me of a much more sensitive/pussy* time in my life.

*the author is not sure which adjective properly applies here. he supposes y’all can pick whichever you’d like. he still has some vodka and tonic to finish.

Update: I’m sober now and can say without a doubt that only pussies listen to Tori Amos.

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Bad-ass gay tattoo artist professor who catalogued his humpings? Boomcity.

The book, “Secret Historian: The Life and Times of Sam Steward, Professor, Tattoo Artist, and Sexual Renegade,” looks amazing in this Boing Boing review and I can’t wait to read it. Seriously, judging by this description Mr. Steward lived the most bad-ass life ever. I think I’ve finally found the counterculture homosexual rebel tough-guy philosopher intellectual hero I’ve been looking for my whole life.

I need something to follow up “Generation Kill” and to keep me occupied until Justin Bieber’s book comes out in October. (Man, I can’t believe it’s not called “Beliebing in Forever.” Nah—the one they picked is way better.)

BTW, book lovers. If you still enjoy reading physical, material copies of books, always be sure to check out Abebooks for really cheap deals before resorting to Amazon. It just makes sense.

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“Don’t you tell a fucking soul, you little prick”:Thursday’s 3 things

Wow. It’s been awhile. Miss your 3 things? Well, too bad.

I’ve got a lot going on as well as a job that actually pays me. And you bastards can’t even reply to a simple request for ideas. I got one response from my plea earlier this summer so you can all suck it and take what I give you. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Really, though. I’m probably gonna get away from the regular Thursday’s 3 Things post and post more randomly. I’ll try to do it more often with different column gimmicks and other shorter commentary type stuff and replies to links I find around the interwebz.

Don’t worry, I’ll still post a Thursday’s 3 Things every now and then when the mood strikes, like tonight, when I’m just lounging, drinking and watching football.

Beeteedubs–Thank God football’s back. Enough said about that.

Also, if you want to read my sports related bitchings go to www.bareknucks.com on the first morning of every work week. I have a weekly column there where I list the sports related personalities every week toward whom you should direct you daily aggression. It’s like a weekly hater’s guide.

So let’s now get to the reason you’re here. I might behave harshly toward you but I actually missed the hell out of the couple dozen of you who actually read this. Let’s kiss and make up.

…whoa, keep those hands north of the border, bub. This ain’t “Jersey Shore.”

Reason to live: keeping secrets

Are Meg Ryan’s lips procedurally enhanced? She’s not telling!


Keeping secrets makes you unique, buddy. You might have no character, no personality and terrible looks, but you can always keep a secret about yourself to ensure that you know something nobody else does.

And finding out secrets from others is always great because then you have power over that person because you could always tell other people about it.

And you can almost always create more secrets, too. In a crowded room and people want to know who laid that stank-ass fart? Your lips are sealed. You’re golden as long as you don’t laugh too much. And if you think somebody’s going to blame you, blame them first. Fuck ’em.

Secrets are great. I mean they are so great that men will cheat on their hot wives with ugly chicks just for the thrill of the secret. It’s happened before.

So enjoy your shitty daily encounters with people knowing they don’t know what you know. And try to find out what they know that you don’t just for the challenge of it. Just remember, keep your mouth shut. (Eek. That sounds like something date rapists say.)

Reason to kill: to keep a secret

“Oh that’s good boy. Hey, not on the suit! I will kill you if you tell anyone about this.” –Tom Cruise


So you trusted that slick little fuck and now that cuntrag is gonna tell everybody, huh?

Well, what do they want in return for silence? Hah! Just kidding. You’re not gonna give it to ’em.

Fuck no, you’re not. Who knows when the prick will just demand more? Nope. You’re gonna have to put a stop to this shit.

Kill that bitch. Kill that bitch and give yourself one more awesome secret. And don’t go all psycho and freak out like that bitch in “The Telltale Heart.” No. You’ll kill that bitch into complete silence. Fuck yeah.

After all, you don’t want everybody knowing you pissed the bed until you were eight years old…Wait!….Aw fuck.

Reason to die: washing the dishes

Is it weird that I find this drawing really sexy? Like, sexier than those video game chicks, even. I think it's because she's clearly a hipster.

This shit is the worst. I’d probably rather have AIDS than do the dishes and I’m not sure why I hate it. It must be the result of generations of conditioning to not like it.

This shit just always ruins my mood, even though it really doesn’t take that much time. It’s not even that labor intensive.

It just sucks, especially if you are like me and you don’t have a dishwasher. I just hate scrubbing old food off of shit and dealing with quickly soiled water. And then putting that shit away. Just to have shit to prepare and eat food. Man, if I was still single I would just have paper plates and plastic picnic utenstils that I would throw out when I felt like it.

Got a big stack of dirty dishes in your kitchen? Well, you’ve got two choices: wash them or kill yourself.

Remember, one of those options is only temporary and guarantees you’ll just have to do the dishes again sometime soon.

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Bold, bold predictions.

Some people have all the talent: Prevail and Ride.

This is one of the greatest one-uppings of ESPN analysts’ predictions. EVAR.

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Will you read this if I triple dog dare you? You have to: Thursday’s 3 things

I have one grand, brave statement to make before we get to the goods: Shark Week sucks.

There it is.

I mean it was cool the first five times I watched it as a kid, but after that it’s no longer an event. You can catch individual shark programming throughout the year. So it’s not like you need this one week to get your shark fill.

Really, sharks just eat things. And swim. Yeah, they’re bad ass but their Discovery Channel-produced week is not.

Fuck shark week. $1,000 to the first person that can convince me shark week is worth my time. Good luck.

Reason to live: Stupid new sports

Even a Derf can now be hailed for bringing glory to his country. DERF!

Hey, people consider ultimate frisbee to be a sport now. Well, at least some people. Too many people, in fact.

Plus eating is a competitive, organized sport as well. Gluttony is no longer a deadly sin. It is a marketable commodity.

I’m sure we’ve all seen the movie BASEketball enough times to know that it’s totally possible that a new sport could come out and totally match with your skill set.

Maybe clockwork daily explosive morning shitting will become an organized sport someday. If it does I will no longer be a repugnant nobody. I will be a stone-cold God to millions of adoring “Stankthrust” fans. People will sell my dirty underpants on Ebay for thousands of dollars. A pair with skidmarks will sell for triple price.

I’m just waiting until humans figure out a way to measure apathy. I’m sure I’ll be somewhere near the top of the world rankings. I imagine tournaments consisting of people looking at horrifically tragic photos and having their apathy levels metered side-by-side. This will be riveting.

On second thought, I might no be so good at this. I almost lost my shit when a tiny bird flew right under my car on the highway and I could feel it’s tiny, little fat bubble of a body smack against the undercarriage of my car right where the soles of my feet were. It was a tiny little flying nugget!

I could feel it explode against my car.

Like a true apathy champ, however, I continued on to the courthouse where I covered criminal court and listened to the shitty things people do to each other without even a small twitch of caring.

So, just hold out, people. You never know what stupid thing will be turned into a competition which you can straight rock with your mad skillz.

Reason to kill: You’ve been triple dog dared

"Muh thauba bib bomma."

It’s a fact that has been proven again and again using the scientific method: you cannot turn down a triple dog dare.

If someone triple dog dares you to kill them you have to do it. Plain and simple. I hope they gave you a gun and not a knife, though. That could probably get messy. Maybe you can use a pillow and kill them softly by smothering them to death.

Be smart about it, though. Get that triple dog dare signed and notarized. I’m pretty sure this will protect you from prosecution. That’s what screwed over Jack Kevorkian.

Reason to die: You’ve just had your heart ripped out by a bad-ass ninja

That just happened.

Another short entry here. I mean, good luck living without that heart.

There’s no way anybody could put that thing back together before you die. You should have considered this possibility before you went and pissed off that ninja.

How long can a human live after that? Is death instantaneous? Do you writhe in pain until you bleed to death? Do you go into unconscious shock until you bleed to death?

You’re about to find out, idiot. Really, how do you get your heart torn out by a ninja? That’s as bad as the morons who get run over by trains. Do not fuck with ninjas and do not try to cross the tracks at the same moment a huge, loud train is passing.

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Thursday’s 3 things: you’ve gotta earn it

So I’m busy and I honestly don’t have any reason that could push me toward murder, death or life. So, if you love this shit then e-mail me some idea seeds and maybe I can cultivate them with the proper amount of inanity and dickheadedness. Right now I’ve got a camping trip to get ready for.

E-mail ideas to 1yellerjournalist@gmail.com

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Dyslexic pageant queens, gypsies curses and waiting for the worst: Thursday’s 3 things

The lady and I joined the gym this week. This means my entire body has been sore every minute of this week. It’s excruciating but I feel like it just maybe a little bit is becoming easier to handle. God, I hope so.

When I get up from my desk at work to go to the bathroom or get some water, after long periods of being seated, I find myself walking like I’ve just been sodomized painfully. You’d think I kept a thick black dildo taped facing upward in the center of my chair. Yes, I am a true hunk.

The highlight of my week so far was covering a very rural 4-H Fair Queen pageant. It was held in a crowded barn with everybody sweating like crazy. I could actually feel my butt sweat running down my legs. I think this was all on purpose to set the mood.

The set was all mid-70’s wood paneling with a faded vomit green carpet from the same era covering the stage. Sparkly stars and crepe paper were strewn around the backdrop as if decorated for a 3rd grade class spring concert. The whole set up looked like half a rape attic. Like if Buffalo Bill ever got tired of hosing down fat girls in his basement, this is where he went to really strut his stuff with his dick tucked between his legs.

The competition itself, however, was very fitting for the setting. I’m pretty sure all the music came through a small, Walmart quality CD player and the format was extremely depressing. There was no talent portion because nobody cares if a 16-21 year old girl can do anything, yet there was a swimsuit competition billed as the “physique” portion of the contest. The girls did give a one minute speech at the end and were allowed to speak about any topic they wished, just so long as it was not political, immoral or controversial. And the best part? The scores for this section did not depend on the content of the speech but only the delivery!

And boy did that show. The speech given by the girl who won sounded like it came from a dyslexic, epileptic cocaine fairy. It made no sense and had no point, sounded like it was written by an overzealous 7th-grader trying to deliver a persuasive speech for english class, but the girl delivered it with energy and memorized well enough that she didn’t skip a beat. I cannot even share the horror on my face during this speech. Words cannot express.

Onto the meat and potatoes.

Reason to live: Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge

You'll get yours, Bieber!

If you need just one reason, any reason, to make life seem like it might be worth the trouble, this is it.

So things aren’t going so well? And all those douchebags seem to always win, huh? Dawwwww. Forget about it, sonny. Those fuckers will get theirs. All in due time. You’ve gotta stay alive to see what terrible shit will befall them.

Hey, this is life and terrible shit happens to all of us. No one gets out of this shit unscathed.

Maybe that person you hate’s first child will be kidnapped and the grief will tear apart that person’s marriage. Maybe they’ll drive just a bit too fast in that sweet car they own after getting just a little too drunk at a swank party and have their arm amputated in a crash. Maybe that person will get a fuckload of AIDS. Sweet, right? Yeah, fuck that asshole.

So don’t kill yourself. Grab some popcorn instead, sit back, and follow those dicks on Facebook. The shit could hit the fan any minute now. The clock is ticking.

Reason to kill: You’ve been cursed

Damn, you, gypsie witch! You've robbed me of my ability to taste peanut butter! Die!

Goddamn voodoo curses and shit! How did it get you?

Did your dick shrivel up and die? Oh, you just wrapped it tight with a rubberband for a few days. Good call.

Are you doomed to die within a short amount of time and go to hell, like that shitty movie?

Do you have to judge 4-H beauty contests for all eternity?

Do you have genital warts? (No. A gypsie curse did this, honey. Honest!)

Well, most movie plots involve very long and involved processes for getting rid of curses. It’s all bullshit. The only thing to do is to kill the bitch that did this to you.

Is the person who did this already technically dead and eerie and shit? Well, then, don’t worry. Some strange figure will come along who has been dealing with this type of shit for centuries and will tell you how to kill the bitch. Don’t stray from this advice. If this advice doesn’t work, then steal a nuclear weapon and use that. Nothing survives a nuclear blast, I don’t care how creepy it is.

Reason to die: Your parents hate you

I wish I'd never stretched out my vagina for you, you stupid little rag.

Holy shit, dude. Your own parents hate you? You mean even the only two people in the world who are genetically predisposed to loving you? Those people hate you?

That’s fucked. What chance do you have of anybody else loving you, then.

And if they don’t fully hate you, you know they are at least disappointed in how you turned out. That’s bottom, buddy.

Man, just think how much better their lives would have been if they hadn’t had to spend all that time and money on you. And for what?

You clearly don’t deserve to live. You could at least have the decency of relieving these selfless people of the burden of being your parents.

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