I got these awesome seats for a concert in Hershey:  a private hospitality suite almost spitting distance to the stage.  Avenged Sevenfold was headlining with Papa Roach, Buckcherry and Burn Ointment (Burn Center?  Burning Itch?  Aw, who cares?  They were gonna suck, anyways!).  The suite had a bunch of leather seats, some couches, and a frikkin’ bar!

So the first off is Burned Offal.  As expected they sucked so bad I was forced to jam broken beer bottles into my ears to shut out the auditory assault.  For some unholy reason they thought it would be cool if they only mic’d the drums and the lead screamer.  BAM BAM BAM…  BLAH BLAH BLAH…  Argh!

Next out was the quintessential thirty year-old band members frothing with teenage angst band:  Papa Roach.  Wow!  I was really surprised by these guys.  They had the right sound mix, the right energy and the right volume to actually ROCK!

Then came Buckcherry who ruined the mood all over.  Bad mixing and a screeching singer added to their normally insipid and repetitive licks made me a sad panda.  Who the hell told these guys they were good?  I’d like to find the guy that offered them their first record deal and whiz in his mocha latte.

Finishing up the night was Avenged Sevenfold who wound up suffering from the same bad mixing disease.  I think bands actually think that volume equals talent.  Don’t they realize that the crowd can’t hear and damn thing other than reverb and distortion?  Unless you are Spinal Tap, AMPS DO NOT GO TO 11!

Over all it was an entertaining night, even though the majority of the bands proved to be about as good as an epileptic, narcoleptic sheep shearer.

Or at least I was told I had fun.

Vroom, vroom... beep, beep, beep, beep.

Sorry it's been a while, but life has this way of wrenching at your narflies...

We all know how important it is for little Billy to achieve his lifelong (4 ½ year) NASCAR dream (well, his parents “what else is the ‘lil bastard gonna do with only a 4^th grade education” dream).   For only the cost of 50 cents (that’s only half a food stamp!) Billy can feel the monotonous rocking motions and simulated ear-grinding sounds of a real oval track racing car.  No more will Billy have to endure pretending to be a trailer park hero on his own.  Forget bicycles or a cardboard box, Billy now has access to the latest in soul crushing, heartless fiberglass technology!

I much prefer preparing Billy for his real future ride:  The PowerPal 3100 industrial shopping cart retriever.

Boot to the Head. Amen.

So I’m watching UFC last night.  Scheduled was a match between two middleweights, who while unknown, looked promising.  Immediately I was proven right as punches and kicks started flying.  Seconds into the first round blood was flying and by two minutes in, one of the fighters was lying on the ground, smashed and broken.

As the winning fighter stood over the near-corpse of his opponent, hand held high, he uttered the following words:  “I’d like to thanks my Lord and Savior Jesus for this win.”

Wait!  What?

Did I just hear that correctly?  Did this guy just thank the Prince of Peace for beating the living crap out of some guy?

Okay, I admit I’m not familiar with all the myriad offshoots of Christianity, but is there really one where worship entails planting a meaty fist in another worshippers face?

Is there a First Church of a Kick in the Stones?

This is freaking great!

First I’m gonna recruit a bunch of guys...  Big guys with beef for brains and a tendency to think with their fists.  Then I’m gonna arm and armor them and teach them to pwn faces. 

Not only will I be ensuring my place in the afterlife, but I will get a cool tax-dodge in the current one.

I wonder what “butt-kicking for the Lord” translates to in Latin?

So I noticed a lot of these "25 Random Things About Me" posts going around and it got me thinking:  That would be a good idea for a blog!  (By "good" I mean "lazy".)

It's actually not a bad idea, really.  It gives a nice insight into a persons psyche and what they feel is important...  or at least a hint at just how screwed up a person is.

1.            I have a hermit crab named Kong.  Kong heads a colony of crab accountants.
   
2.       I am a small, petty god, but a god nonetheless.
   
3.       I think the .357 Sig is the best pistol round ever made.
   
4.       I wear armor and beat on people for fun.  These people hit me back also for fun.  Wheeee!
   
5.       I have a murloc named Murray and a raven named Eddi who sit by my computer and comment on my life.  They are kinda like my own personal Statler and Waldorf.
   
6.       I think “Excel Saga” is the greatest anime ever made.  Nabeshin is a personal hero of mine.
   
7.       I used to live in Ireland and ran up £15,000 in parking tickets while I was there.
   
8.       My car's name is Tang and he goes faster than a greased pig thru a trailer park.
   
9.       I like pr0n.  A lot.
   
10.       I want to become a professional poker player.
11.       I will never pistol-whip a person again.  Hopefully.
    
12.       I have spent more money partying than most people spend on food shelter and auto payments combined. 
13.       Consequently my liver moved to Montana and has a restraining order filed against me.
    
14.       I watch way too much “Adult Swim” on the Cartoon Network.
    
15.       I created the drink called “Ecto” and am pleased with its effect on parties.
    
16.       My favorite book series is “The Chronicles of Amber” by Roger Zelazny.
    
17.       I enjoy watching sweaty guys beat the everliving piss out of each other in the ring.
    
18.       I am a gamer-geek, though I practice personal hygeine.
    
19.       My favorite color is orange.
    
20.       My tattoos are “works in progress” and will always be so.
    
21.       My leisure time consists primarily of playing Warcraft and online poker.
    
22.       I am 28 years old and have been so for quite some time.
    
23.       I used to transport human organs for a living.
    
24.       My favorite band is Rush.  All other bands must kneel before them.
    
25.       I am racially/religiously/socially/temporally/sexually insensitive:  I don’t give a fig who you are or what you do as long as you are cool.
    

There is nothing more pathetic than a half-inflated Mylar balloon.

Sure it comes with the best intentions:  “Get Well”, “Congratulations”, or even “Over the Hill”… but that is where it ends.  Sometime later, usually around 2am, reality (i.e. gravity and osmosis) take their toll and sucker punch the little fellow.  Instead of soaring high in streams of fluorescent light, the balloon soon takes on the characteristics of a drunken uncle as it lurches and leers in the night.

The next thing you know, it is morning and the balloon is now down to your level.  Whatever ailment or accomplishment has been too much for it, and now it is looking to share your misery.  Failing that it is just happy with knocking over your orange juice.

Or maybe it’s the drugs….

 

Tribute

Long time ago me and my brother Kyle here,
we was hitchhikin' down a long and lonesome road.
All of a sudden, there shined a shiny demon... in the middle... of the road.
And he said:

"Play the best song in the world, or I'll eat your soul."

Well me and Kyle, we looked at each other,
and we each said... "Okay."

And we played the first thing that came to our heads,
Just so happened to be,
The Best Song in the World, it was The Best Song in the World.

Look into my eyes and it's easy to see
One and one make two, two and one make three,
It was destiny.
Once every hundred-thousand years or so,
When the sun doth shine and the moon doth glow
And the grass doth grow...

Needless to say, the beast was stunned.
Whip-crack went his whoopy tail,
And the beast was done.
He asked us: "Be you angels?"
And we said, "Nay. We are but men."
Rock!

This is the greatest and best song in the world... Tribute.

To dream, perchance to drink

So I had that dream again last night.  You know the one where you are laying on the deck of a ship, warm sun and Caribbean breezes surrounding you?  No?  Too bad.

 In my dream there was a cold drink of rum and fruit parentage in my hand just begging to be drank.  Then as soon as I would finish one, a nice man with a thick island accent would ask me if I would like another.  In front of me was a two-story tall big-screen TV showing me the play0ffs, while all around me there were scantily-clad people playing with inflated balls.

 Suddenly I woke up and realized that it wasn't a dream!  I really was basking in the Caribbean sun, drinking froo-froo drinks and ogling young girlies in bikinis!

 Then I realized what I was thinking about happened last week, and I was back in Pennsyltucky again.

 Crap.

Avast Ye Mateys!

In Waterworld (not the piece of suck movie featuring Kevin Costner, but the place where sentient boats rule the waters) heralds were sent to call all boats together so that a new leader could be decided.

Soon boats were gathering from all corners of the globe.  In glorious boat-dances and waving of small, colorful flags, they communicated to each other their desires of a new leader.  From quiet coves to cacophonious bays, debate began on what qualities a good leader would possess.

What are the qulaities of a good leader?  Well obviously they would need to be of a regal stature and lineage.  Able to shoulder the great burdens it must bear, but still able to aways push forward regardless of adversity.  Oh, and it would need to be in the Caribbean during January 2009.

So after much debate the following qualities were decided:

Gross tonnage -- 116,000
Length -- 951 feet
Beam -- 118 feet
Draft -- 26 feet
Passenger Decks -- 15
Cabins (total) -- 1,557
Maximum speed -- 22 knots

I present to you, the new Crown Princess of Waterworld!

Okay...  so it's not the biggest or the baddest.  In fact it is really only an "average" representation of a modern luxury cruise ship.  But since my butt was located on deck 8 basking in Caribbean sunshine, and yours wasn't...  

I win.

Evil

bonzai2
Originally uploaded by ArgentLupe

Sure he looks cute, but under those feathers beats the blackened-heart of a merciless killer! Cold, starting, beady, black, alien eyes piece you to your soul while a razor-sharp beak darts menacingly close toward any soft, vulnerable parts you may have.

Even now he watches me. He pretends innocence as he preens himself and plays with his satanic birdie toys. He has my wife completely under his control, but I know the true horror that he hides.

Soon he will turn his monstrous gaze toward me and destroy my soul as he has already begun to destroy my mind.

I only hope that someone reads this in time to save themselves against the feathered menace.