Thank God for God. When it's past midnight and before 7am, I desire insane rhetoric aimed at God fearing souls. Did you know Jesus knew everything that was going to happen? Well, I just learned that. Thank you, WGN. You truly are the World's Greatest Network.
Holy shit, did I get fat. I don't wake up everyday and think I'm fat or care all that much, but my Widget has shown me the light. Photos from 2001. Photos of things I don't remember doing with people I no longer talk to. I have gained a substantial amount of weight.
Why is Dan calling me at 1:20am? Something about the band Traffic and choreographed moves.
There was a man in Mark chapter 5 that was possessed by demons and ran naked through a grave yard. Intellectuals are dumb like that guy. Girls are going wild. They went without underwear and spread their legs. God is going to hold you girls responsible. Jesus built my hot rod. All programs, infomercial, sitcom, news, etc., should have a guy that ties everything together. It sure makes the Bible a lot easier to understand.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
I talked into a microphone, it stole my soul
Click the album art to go to the download page
or click here to get it on iTunes!
Fall of Autumn presents Brandon Wetherbee reading a piece entitled "The Ultimate Warrior was the Catalyst for the September 11th Attacks." Brandon has written over twenty issues of his perzine, Foul, contributed to Sanitary & Ship and is the co-editor of the Chicago publication, The Machine.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Everybody's fancy
We're running a little behind on issue 2. Everything will be done by Friday, but instead of taking advantage of the week off, nothing was accomplished. I've added notes to my stories but haven't put anything substantial on the screen.
Sidenote: I think there are werewolf noises on the Beck song "Nausea". There's definitly something.
Friday night was all about the corner of Lincoln and Irving. Kelsey used to live in Lincoln Square but we haven't spent an entire night in the neighborhood for a long time. We ate at Orange Garden, saw Paul's band at Silvie's (more about that later this week on the Machine site), drank a few beers with Mike at a decent bar that had $1 pints but an identity crisis (sports vs. dive vs. yuppie) and watched "Da Ali G" show at Mike's place about a bathroom fixture store.
That last paragraph is proof positive that I'm much too out-of-touch with whatever is cool. The following will also prove my case.
I spent Saturday with my mother in Indian Head Park. The visit wasn't nearly as depressing as it could have been. Her overall demeanor was better than usual and I was calm after finishing a Mr. Rogers book.
The evening was spent at the Brain, manning the door. I still smell like smoke. It was also the first night there in months that I didn't write a word. That's not a good sign.
I spent more than 75% of the day in bed (if you count a futon mattress on a floor a bed). I consumed fried food like a real man. I napped from 10-11pm like a real man. I'm up at 2:54am like a real man.
While updating the Machine myspace page I came across an ad that looked like a possible DJ opportunity. It was actually for a porn star signing in LA. The porn star is in works similiar to SuicideGirls, if SuicideGirls did actual porn. I did some more research and the correlation between major and indie porn isn't much different than major and indie music labels. I'm trying to find a Chicago spin on this thing because it's one of the most interesting media related stories I've stumbled across.
I'm spinning at least five times in February. I'd like to make increase that number to seven. I'm not sure why. I fucking hate this time of year.
Witty?
This should be more witty. I'm not so witty. I'm full of yogurt and orange juice at 3:01am.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Juicy Juice
Issue 2 is mostly written. A piece on Rogers Park by Eric Lab Rat. A column about the CTA by Emerson Dameron. A interview conducted by Arvo. Kelsey and I are working on pieces about the Loop preacher, the closing of the downtown Carson's, a one-on-one with a dominatrix (I hope this one is taken out of context), maybe the Alley, maybe a Captain Chicago comment and maybe another creepy photo essay. All of this would be done if I didn't drink so much orange juice and soaked in so much Maury.
Lie detectors lie. That may or may not be a lie.
Lie detectors lie. That may or may not be a lie.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Still in the running
"America's Next Top Model" proves that the females that want to be models on the series are wonderful wastes of life. Almost as big of a waste as that last sentence.
Get a blank piece of paper.
Stare at it.
Think of someone that has let you down, made you angry, filled you with hate.
Cry.
Let it out.
Bitch.
Get a blank piece of paper.
Stare at it.
Think of someone that has let you down, made you angry, filled you with hate.
Cry.
Let it out.
Bitch.
Clever.
Kelsey and I spun at the Brain for New Year's Eve. We had a good time with Emerson and Nell. The first three songs of 2007 were
Mr. Rogers "It's Such A Good Feeling"
Chamilionaire "Ridin'"
AC/DC "Highway to Hell"
The song that got the biggest reaction was Sam Cooke's "Dancing the Night Away".
To celebrate the new year full of Mr. Rogers, Eric and Sarah came over and we had deep fried pizza, Chicago cookies (see The Machine for more on that), candy bars, Oreo's, Chex mix and more. Everyone won/lost.
We just finished uploading issue 1 of The Machine.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Done.
58. Mark Leyner and Billy Goldberg "Why Do Men Have Nipples? Hundreds of Questions You'd Only Ask a Doctor After Your Third Martini"
Saturday, December 23, 2006
It's for the kids, it's always for the kids
My friend Alan is putting together a zine about the holidays. Since I got too sentimental on the baseball issue of Foul I decided to rework "The Night Before Christmas".
Side note: Blame Aaron and Kate
Side note 2: I wrote a piece on R. Kelly in 2002. It pretty much said that people shouldn't fuck with the guy because he pisses on under aged girls. It was sarcastic. A guy in one of my classes happened to share the same lawyer as R. Kelly and the kid told me that if I didn't stop writing pieces like that I was going to get sued. Here's another piece like that.
An R. Kelly X-Mas
by Brandon Wetherbee
'Twas an R. Kelly Xmas, when all through the house,
Children were moaning and using their mouths;
The stocking were hung in the sauna with care,
In hopes that the Pied Piper would soon be there;
The children were soaked on skin so bare,
While visions of happy people two stepped in their heads,
And mama in her room and R being trapped,
Had just entered a closet for a long X-Mas rap,
When out in the sauna there arouse such a clatter,
R sprang from his studio to see what was the matter,
Away to the floor R danced like a flash,
Tore open the condoms and threw up the wrap.
TV glare on the breast of the new-teens chest,
Gave the lustre of pee to a hairless below,
When, what to R's wondering eyes should appear,
But a BET award, and eight tiny pre-teens,
With a little dead wife, so lifeless and sick,
R knew in a moment it was "the best" in Arabic.
More rapid than eagles his juices they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and performed them by name;
"Now, anal! now, leapfrog! now, doggy and cross!
On, cowgirl! on T-square! on shocker and fisting!
To the top of the shaft! to the base of my balls!
Now suck away! suck away! suck away all!"
As R. Kelly penned "I Believe I Can Fly",
When he meets with an obstacle, he can touch the sky.
So down to McDonalds the Escalade he flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and the Pied Piper too.
And then, in a twinkling, kids moistened their kooch
The groanings and moanings of each little hooch.
As R drew in his pants, and was dancing around,
Out from the drive-thru R. Kelly came with a bound.
He was dressed in all white, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all stained with jism and gook;
A bundle of preteens he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a molester just opening his pants.
His eyes - how they leered! his dimples so eerie!
His chapters were like opera, his words hip-hopera!
His mouth was moist with thoughts of menstrual flow,
And the thoughts behind his mask a desire to know.
The stump of a story he sold on the street,
And the laughs he ignored was some kind of feat,
He had a thick skull and a fetish quite smelly,
That filmed, when he came on a female named Kelly.
He was happy and soulful, a man sure of himself,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the tape I watched of him having sex with underage girls and peeing on them, on the shelf;
A tinkle in their eyes and a twist on his bed,
Soon gave me to know this man's not right in the head;
He sang not a word, but went straight to his quirk,
And filled all the holes; then turned and he jerked,
And spreading his love inside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up the vagina he rose;
He sprang to his sauna, to his teen gave a whistle,
And away it flew down her down her throat like a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he penetrated like a knife,
"An R. Kelly X-Mas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Side note: Blame Aaron and Kate
Side note 2: I wrote a piece on R. Kelly in 2002. It pretty much said that people shouldn't fuck with the guy because he pisses on under aged girls. It was sarcastic. A guy in one of my classes happened to share the same lawyer as R. Kelly and the kid told me that if I didn't stop writing pieces like that I was going to get sued. Here's another piece like that.
An R. Kelly X-Mas
by Brandon Wetherbee
'Twas an R. Kelly Xmas, when all through the house,
Children were moaning and using their mouths;
The stocking were hung in the sauna with care,
In hopes that the Pied Piper would soon be there;
The children were soaked on skin so bare,
While visions of happy people two stepped in their heads,
And mama in her room and R being trapped,
Had just entered a closet for a long X-Mas rap,
When out in the sauna there arouse such a clatter,
R sprang from his studio to see what was the matter,
Away to the floor R danced like a flash,
Tore open the condoms and threw up the wrap.
TV glare on the breast of the new-teens chest,
Gave the lustre of pee to a hairless below,
When, what to R's wondering eyes should appear,
But a BET award, and eight tiny pre-teens,
With a little dead wife, so lifeless and sick,
R knew in a moment it was "the best" in Arabic.
More rapid than eagles his juices they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and performed them by name;
"Now, anal! now, leapfrog! now, doggy and cross!
On, cowgirl! on T-square! on shocker and fisting!
To the top of the shaft! to the base of my balls!
Now suck away! suck away! suck away all!"
As R. Kelly penned "I Believe I Can Fly",
When he meets with an obstacle, he can touch the sky.
So down to McDonalds the Escalade he flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and the Pied Piper too.
And then, in a twinkling, kids moistened their kooch
The groanings and moanings of each little hooch.
As R drew in his pants, and was dancing around,
Out from the drive-thru R. Kelly came with a bound.
He was dressed in all white, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all stained with jism and gook;
A bundle of preteens he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a molester just opening his pants.
His eyes - how they leered! his dimples so eerie!
His chapters were like opera, his words hip-hopera!
His mouth was moist with thoughts of menstrual flow,
And the thoughts behind his mask a desire to know.
The stump of a story he sold on the street,
And the laughs he ignored was some kind of feat,
He had a thick skull and a fetish quite smelly,
That filmed, when he came on a female named Kelly.
He was happy and soulful, a man sure of himself,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the tape I watched of him having sex with underage girls and peeing on them, on the shelf;
A tinkle in their eyes and a twist on his bed,
Soon gave me to know this man's not right in the head;
He sang not a word, but went straight to his quirk,
And filled all the holes; then turned and he jerked,
And spreading his love inside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up the vagina he rose;
He sprang to his sauna, to his teen gave a whistle,
And away it flew down her down her throat like a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he penetrated like a knife,
"An R. Kelly X-Mas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Friday, December 22, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
As honorable as Trump
I'm going to win the next Miss USA and blow every strip club owner from Maine to California because it's the American way. I'll also do body shots with every bartender because everyone could use a shot.
I'm going to be interviewed on "Extra" and talk about how I could have gave up and I thought about giving up but I didn't give up because you shouldn't give up.
I'm going to join as many gangs as possible.
I'm going to be interviewed on "Extra" and talk about how I could have gave up and I thought about giving up but I didn't give up because you shouldn't give up.
I'm going to join as many gangs as possible.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Cancer
I'm bored out of my mind. Always bored. BORED. bored.
It's never sunny. It's never that warm. It's ugly. There isn't green anything. Damn.
56. James M. Cain "The Postman Always Rings Twice"
Eric and I had a great time at 3am. We went to the Second City 24-hour benefit thing and saw Shellac on the ETC. stage. We were in the first row, in front of the kick drum. I can't speak for Eric but my hearing was damaged in a good way.
Amy got me the Black Sabbath, Ozzy only years, box set for my birthday. I've wanted this thing since it came out and I'm glad I didn't have to shell out $100 for it.
That should be enough name dropping for a while.
Bored and broke. I'm an asshole to boot.
Check out The Machine site if you can and give me some feedback. I don't know how to fix the front page but I added events and fixed up a few images and information. That information is boring.
It's never sunny. It's never that warm. It's ugly. There isn't green anything. Damn.
56. James M. Cain "The Postman Always Rings Twice"
Eric and I had a great time at 3am. We went to the Second City 24-hour benefit thing and saw Shellac on the ETC. stage. We were in the first row, in front of the kick drum. I can't speak for Eric but my hearing was damaged in a good way.
Amy got me the Black Sabbath, Ozzy only years, box set for my birthday. I've wanted this thing since it came out and I'm glad I didn't have to shell out $100 for it.
That should be enough name dropping for a while.
Bored and broke. I'm an asshole to boot.
Check out The Machine site if you can and give me some feedback. I don't know how to fix the front page but I added events and fixed up a few images and information. That information is boring.
Monday, December 11, 2006
I'm siding with a man named Warrior
The Ultimate Warrior was my favorite wrestler after Jake the Snake Roberts and before The Undertaker. He was not certifiably insane, but definitly not a "normal" wrestler. He quit the WWF over money issues, legally changed his name to Warrior to protect his merchandising propects and has had conflicts with pretty much everyone he's worked with. Regardless, I am agreeing with Warrior.
In April of 2005 Warrior gave a lecture sponsored by campus Republicans at the University of Connecticut. The reading was supposed to be no different than the other speaking engagements he had done. The Tent Group, a left-leaning campus group made sure their presence was known. The Warrior is a politically incorrect right wing conservative. Forty-five minutes into the lecture the Warrior says "queering doesn't make the world work". This elicited a not-so positive reaction from the Tent Group. (The Warrior never has come out and said that homosexuality is "wrong," he has said that the statement is in reference to the world's population)
Though I don't agree with most of the Warriors beliefs, I found myself rooting for the guy when watching the clip on YouTube. It's difficult to have any sympathy for a democratic group at the University of Connecticut, especially when they're all white.
After the event the Campus Republicans apologized for having the Warrior speak at the event the Warrior replied and said the Republicans have no backbone and that the campus group smelled like "patchouli oil and burnt flag".
I love the Warrior. I want him to go on a speaking tour with Monique. They would always smell like flowers and piss off everyone. Then the Warrior would Warrior Splash anyone that got out of control and Monique would let all the males fuck the fat between her arm and side.
In April of 2005 Warrior gave a lecture sponsored by campus Republicans at the University of Connecticut. The reading was supposed to be no different than the other speaking engagements he had done. The Tent Group, a left-leaning campus group made sure their presence was known. The Warrior is a politically incorrect right wing conservative. Forty-five minutes into the lecture the Warrior says "queering doesn't make the world work". This elicited a not-so positive reaction from the Tent Group. (The Warrior never has come out and said that homosexuality is "wrong," he has said that the statement is in reference to the world's population)
Though I don't agree with most of the Warriors beliefs, I found myself rooting for the guy when watching the clip on YouTube. It's difficult to have any sympathy for a democratic group at the University of Connecticut, especially when they're all white.
After the event the Campus Republicans apologized for having the Warrior speak at the event the Warrior replied and said the Republicans have no backbone and that the campus group smelled like "patchouli oil and burnt flag".
I love the Warrior. I want him to go on a speaking tour with Monique. They would always smell like flowers and piss off everyone. Then the Warrior would Warrior Splash anyone that got out of control and Monique would let all the males fuck the fat between her arm and side.
Monday, November 27, 2006
It may rain in the neighborhood but that's ok
My good friend Daniel Knox and I are both fans of Mr. Rogers. If all goes as planned we're going to have a celebration of Mr. Rogers life on Febuary 27 2007, the four year anniversary of his passing away. While doing research on Fred Rogers I began listening to an interview he did on The Diane Rehm Show in 2002.
Diane Rehm is a slow talker, similiar to Mr. Rogers. Her voice is fragile and sounds even weaker when filtered through RealPlayer. The host and her guest together is an odd pairing. Imagine an ordinary interview on WBEZ played at half-speed. Anyways, Mr. Rogers is an excellent guest. Mrs. Rehm asks her guest about his characters in the Land of Make Believe and Mr. Rogers presents some of them. The second half of the show is for calls. No one calls with a question. Mother after mother give accounts of how Mr. Rogers has helped them raise their children. The second caller had me in tears.
I used to ridicule my mother because of her love for Mr. Rogers. At 10 years old I didn't want to hear some old guy sing songs. At 23 I want to hear some old guy sing songs.
Things don't seem so bad with Mr. Rogers. He never shied away from difficult issues. Anger was a common theme on his show and there were multiple special episodes that dealt with death, divorce, war, murder and more. It's all going to be ok and if Mr. Rogers believed it, I'll believe it too.
Diane Rehm is a slow talker, similiar to Mr. Rogers. Her voice is fragile and sounds even weaker when filtered through RealPlayer. The host and her guest together is an odd pairing. Imagine an ordinary interview on WBEZ played at half-speed. Anyways, Mr. Rogers is an excellent guest. Mrs. Rehm asks her guest about his characters in the Land of Make Believe and Mr. Rogers presents some of them. The second half of the show is for calls. No one calls with a question. Mother after mother give accounts of how Mr. Rogers has helped them raise their children. The second caller had me in tears.
I used to ridicule my mother because of her love for Mr. Rogers. At 10 years old I didn't want to hear some old guy sing songs. At 23 I want to hear some old guy sing songs.
Things don't seem so bad with Mr. Rogers. He never shied away from difficult issues. Anger was a common theme on his show and there were multiple special episodes that dealt with death, divorce, war, murder and more. It's all going to be ok and if Mr. Rogers believed it, I'll believe it too.
I'm 14
Kill Hannah is on 'JBTV'. They're talking about the Smashing Pumpkins. The only difference between 2006 and 1996 is I'm a hell of a lot heavier and know about a few more bands.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
I (kind of) reached the goal
52. Jake Austen "TV-a-Go-Go: Rock on TV from American Bandstand to American Idol"
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Ladytron
I spent a few hours making a back-up playlist for the fashion show. When I opened said list while setting up sound equipment I erased my work with one Chaka Kahn song. That kind of sums up the fashion show. Kelsey, Eric and I got to play music for about 15-minutes while dealing with MCing an event we knew nothing about.
I stayed up til 6am on accident. I'm afraid of writing anything too exciting or downright depressing in this space in case one of my students finds this nook of the Internet. Stinkin' kids, never letting me ruin amusement parks.
I'm convinced that art is not all around us nor is revolution. One would be hard pressed after traveling the globe to find either. Than again, I haven't seen the Lake up close in over a year and I live less than a mile away so all that I really know is that I'm full of shit.
He IS the father.
I stayed up til 6am on accident. I'm afraid of writing anything too exciting or downright depressing in this space in case one of my students finds this nook of the Internet. Stinkin' kids, never letting me ruin amusement parks.
I'm convinced that art is not all around us nor is revolution. One would be hard pressed after traveling the globe to find either. Than again, I haven't seen the Lake up close in over a year and I live less than a mile away so all that I really know is that I'm full of shit.
He IS the father.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I am an accomplished author that will influence generations to come
Eight copies of issue 17 of Foul were sold at Chicago Comics. I got $6 for my writings. I bought a sweater with my earnings. Suck my dick John Grisham.
World News Now delivers your morning papers, or: the male anchor is a fucking dick
I don't want to get involved with the virtual world phenomenon. I'm about to pull myself out of Facebook and I've only been on the site for a few weeks. I'm regretting ever getting an email address. It's hard to want to move forward with technology when I have health problems that were solved a hundred of years ago. I have the equivalent of mouth scurvey and it's been with me for the last four apartments.
My time has been filled with relatively creative things that will pay the bills, an oddity. One bedroom has no heat and one is much too warm. It's a good feeling to be not on fire.
My schedule allows for daily "Maury" viewings and I'm taking advantage of the luxury. I am 500% sure that he is the father.
My time has been filled with relatively creative things that will pay the bills, an oddity. One bedroom has no heat and one is much too warm. It's a good feeling to be not on fire.
My schedule allows for daily "Maury" viewings and I'm taking advantage of the luxury. I am 500% sure that he is the father.
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