Heh Heh

Sounds like my kind of humor:

There are many stories about Barrett's bizarre and intermittently psychotic behaviour — some are known to be true. According to Roger Waters, Barrett came into what was to be their last practice session with a new song he had dubbed "Have You Got It, Yet?". The song seemed simple enough when he first presented it to his band mates, but it soon became impossibly difficult to learn: while they were practising it, Barrett kept changing the arrangement. He would then play it again, with the arbitrary changes, and sing "Have you got it yet?". Eventually they realised they never would and that they were simply bearing the brunt of Barrett's idiosyncratic sense of humour.

9/11 Conspiracies Are More Based In Reality

This is exactly why Juno bored me.

Snippet:

TIME PASSES and MORE INDIE ROCK MUSIC PLAYS. ELLEN
goes through the various scenes that movies about pregnant
people are obligated to include.

She visits JASON BATEMAN.

JASON BATEMAN

Hey Ellen. Want to watch some indie horror films and listen to some indie music together?

ELLEN PAGE

That sounds great! I sure hope that watching the movie isn't interrupted by me having to go puke my guts out, sweaty and hunched over the toilet.

(pause)

Just kidding, none of that crap happens in the movie. Pregnancy is easy-peasy.

JASON BATEMAN

Well, I have good news. I'm leaving Jennifer Garner.

ELLEN PAGE

Why, because your marriage to her has robbed you of your youth, which you have been reminded of since you started hanging around with me?

JASON BATEMAN

No, I just rented 13 Going On 30. I can't even look at her now. Has she been in anything good?

ELLEN PAGE

Oh. Because if it was the other thing, then you could take notice of the fact that I remind you of your younger days despite the fact that my current predicament requires a level of maturity far beyond my years, and you could enjoy the contrast between our situations that is ironically illustrated by having us both get along so well.

JASON BATEMAN

How artistic!

ELLEN PAGE

You're goddamn right it is! Bring on the Oscars!

As Bad As My Love Life May Seem...

... it's not this bad:

A man who was ordered out of ShopKo stores last year for urinating on clothing has now been ordered to stay away from Target stores for the same reason.

Jeremy S. Pope, 26, of Arena, was arrested last December for criminal damage to property and lewd and lascivious conduct after he was caught urinating on bras and panties at the ShopKo at 7401 Mineral Point Road.

The Roman Legion Gets a Try

In anticipation of the first rugby game of the season, I had a dream that I was training for a game in the Roman legion. Everything is a bit fuzzy, but I was on a hill and also kind of in an auditorium, too. My coach was yelling at everyone to try harder. At what, I don't know because we were all dressed in full Roman legion regalia.



An order came through to march on the enemy, whoever that was. I lined up and waited for a while. Then some soldier came stumbling back and said that we were getting slaughtered. We moved out and went through an alley of some sort that had niches with enemy soldier's in them. Only their heads were visible. We used our spears to kill them, then I though "hmmm... didn't Romans have short swords for close combat?" Poof, I had a short sword, making the carnage easier to propagate.



Then I was in a big, Roman looking atrium. We were in a line and so was the enemy. Actually, they were clerics or mystics. I stabbed some fat oracle lady.



And then I was in some split-level ranch house looking for my bedroom. Can't remember much more.

On a Scale From One to My Ass Is Sore

Back in the Fall of 1996, I went with my friend, Mike Wolfe, to catch a new art house flick. After the movie, I created a new scale on how much I hated a movie. A one meant that it was so/so and I wished I hadn't paid to see it. The worst grade was My Ass Is Sore, that meant I lost interest in even loosely following the film and instead focused on my aching posterior. Of course the film in question received the prestigious MAIS award.



Today, the director of said movie died. I don't wish anyone any misery, so I'm not reveling in it. I'm just glad that I won't have to give out another MAIS.

Moments In My Personal Music History

Back 1998 or 1999, Kyle and I were driving home at bar time after, well, drinking until bar time. As we plodded our way down North Sherman Avenue, Kyle turned the radio on to some horrid station. Right then, some dork was calling in requesting "That's What Friends Are For". The song started and he yelled "YES! I loved this song!" He immediately cranked up volume and started signing. Anyone who knows Kyle understands his decent into Kyle World (Now With Twice the Fun!) when he drinks even a drop too much. That was a very painful experience. He later told me that he hates that song. What the fuck!?! Anyway, I found something even worse:







I think that old guy in the front is Seth's drunkle who always walked around family events with a stiffy and cleared out the liquor cabinet at Christmas. Hip he ain't.

Seemingly Trivial Things That Piss Me Off

So don't be this person.



Leave Me The Fuck Alone

As I have an affable personality, I like people. As an introvert, I just don't like people. If you walk into a classroom, restaurant, lecture, etc. and I'm in the most inaccessible place with my back to the wall, please note my expressionless face and don't talk to me. I don't care about reminiscing about Brett Favre's career or that you hope the class will be good. You may think my silence means acceptance at first, but behind my placid eyes I'm imagining ripping your head off and shoving it up your ass. And when you finally figure out that I don't want to talk to you (which took five minutes as I'm a Midwesterner), don't sulk away like a scolded puppy. Unlike Iraq, you are the aggressor. I like dogs and forgive their eagerness; you should know better. I hide in corners for a reason.



Watch the Volume of Your Voice

Ok Pavarotti, you make like the sound of your own voice, but your audience at the Met is made up of one. Admittedly, I have been responsible for this transgression from time to time as has everyone (except my friend Adam), but don't be the exception to the rule. You probably don't mean to act as though I'm an encroaching predator, but you make me feel like pissing myself, dropping some twitching appendage, and running for the hills. Shhhhhh, for both of our sakes.



Your Miscreant Children Are Not Entertainment

I know that little Madison and little Ethan give you great joy and, unfortunately, much conversation fodder, but they look like poo-flinging monkeys to me. Actually, I like watching poo-flinging monkeys as long as I'm not hit, but your children are much uglier than the more advanced primates. The post office is not a playground, so take their fat asses to a playground. And don't say please when asking little Jacob to stop kicking the shin of the kindly-looking old man patiently waiting in line. Give the brat the stare of death (I've luckily inherited it from my mother). Grab his arm and drag him off. Plus, that old man isn't as kindly as he looks. He's probably a Midwesterner.



Chew With Your Mouth Closed

Just because I live in a state (and a noted region of said state) that is known for cows, I don't want to watch you chew like one. Perhaps the government should bring back those 50's film strips on manners. Pay attention this time. That burger that you're chewing like cud doesn't look so swift when it's being disassembled with compacted enamel and spittle. This is also true for you obsessive gum chewers. You look about thirty IQ points dumber than you are when chewing gum with ol' Yapper wide open. If you must appear laden with bong resin, breathe through your fucking nose. Nothing worse than listening to the squish AND cavernous wind of your affliction.



I know I sound like a grumpy old coot, but I'm not. I'm a grumpy, dejected thirtysomething, thank you.