i don’t know if i can top master p’s gucci elephant but:
from www.murderdog.com, selections from a chat, presumably near or next to a fire, with mr. nasir jones.
murder dog’s interviewer is in italics.
Do you think it might be a good while before you release your next album after “God’s Son”?
Maybe, man. I was planning on making a Mother’s Day album dedicated to all the mothers, to drop on Mother’s Day – dedicated to my mom.
What was your relationship with your mother like?
We were real, real close. She was an angel. And now she’s a bigger angel.
end scene!
also, i recommend that everyone read about the hippos currently running roughshod over the former estate of Pablo Escobar.
I can’t remember the tag for links, so find it yourself.
the bassline to “Start!” by the Jam is sooooo ripped off from “Taxman” by the Beatles. Copping the melody from “It’s All Too Much” you might get away with, but, uh, “taxman” is track one of side one of Revolver.
Apart from that and maybe like “Beat Surrender” i would append to the previous chestnut a warning that the Jam never ever did anything else wrong, insofar as being dope is concerned.
guys who were born 45 years old:
morgan freeman
gene hackman
DOWNTOWN, PRINT IT MOTHERFUCKERS
and we’re back live.
some things i would like to point out:
people like me.
dumb people, tall people, crazy people, nice people. i am fantastic.
points of interest.
i look forward to seeing confessions of a dangerous mind.
i do not look forward to writing the rest of my BA.
AC/DC, where did it all go wrong?
why isn’t bon scott on the one dollar bill? failing that, the $2? the $3? THEY SOLD MORE RECORDS THAN THE BEATLES!
just in to the news desk:
bob seger’s “come to papa” just named “worst song ever recorded.”
CHICAGO–coffee shop employee pete b____ turned off the radio this morning after hearing bob seger’s “come to papa,” and announced that it was the worst song ever recorded. his announcement was undermined by the fact that there was no one else in the coffee shop, because it wasn’t open yet. seger was unavailable for comment.
i am extremely disappointed with the way my life is going. i hate all of you. someone write my BA for me. also, i want some dinner. i am nice. i am smart. someone give me something. anything. candy. a massage. ice cream. a nice new winter hat. give me a rifle and a clean shot at sheryl crow. she could not suck more.
shawn mullin, that guy who sang the lullaby song. he has a cover of “what is life” over the closing credits of the unfortunate film Big Daddy. this is still confusing me, despite the fact that i saw this film once, three years ago. god fucking dammit.
how come in japan it’s ok to kill yourself because your career sucks? in america you need good reasons like crippling depression or a broken heart.
at some point this afternoon, i think a little bit after five o’clock in room 106 of ida noyes, i turned into my dad. i felt like i was born 40 years old. this feeling is not going away.
my friends get on my nerves when they have inappropriate questions. i have developed a distaste for hockey, which i once enjoyed. i listen to rap music less and less frequently. this evening, “WWIII” by Pharaohe Monch and Shabam Shadeeq caused some sort of allergic reaction. i freaked out. my hair is falling out. i am irritable. i wake up early in the morning (editor’s note: pete thinks he works hard and gets up with the chickens and shit like that because he works two AM shifts at the coffee shop. his dad will tell you that this is horseshit, because he [pete's dad] worked in an actual salt mine [at age 53] once, thus rendering any work-related complaints on pete’s part null and void)
i’m writing in complete sentences. i hate video games. my knees hurt. i think smoke makes me smell bad. beer makes me sleepy. i maintain a passing interest in the NFL playoffs. i am bossy. sometimes i am a bad listener. i am my dad.
everybody around me seems hellbent on using their blog for evil purposes, with the possible exception of sam. and whet, who doesn’t really use his. life is hard, i suppose.
anybody else bothered by the fact that the Carbon and Carbide skyscraper on Michigan Ave is being turned into a Hard Rock Hotel right now?
i had nothing but good things to say about the C & C building. It had this weird gold frosting at the top, looked like pieces of it were falling into the street on a regular basis, was black (except for the gold part) and basically just looked like the kind of building that batman or one of batman’s close friends would live/work/operate as a superhero out of, and now it’s turning into a Hard Rock Hotel. what the hell is a hard rock hotel? furthermore, at any point has there been live music at a hard rock cafe? if they are so obsessed with hard rock, i’d think they would have divested themselves of all the restaurants and bought some concert venues? or hotels? hotels are the bread and butter of the rock industry. i can’t second sam’s opinions about the present state of rock music because i spend my rock music dollars/minutes/energies pretending like the last ten years didn’t happen. but i have notice, in between sessions repairing my time machine, that future 2003 looks a lot like the alternate 1985 from back to the future II. biker gangs roam the streets, principal strickland is on his porch with a shotgun, the tallest building in hill valley is biff’s casino and marty’s mom has enormous fake boobs made out of old lampshades. and the rock music sucks.
some how-come quickies before i get this shit on the road.
1. how come i’m the only one with manners left
2. where is my 40hr a week job opening packs of baseball cards
3. what ever happened to that liquid bubble gum shit
4. why do fools fall in love, why does rain fall from up above, why do they fall in love, doo wah ooo wah
it’s conference championship sunday! holy shit!
I stand accused of writing the Whizzer section of the RedEye.
I am NOT GUILTY.
i’d like to send an early valentine’s card to whomever is in charge of scheduling every class i think i might interested in taking.
dear guy,
thanks for scheduling every class i want to take at the exact same time. while i initially questioned your decision, i have realized that my parents are paying $2313 million dollars per year and taking out a seventh mortgage on their internal organs, thus assuring that neither of them will be able to retire until the year 7000 AD, not so i can have a nice education and take the classes that i would enjoy, that might broaden my perspective on our world, that might make me a better person. the point of college is for my parents to give you $2313 million dollars, which they have already done, and i am just greedy if i expect you to continue to bend over backwards on my account.
be mine
pete
the bile-spewing portion of this installment is over.
things on the upswing in 2003:
amount of people named jake in my apartment
alex hagen’s beard
pairs of wearable shoes owned by me (currently at an all-time high of four, not counting sandals. the green pumas are starting to smell funny, unfortunately)
i feel like bitching more about the browns. i retract my earlier statement about not being all that upset about it. i’m getting increasingly more and more upset about it as i write this. but fuck it, the browns will be back in 2003 with kelly holcomb in the role of your dad and the rest of the nfl in the role of you, crying on the floor.
take heed of the following things:
i think i might have an ok idea for a novel. nick tells me that the picaresque is aching for a comeback. i will oblige. while i will never actually write this novel, at least i have an idea. sort of. it’s about a hostess at a restaurant and her relationships with her various co-workers, down from the owner to the busboys. at the end, somebody goes to heaven. i just need a name for my protagonist. i was thinking “tawny.”
“muswell hillbillies” by the kinks is welcome confirmation of the fact that the kinks are unnecessarily and undeservedly awesome.
that’s all for today.
well, the browns lost in a way that made my heart feel like willis mcgahee’s leg. and i cannot be bothered. no, really, i can’t be bothered. so this is what it’s like when one of your teams actually wins something. you don’t have to worry about the other teams. the other teams, even your other teams, can lose, and it might suck, and it did suck (see below) but you will not feel bad. you will look around and say “oh, it’s a good thing ohio state is better than everybody else in the world particularly the university of miami at football. it’s a good thing.” the browns blew a 17 point lead in the fourth quarter of today’s game. and i am not terribly upset. either i have caught a disease that is turning me into a normal non-sports dork, or OSU’s victory on friday, somehow, improbably, possibly through radio waves, immersed my body in a magical cloud wherein i become impervious to emotions, like spock, and am also much stronger than other humans. it is not unlikely that i can fly now, although i’m not testing that out until i someone covers 57th street with mattresses.
that said: if any of the following seventeen people did what the late, not great al lerner pays them to do, the browns would have lost to oakland next week instead of pittsburgh this week.
1. butch davis. butch you may be made out of joe paterno’s grapefruits, but if you hadn’t challenged that OBVIOUS td, we would have had a time out, and a chance at a long FG to tie the game.
2. corey fuller: you lied to butch and made him challenge that play. stop that.
3. tim couch: you should have broken all your legs for the last four seasons and we’d have four super bowls, if kelly holcomb is who he says he is.
4. dennis northcutt: you did not catch the ball when you needed to.
5. quincy morgan: you did nothing all day.
6. the entire defense: tommy maddox made all of you his bitches. he doesn’t even need eleven bitches. four, tops. but no, you gave him eleven.
7.tommy maddox: your hunger for bitches is wildly out of proportion to your actual importance in the galactic scheme of things, which, i’m looking this up right now, is negative eight million galactic importance fun bucks, placing you just below…
8. the entire city of pittsburgh. i’m from cleveland, and i think you are all jerks. translation: i lived at 1600 jerksylvania ave, jerk city USA, and i still can’t stand the assholes from pittsburgh. or something like that. but did you get a look at some of the fucking mongrels in that crowd. woof. shit, woof doesn’t even cover that. imagine the noise(s) that an elephant makes whilst taking a shit. that’s the noise for how ugly pittsburghers are.
9. well, i’m gonna run out of gas before i get to seventeen but i would like to indict the following chaps quickly: hines ward, bill cowher, chin-tor the alien demon who controls bill cowher, plaxico burress, antwaan randle el, amos zeroeoriueroueriue, and pretty much everybody on the steelers, except for #26 who got TORCHED all day long and is clearly a browns fan at heart.
on the plus side:
kelly holcomb had the best day ever by any quarterback who vaguely resembles gram parsons, and was threatening to unseat bernie kosar’s 489 yard playoff record but then remembered that doing so would be a terrible idea and disrespect the greatest guy who really, obviously seemed jewish yet wasnt and also played quarterback.
a guy named bernie kosar? and he’s a gentile? COME ON. really now. not that i give a shit about anything anymore. shit, this was so easy. what happens when your team wins twice? do you not have to worry about anything ever. i mean, i feel like i could get mauled by stray cougars onthe way to work tomorrow and have my appendages eaten and not be all that busted up over it. i am on cloud 4000. that’s three thousand and nine hundred+ clouds better than cloud nine. before friday, maybe i was on cloud two hundred once or twice, and i only found my way to cloud two hundred because drugs showed me the way. but this, this is like a non-stop erotic cabaret. these are the party days!
sorry about the outburst. but i am not sorry to be the grandfather of the state of ohio for the first time in recorded history insofar that i have been alive sine 1981 has actually accomplished something IE a national championship in a worthwhile field of the sporting science. sincere apologies to the 1992 cleveland crunch, NISL champs, but you weren’t actually good. i said i loved you, hands were busy, but now a real team in an actual sport is good and you are dog crap.
OK, the producers are telling me that the last sentence fell apart when i started talking about the crunch.
back to me being the ARCHITECT of the late NCAA TITLE won by OSU:
here’s where the game turned: keith jackson (it may have been fouts, who i pine for in the night, or something) for no apparent reason, none whatsoever, during the second overtime (i can’t remember specifically, my brain was A) soaked in canadian mist at that point B) suffering the effects of too much blood because my heart was FLIPPING OUT and beating 9875p2354234- beats per minute) BACK TO THE POINT, keith or foutsbeardbeardbeard said the magical word “BEREA” during one of OSU’s overtime possessions and BAM AMERICA LOVES JIM TRESSEL.
some things i would like to talk through here, since my blog apparatus was shut down by the homeland security bund or whatever:
sports teams that i love in descending order by monetary value of love:
1. cleveland browns: $5,232,087,781.00
2. cleveland indians: $2,001,883,596.00
3. ohio state men’s football buckeyes: $1.37 billion dollars, loosely
4. cleveland cavaliers: $dejuanwagner.00
do the math and you’ll realize: I AM THE FIGURATIVE MAYOR OF FEELIN’ GREAT, ONTARIO (for tax purposes) ALL DAY
as i said before, holy shit. also, willis mcgahee’s leg injury was, and i’m unstrapping my schadenfreude-auf-Miami googles right now, really so sad that i could not get excited in any way about it. even though the hit knocked the hurricane’s reallyfuckinggood RB (who was just starting to run downhill and looked like he might be the difference in the fourth quarter) out of the game, i would have rather had him play than watch a guy 1. know, the second he hits the ground, that his leg is seriously injured and that all his plans for life are on hold if not changed forever, just because of two seconds. 2. additionally, it was, as i think i observed during the three hour stretch that began at about ten pm last night and has not ended yet [i guess it was more than three hours? who gives a shit] where all i could do was jump on furniture, smile, and yell WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YEAH! YEAH! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! anyway, the only articulate comment i made during this period was after mcgahee’s injury, when i said “that was the worst leg injury i’ve seen since chuckie carr hyperextended his knee in centerfield for milwaukee.” if you’ve ever talked to me about my battle with krumrie syndrome, a condition manifested as a strange fascination with the televised fracture of limbs by athletes, you know that i hold the chuckie carr knee hyperextension in some regard. anyway, willis, i feel for you. i don’t quite know why or where i have sympathy (empathy?) for willis mcgahee, but you know, the humidity, and since i blew out my knee, and coach said. monetary value of last comment: $benwearebothgoingtohellsomeday and no cents
that was a HELL of a fake hologram football game.
some things that remain awesome even the morning after (and me with no hangover, at least not a bad one)
1. ohio state’s coaches all smoking meth and decided that fake FGs in the first quarter wins national titles.
2. ken dorsey turning into gino torretta a la the beginning of altered beast for the sega genesis
3. craigs krenzel (washington), the leading rusher in the fiesta bowl. apparently OSU switched their EA Sports NCAA 2003 playbook to “Run ‘N’ Gun” from “Run Heavy” before the game. that would explain their decision to call the “QB Draw” out of the “Shotgun” set 98765686 times in this game.
3i. if chris berman and other fat sportscasters do not IMMEDIATELY start referring to craig krenzel as Krenzel Washingston, civil war roundtable will not be happy.
3i1. if the phrase “Gamble is the Mamble” is not awesome, i no longer know what one might consider to be awesome.
4. stepanovitch is mint
5. i wonder if it was all a dream
6. no i checked ESPN right now and the results of fake tortilla-chip-related bowl game live from fake hologram junction, arizona are being upheld as HOLOGRAMBUNCTIOUSLY ROBO-DACIOUSLY SUPER DUPER by the national robots and holograms staging sporting events to fuck with pete beatty’s mind committee (NRHSSEFPBMC).
things i have not even processed through my cobwebbed and somewhat dehydrated view out upon the beatiful world of jan 4 2003:
THE BROWNS ARE IN THE MOTHERFUCKING PLAYOFFS
THE BROWNS (my football team, as in i invented them to keep me company on this lonely desert and cactus and space-lizard filled asteroid we call the earth, my football team, as in i built robots and painted them to look like black guys and taught them to play football)
ARE (opposite of ARE NOT, as i understand english)
IN (included in, allowed to particpate IN)
THE PLAYOFFS (ROAD TO THE SUPER BOWL)
THE INDIANS SIGNED JASON BERE (i will kill mark shapiro. i will eat his liver and acquire his powers)
see below for my feelings on everything ever to occur
