Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Musings on a single lonely shoe

Oh, single lonely shoe,
Your appearance here saddens and confuses me.
What woe has befallen you,
To bring you so low?
What has caused you to be wrenched from your life,
And brought you here,
To the side of the road?
What sins could a single lonely shoe commit,
To warrant such a dismal fate?

Oh single lonely shoe,
I see that you also like to hang out
In the Lost and Found.
I know that you are Lost,
Single lonely shoe.
But have you ever been found?
There you lay,
Next to a nasty old pair
Of skid-marked tighty-whiteys
Trapped in a disgusting prison,
Not of your making.

Who would lose such a shoe as you?
How did you come to be here,
On the side of the road?
Looking forlorn and discarded,
As I drive by at 80 miles per hour.
Were you perhaps purchased as a set,
By a one-legged man who had no need for you?
And why are you always the left shoe?
Is there a large number of one-legged men with right feet out there?

Or perhaps you were stolen out of a trashcan
By an industrious raccoon,
Or other such vermin,
Who found his demise,
In the form of a Mack truck.
Launching you,
Single lonely shoe,
Away from the animal carcass,
To the median.
Where you rest,
Until the roadside chain gang crews
Come through to keep our highways and byways clean.

Oh single lonely shoe,
I look upon your fate with pity and remorse.
My mind filled with nary a clue as to how
A single lonely shoe
Could end up on the side of the road.
Speaking of which,
Where the hell do my socks keep going
When I wash them?!

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Rant Gumbo at Jay's Lounge

Welcome to the "Jay Lounge". It’s a great night to hang out with a bunch of people who are pretending to be your friends. In the house, towards the back, I see we have Professor Beakman, of "Beakman’s World"...(get that man a drink!). On the stage we have Casey & The Sunshine Band, Cree Summer and Lilly Allen warming up to perform together (get them a drink, too!). Oh, look who just walked girl, LoHo aka Lindsey Lohan (please take away her drink!). If you haven't noticed...I will be filling in this week for Joshua, the Barry Bonds of alcohol....who is taking some much needed rest before making an attempt at staggering past "756 beers" consumed during the month of August! What dedication! Folks, in all seriousness. If you haven't’s a very special moment for the "Jay Lounge." What is the occasion? Well, it’s the 1st time we have been syndicated on the net, instead of just in my mind. I want to touch on a couple of issues that have bothered me this week. I spend a lot of my time, working hard as hell at it’s nice to take a few moments to write and vent. So by exiting this hesitancy state, I shall present my rant!
Taken Orders:
Pedestrians! The dictionary definition says, "A pedestrian is a person traveling on foot, whether walking or running." Hmmm? Ok, but is this so? In modern times, the term mostly refers to someone walking on a road or footpath, but this seems to not be the case historically. More and more, I'm starting to think we should update this definition in the dictionary. How bout...... strategically moving road targets? Cause, that's what they seem to have become. I was riding in the car with one of my female sidekicks, (to protect her identity....I shall call her "not Ange-LEA Jolie".), when a woman decided to cross the street during a green light. I really never understood it....but it seems as if the pedestrian felt a can I say? Empowered? Just walking across the street taking her grand ass time. Talking to herself in her head, "Right foot, left foot, right foot? oops!"
Why do most pedestrians feel like they have the right to take their time to cross the street? More importantly, when did they start "mean mugging" people from the crosswalk as they cross the street? In some parts of DC and MD, people have constructed almost a pagan-like shrine to the cross walk gods. It comes complete with its own docking station and brightly orange or yellow colored flags that you are supposed to hold as you enter the crosswalk. This makes no sense, cause now instead of hitting the pedestrian.....the driver him/herself will get hit from behind. Just for slowing down and stopping for some punk ass dressed in the prep look.
I remember the good old days. Back then, as a sexy child, I would rarely cross any of the major roads. I would avoid them, point blank. When I had to....I followed the steps. There are documented certified steps for crossing the street (Exemption for those who live in NYC or some 3rd world country like Nebraska.) Step 1: Approach the crosswalk. Step 2: Look both ways and Step 3: Run across the street, screaming out of breath for your life. Note: You have to be screaming a noticeable pitch. I suggest, Mezzo-Soprano. It travels farther and sounds pretty nice. I used to love those days. Those were the days when people had respect for vehicles. No matter what type of car it was, we all treated each and every car operator with the respect they deserved. That of a seasoned killer.
I think I love Asians? For real, I think I might start hanging with Wesley Snipes. There is never a dull moment. Lets looks at the facts: 1) Tia Carrera- YEA! 2) Ping pong- Yea! (I made money on the DC streets this way.) 3) Vol-tron- Hell Yea! 4) Shoes made at some elementary trade school/factory in Asia, that seems to equal great quality and great prices. 5) Ummm...countless other improvements to the human race. You can insert your favorite here (------). I'm even sure Ihop was a product of the Asian culture, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Look, I'm just saying, I can understand why some guys swim the "yellow river." Cause its so sweet baby! You give me Ami Puffy Umi and a Wii....and I’ll show you a happy man. I mean, who can take the sunshine.....and sprinkle it with mod chips? The Candyman, cant....that's all I know.

Last Call: So, hurry up.
You know what I miss? Ok, I do miss Chelsea Clinton, but I really miss the '80s. I find myself wanting more and more shit from that era. I can’t wait to invite a girl over and cook her a meal with the tasty bake oven and top it off with a margarita from the snoopy slushy machine. Sit down and play Mike Tyson's punch out on the Nintendo? Maybe go pogo balling? Super soak her in the shower? Dry her up and let her wear some of my cross colors home? Do you understand where I'm going? I miss saying “rad”. I miss watching Snorks. I miss wearing my BK's around the hood. I miss getting treats from the ice cream man. This was the era when they were legitimate business men.....not shady, razor blade hiding in choc. eclairs, bammas. Where has my innocence gone? Do any of you fools, share my pain? (well, if you never had a Michael Jackson doll, then I don't really know how to relate with you.)
Here's a lil something for all you folks in a relationship. Even tho I'm not dating anyone, (this is mostly due to police involvement and the fact that I haven't found a girl that looks exactly like me.), I seem to posses this ability to help others with the opposite sex. I don't know...I just fell down my steps and woke up with all this knowledge. I will share just a lil bit with the fellas. I just want you guys to take the time to harass your love one. Men, once in a while, grab your girl and tell her you have chocolate syrup! Do you see where I'm going? No? This is why you’re probably single or having issues. Girls love to be harassed once in a while. You need to know the balance. It’s all about the balance. All women love a lil bad boy in a man. A "take no questions" type of guy. A vigilante. A type of man, when asked to do something, responds back like, "No Habla Ingles." These are what they want. These are some simple things you can do to just, to make her feel special...or at least feel like she’s worth at least minimum wage. Grab her ass. They really like that. Maybe even try to put your finger near the exit. You know what I mean, don't be ashamed. But wait, don't go in! Just let her know, you can get a lil nasty. She needs to know that, if needed to, you could eat her like crabs n old bay!
I’ll even share with you something real special. ***THIS IS A JAY EXCLUSIVE*** Maybe even dry hump her for 5 secs when she on the couch. You have to wait till she least expects it. Like coming home from work or leaving out of the shower. Hide behind something and just pounce on her. Take her down like the lions on the Discovery Channel. Dry hump her silly for a few secs, then roll out. Act like nothing happened. (This is my classic move....I have the patent.) Maybe watch her take a shower. Cook her food. (try not to ask her to go out and get you something to eat right after she finishes eating.) I mean, it’s not hard. You could even send her your undies. Yes, this is a great idea. Send it to her work place. They really like this. Just make sure that it is addressed to the right person. Delivering undies to a man can really be an issue. Point is, take the time to show her that she is totally hot and you want to be with her till the end of time...or at least until your done tapping it!
That one was for free. Maybe if Josh doesn't ban me from guesting on his blog in the future, I will give you guys and girls the "Rules for sleeping over" and "Jay’s guide to the woman-verse." If you have any problems or perceptions with dating, let me or Josh know. I'm sure we (meaning I) can get you through it.

Now that the blog is over, I’ll quickly list something for you to watch:
1) Grey’s Anatomy reruns
2) Codemonkeys
3) NY77: The coolest year in hell - This two-part, two-hour documentary tells the story of one of the most astonishing pop culture years in American history. New York City had fallen in decay and chaos.
4) Spaceballs The cartoon
I hope you enjoyed wasting your time reading my "Rant Gumbo." If you blend and stir, stir and blend, I'm sure you will find something you will like........way at the bottom! I hope you enjoy your weekend...and stay out of trouble. When you feeling down....look up, get up and never give up! Now, get the hell out of my establishment! I'm closed.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

A day in the life

7:00 a.m. – Wake up naturally. My finely tuned military instincts allow me to wake up within 15 minutes of whatever time I want to wake up. I’m just that good.
7:01 a.m. – Turn on t.v. start the day off right by watching cartoons. During commercials switch to Japanese porn, never question how weird that is.
7:45 a.m. – Take shower. Play bathroom radio really loudly in hopes of annoying neighbors. Why? Because I’m evil.
8:20 a.m. – Drive to work. Deal with rising blood pressure due to the amount of terrible drivers in the D.C. area. Cuss loudly at nobody. Wave and smile at people who cut me off, just to confuse them.
9:00 a.m. – Start the work day. Prepare for a long day of intense boredom followed by long stretches of time where absolutely nothing happens. Cry softly to myself in my cubicle because I’m still working like a regular person instead of being the rich and famous writer I planned to be by now. Wonder if Britney is in the market for another boy toy husband. Send her my resume.
9:01 a.m. – Check Myspace page. Feel bad that people are too dumb to see Eighty-Four Glyde for the work of art that it is.
9:24 a.m. – Wander around the office with a notebook and pen in my hand as if I’m doing some sort of work.
9:45 a.m. – Check Myspace page.
10:12 a.m. – Multitask. Hold three IM conversations and one text conversation all with chicks and all at the same time.
10:38 a.m. – Consider actually doing work at some point. Decide against it.
11:14 a.m. – Concoct overly elaborate and needlessly complicated plot to destroy coworker. Abandon plan due to laziness. Spend rest of day growling and muttering indistinctly under breath whenever that coworker is around.
11:53 a.m. - Check Myspace page.
12:03 p.m. - Go to bathroom for a short nap.
12:48 p.m. – Play 10 games of solitaire for 15 minutes. Never win.
1:03 p.m. – Lunch time! Rifle through office fridge and eat food that isn’t mine. Watch cartoons on my computer.
1:27 p.m. – Spend ten minutes lamenting writing that damn blog about the 46 women from my past.
1:37 p.m. – Check Myspace page
2:00 p.m. – Lunch ends. Continue to watch cartoons on the computer for another 30 minutes or until I’m caught, whichever comes first.
2:34 p.m. – Spend five minutes straight just staring at a (female) coworker’s booty. Become lost in a fantasy and don’t notice that everybody in the office is now staring at me and my massive erection.
3:11 p.m. – Check my damn Myspace page again!
3:33 p.m. – Realize that there’s an hour and a half left of work left. Begin clock watching.
4:02 p.m. – More solitaire!
4:20 p.m. – You know what’s up.
4:49 p.m. – Start fidgeting like a rich kid on Christmas Eve.
5:00:01 p.m. – Run out of office. Piss on receptionist’s desk on the way out just to mark my territory. Laugh evily.
5:05 p.m. – Stop by liquor store on way home. Pretend not to notice the bums outside who see me coming and shake their heads ruefully. Your intervention didn’t work turkeys!
5:30 p.m. – Arrive home. Immediately turn on some cartoons and pour myself two fingers of booze. Remove all clothing except for boxers.
5:35 p.m. – Check Myspace page, (this time, from my home computer!)
5:36 p.m. – Spend the next forty or so minutes trying to find some free Japanese porn online. Always get directed to some kind of Japanese scat site.
6:00 p.m. – Turn on that bubbly bitch Rachel Ray and begin cooking dinner.
6:30 p.m. – Thank firemen for their prompt response time and promise to never again try to cook a pound of bacon in the toaster oven.
8:00 p.m. – Watch my man Alton Brown cook up some Good Eats.
8:30 p.m. – As the alcohol kicks in, become super dramatic and start to weep uncontrollably into hands about lost love.
8:45 p.m. – Send first drunk text of the night. Doesn’t matter to whom it’s sent, though it’s usually to a chick.
9:32 p.m. – Check Myspace page for the last time, (of the day.)
10:00 p.m. – Watch cartoons for another hour or so. Continue to send drunken texts to people.
11:00 p.m. – Pass out. Hopefully in my own bed, hopefully not while soiled in any way.
7:00 a.m. – Start the whole bloody business all over again!

Sunday, August 05, 2007

Joshua’s Tales of Bathroom Horror: The Taboo Dook

In my long and crazy life I’ve had some adventures. Nothing at the Tucker Max level mind you, but things happen. I’ve had a lot more misadventures though. It all has to do with being a Born Troublemaker. Many of these misadventures occur in bathrooms, or what passes for bathrooms, all over the world. Allow me, if you will, to relate one story that is both funny and horribly disgusting at the same time. It isn’t pretty, but it is true.
A few years ago my college friends and I decided to road trip from our college in Springfield, OH, to Atlantic City. We started from Springfield because one of my friends was a bartender/bouncer at one of the more popular college bars. Luckily it was the summer, so all the college douche bags weren’t there to get in my way, talk about how great the Dave Matthews Band is and kick me with their Birkenstocks.
The bar was called (and probably still is) Station 1 because it used to be a fire station. Then they built a more modern one across the street and decided that a bar two blocks from a campus full of underage drinkers was the best way to go with the first building.
So we’re hanging out at this bar one night, enjoying all types of cheap libations, when it hits. There’s a rumbly in my tumbly and a bubbling in my guts. My early warning deuce-dropping alert has been activated and if I don’t find a bathroom in the next ten minutes I’ll become a very fragrant and lonely guy.
Using the bar bathroom wasn’t even an option. It was about two feet wide and filled with pointless graffiti from top to bottom, (you know, stuff like If you like getting your balls sucked, call Tracy Ma at 555-SLUT). Decades of drunken college use had left a four-inch layer of puke and shit all over every surface. Just walking into the bathroom was like dealing with a HAZMAT environment. You have to hold your breath starting from ten feet away from the bathroom. If you have ever seen Trainspotting, then you know exactly what kind of bathroom I’m talking about.
After assessing the situation I decide to see if I can take my chance across the street. After all, they’re firemen, they gotta let people use their bathroom when asked, it’s the nice and decent thing to do, right?
I run across the street and start banging on the door. Precious minutes later a fireman walks up, but he’s wary and refuses to actually open the door. What kind of a world do we live in where a fireman won’t even open the door for wide-eyed, drunk, incoherent black men at midnight? It’s a shame. I told him that the bar across the street was out of toilet paper and I asked if I could use his bathroom. He shook his head no. To this day I wonder what kind of terrorist plot he thought was going to be carried out by a guy trying to take a dump in a fire station. I guess I’ll never know.
He wouldn’t open the door, but he did agree to give me a roll of toilet paper. Wasn’t that nice of him? I figured that tp was better than nothing, so I thanked him and wandered back across the street in that odd shuffle people use to keep their butt cheeks closed and aren’t afraid to be obvious about it.
I was getting desperate. I decided to call upon the dump-taking skills I acquired in Iraq, (which is another Tale of Bathroom Horror in itself) and just go outside. It would be nice to feel the cool, summer night breeze waft across my buttocks. But as I looked around, trying to recon the best place to do the doo (as it were) I found nothing. There was either a very obvious and out in the open parking lot, or there was an ivy (potentially poisonous) covered hill that looked way too slippery. Doing my business out-of-doors looked to be a no go.
I ran down my list of options and dismissed them all. Go back to the house I’m staying at? It’s a mile away, I’d never make it. Knock on the door of somebody nearby? And what, ask if I could blow their bathroom up? I don’t think so, besides the only houses that are close are frat houses and they’re empty in the summer.
One by one options were eliminated, until there was only one left. And I was desperate and crazy enough to do it: Use the bar bathroom.
I went inside and informed my friend who worked there as to my plan. He looked at me with shock and terror. To the best of his knowledge, nobody had ever tried to sit on that toilet. There had to be ten forms of herpes alone on that seat. Even David Blane wouldn’t be crazy enough to do what I was going to do. Oh, and there’s something I forgot to mention: the bathroom door didn’t lock. That meant that I needed an accomplice to use it, or else everybody and their mother could just walk in and catch me with my neck veins popping out and my face grimacing as I attempt to strain out a deuce. Unsavory.
I won’t go into the horror of trying to use the bathroom. The roll of tp I used up just trying to get the toilet semi clean. The balancing act of trying to not let my pants touch the floor or any other vertical surface. The stench, (and not from me either thank you very much!) Oh the humanity! The horror!
Of course, people were curious as to why there was a big-ass black guy standing outside the bathroom with his arms crossed. And, as it is with WPs, when they get curious, they decide to investigate. Once people heard that there was a guy stupid enough to use the Station bathroom, word spread quickly. People purposely came up to catch a glimpse of my foolish ass. Ha, those merry pranksters! They got the door open a few times, despite my boy’s presence as a bouncer. Which meant that I had to divide my time between forcing “it” out and using both hands to pull the door closed. I yelled at people to stop, I was vulnerable, caught in the middle of doing (while completely natural) a personal act in a very disgusting place and them trying to watch me wasn’t aiding the situation. I pleaded, I begged, for my privacy and my dignity. Of course that helped not a smidgen.
Fifteen minutes later I was finished, (it’s not that it took me 15 minutes, it’s just that I had a little stage-fright.) and walked out.
To great applause.
I then went home and used a straight razor to slice off the top four layers of skin from my ass and thighs. I couldn’t take any chances!
Stay turned for another Tale of Bathroom Horror, involving a stalker and an ill-timed encounter in the men’s room of my high school.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

All the news that’s fit to…watch

There’s something very wrong going on here. Maybe it’s just because I’m an ex journalist myself, that I notice these things. But I think that’s not the case. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m late as all get out on this. I mean, I recognized it awhile ago, but it wasn’t until last week that I realized just how out of hand things have become.
Fox News is a joke. Everybody knows that, (except for the majority of the military which either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. They’re pretty much forced to watch Fox News, anybody surprised?) Fox News doesn’t report the news so much as pander to the whims of media god Rupert Murdoch. Ever seen Out Foxed? Good documentary, go check it out. I think even Fox News people know that they aren’t reporters, (“But we have the most watched news channel in America!” Bill “Shameless” O’Reilly can be heard screaming. Of course you do Bill, people watch for the entertainment factor, and to see just how far you’ll go to call opinion “news.”) I’m not even going to get into the motto of Fox News, because, by this point I think that even the people who work there are embarrassed by it. “Fair and Balanced,” eh? Man, the cognitive dissonance with that one must have put three quarters of the staff on serious medications to stay calm.
Because they don’t even bother to report anymore. They just sit (or stand, as the case may be) behind their desks, (pants optional) and spew out opinions. Informed or not, they are just opinions. And, if they don’t know enough about the topic at hand to give an opinion, why then they just bring in an “expert” kept on retainer by Fox. People whose opinions match up with Supreme Overlord Murdoch’s ideals.
But even they know that just sitting around and telling Americans what they should think or feel isn’t enough, so they bring on people with other opinions, just to ridicule them, belittle them and trounce on their ideas and beliefs. Shame really.
I always thought that CNN was safe. They knew what Fox was up to and decided to take the high road and report things they way they appear. Now, I’m no dummy. As a journalist in the Army for five years, I can tell you that everybody has an angle. And if it’s not the reporter who has an angle, you can be damn sure his boss or his boss’ boss does. The first thing I learned in military public affairs school is that “Nothing bad ever happens in the Army.” Yes, they came out and said that. Guess what that means? It means that I had to put a positive spin on each one of the (hundreds) of stories that I wrote. And if there was no positive spin, then there was no story. Let the civilian media cover the bad side and when they do we can just claim that they got it wrong and don’t know the full story. Ah, I miss the days of the Army.
No matter what people think, and what journalists throughout history have claimed, there is no such thing as objective journalism. Five people will tell the same story five different ways, remembering five different things and highlighting stuff that was important to them. And all five will be correct, but that doesn’t mean they’re all true, (of course you can get into the discussion of a Universal Truth and a Subjective Truth, but I haven’t smoked enough hash to get into that properly.)
Anyway, like I said. I thought CNN was cool. They were doing their own groovy thing and letting people decide for themselves what to watch. But then, a few weeks ago, after not watching the news channels for awhile, (I had just gotten in a huge shipment of Japanese porn. My t.v. viewing schedule was booked!) I decided to hit up all the news channels that I have. CNN, CNN Headlines, MSNBC and Fox News, (I guess I could have watched C-SPAN, but I’m not suicidal.) And I noticed that not a single one of those channels was actually broadcasting news. Prominently displayed on every channel was some talking head, telling people what they thought of the day’s news and interviewing guests doing the same. There was no news! Listen, I have my own opinions and I know the opinions of my friends and family. I don’t need to know what some pseudo-journalist thinks about Lindsay Lohan getting arrested. I don’t care if Wolf Blitzer pities Lindsay, and I certainly don’t understand why they are interviewing the person who painted the lines on the road where she was chasing down her ex-assistant’s mother. Which means that CNN has fallen into the same trap that makes Fox impossible to watch.
If I’m really worried about what people on t.v. think about things going on in the world, I’ll cut off my junx and watch The View. I want the news! Tell me the things that are important, not things you think I should know. It’s so frustrating to have to read eight different newspapers and watch all news channels just to get every side of the same story.
The people I really pity are those who get their news and information from political blogs. Those freaks do nothing but get their side (Conservatives, Liberals, blah, blah, blah) all riled up about something extremely pointless and in the end do nothing to change the situation. They prefer to just sit around and complain about each other. It’s funny because they act like the do-nothing congress that they love to shit on so much, (both sides shit on congress, but only I have actually taken a piss on the Capital Building. Beat that turkeys!)
I’m not a Republican, I’m not a Democrat, I’m not even registered to vote. I’m just a complainer. And guy who wants to know what’s going on in the world. Is that too much to ask?