Monday, May 30, 2005

Some cowboy wannabe has the audacity to ask if I want "The Big Beer"

What the fuck?
Do I look like someone that didn't spend all night waiting in line in an attempt to see some trendy band only to get frustrated and leave before we reached the door to travel across town to your frat cowboy bar where all the drunk thicknecks oogle at the chubby chicks that have enough peach zima-coladaquaris to give them the courage to hop on the mechanical, sloppy-tit jiggling bull only to be thrown on their g-string-exposed, cheesy lower-back tattooed asses? Yeah, Cowboy Douchbag, that's exactly how I look. Cunt Spanking Christ!
Yeah Fucko, and I'm not afraid to write about it in run-on sentences on my blog (which no one will read).
That's right Cowboy, I'm telling my blog on you.

Here's me, "I'll have a Black and Tan, as quickly as humanly possible. I'll even pay you double if you can get it to me yesterday at around 9:30."
Here's Ass Cowboy, "do u want a big beer or a small one?"

WHAT THE FUCK KINDA QUESTION IS THAT!!!!!

I'll kill you motherfucker! I'll slap my shorn nutsack into that extra-large cauldron of blue panty-peeling daterape elixer that you insist on dealing to every desperate, insecure, 25 year old Hollywood audition-failing waitress skank.
I hate you and I hate your "ironic" cowboy hat.
I hate you and I hate the Brooks and Dunn song that you slipped between the 2 Guns and Roses songs that you played back-to-back (which, in case you didn't know it, is a DJ faux paus. You didn't even have the common sense to play Mr. Brownstone. Amateur), and the fucking Aerosmith song.

My keyboard is all broken and chipped from typing this entry with fists which are balled up so tight that my nails have completely pierced the inside of my hand and are poking through to the other side.

I have to go glue the broken keys back on my laptop keyboard, and put Bactine on my palms.

Have a violent and intolerant day!
- Rik

Sunday, May 29, 2005

The Pazzolrama In Full Effect

Everyone's favorite brain molester now has his own digs. Grab your peach mango lube and the scientific calculator that you decorated with anarchy symbols and misfits logos in high school, and go see him. You may want to bring a dictionary and thesaurus while your at it (but none of that "new roget's" bullshit. This guy is all about the old roget's, bitches).

  • The Fabulous Pazzolrama


  • Warning:
    There is no way of knowing for certain what impact The Pazzolrama and certain drug interactions can have on individuals, but by carefully reading the labels on our prescriptions and over-the-counter medications, you can learn more about the risks of mixing these substances. Drug labels contain important information about ingredients, directions for use, and warnings that are critical to understand, so before taking any kind of medication, you should review the labels and packaging.

    Suck it,
    -R

    Saturday, May 28, 2005

    Fuck Off, I'm Busy. I Have A Life Beyond This Blog, I Swear.

    Mr. S. Freeze has graced California soil in search of his heavy metal roots. You may remember Mr. Freeze from such Karaoke challenges such as; the bi-annual Nude Sinatra, The Cockrock Cockblock, and the Fiddler On the Roof Karaoke kibitz (damn the boy can sing with a fake Yiddish accent!). My posts will prolly be scarce for the next few days due to the poisons of my lifestyle. Not that anyone reads this except maybe Matt or Anna, and they just do it cause they know that I monitor my page counter and refresh the screen every 30 seconds or so to see if anyone else viewed it.

    Have an anal sex-filled weekend,
    -Rick

    Thursday, May 26, 2005

    Fuck Chewbacca

    Ok, this will be my only Star Wars post. Saw the movie twice. It was really good and all that stuff, I liked all the things that everyone else liked and hated all the little lame parts that everyone else hated.
    Really here's the things that I left the theatre thinking about;

    Chewbacca must be a really vain motherfucker!!!!!! Here's what we know: in real life, when a person with even the finest, straightest hair neglects to comb it, after a while it gets knotted up. Chewbacca Is like 10 feet, 400 lbs of thick long hair. In order to keep his hair looking that neat for the 20 or so years (the time span between episode 3- 6 is like 20 years, right) that we know him, Chewie has to brush the fuck out of his hair constantly. He must spend almost all of the time that he is not on the screen, brushing out knots. That's one vain Wookie. Get a lower maintenance haircut or go with the dreads. In real life he would be a pain in the ass sidekick. Fuck Chewie.

    Here's something else that was bothering me;
    Every time that there was a lightsaber fight, the Jedi and Sith guys all dramatically ditch their hoodie capes on the ground without even the slightest concern for their special "regal" garment. Ok, work with me here; there are a lot of Jedi people in the first 3 movies. They fight and keep order in galaxy, battle for justice and all that good shit. So, obviously there must be quite a few lightsaber altercations. Now, think of all the lost, missing, and ditched Jedi robes. I wonder if losing your robe is a big joke among the Jedi (I doubt the Sith have too many inside jokes, the dark side is pretty void of humor)? I wonder if all of the used clothing stores are jam-packed with Jedi robes? If people all around the galaxy dress up like Jedi for Halloween or just to be kitchy? I wonder if they have on-site tailors that make robes all day or do they recycle old, found ones? Do they have Robe Recovery Droids that are just too lame to make a cameo in the movies? I'm I the only one that cares about such things?

    Fist ya later
    -Rick

    P.S. Fuck that useless, outdated, R2D2 shitbox as well.

    Wednesday, May 25, 2005

    Some bitching and a bookcase


    bookcase
    Originally uploaded by Caulrophobic.
    Listen, listen up mutherfuckers;
    So I go to post something in my blog. I look at the page and notice that none of my mutherfucking pics are displaying. Upon further investigation, I see that the mutherfucking pic hosting company has cut my account. It could be a glitch in their system, it could be a way for them to get me to upgrade my free account, or, more likely, it was because I posted a picture of naked 70 old men giving each other head. So... I had to create a new account, re-post all of my non-old men giving head pics, and delete the old posts. Now, now mutherfuckers, the blog is all discombobulated and out of order. How frustrating! Plus, plus mutherfuckers, now I'm afraid to post anything that is porny (which sucks, because I see more porn then most humans, and some of it is funny and needs to be posted). I need to figure out a better plan for hosting my pics. If any of the 2 people that may read this have any suggestions, hook a brutha up.

    Oh, since I can't post anything that's too much fun, here is a pic of our new bookcases.

    Fuck you and yours
    -Dick

    Death of small Rock


    doe to the otie
    Originally uploaded by Caulrophobic.
    You know me, I like my rock fairly large. I mean, hey, I have Slayer and David Lee Roth on my Ipod. They are both "Large Rock" for different reasons, but you have to agree they definitely are a whole lot larger then something that isn't large.

    So, last night at the Troubadour, Doughty didn't show up and turn out the "Small Rock' that I was expecting. He actually announced the death of Small Rock. He then proceeded to introduce us all to his keyboard player, "Handsome Dan". Handsome Dan is a 90 pound Asian twink with young Elvis hair. He was indeed quite handsome. After spotlighting Handsome Dan for a while , Doughty introduced us to another surprise, "Medium Rock."

    Medium Rock is strange. It doesn't really make you want to dance, it doesn't really make you wanna pump your fists (or your heavy metal devil signs) in the air. It just kinda makes u want to drink more and go, "wooooop." And thats what I did, I drank more and went "woooop."

    Doughty is a witty and charming guy, and I love the way he uses words. He has so much flow that no matter what size rock he is playing, his flow comes through. Can't really say that about too many singers, it's usually a compliment that I reserve for really good rappers and mcs. I guess it's really all the same. Doughty is a rapper and an mc and a singer, he just doesn't use Hip Hop as his medium. He is not the 1st person to do this, but In my opinion, no one else in the music business pulls it off as well as him.

    The crowd yelled out for him to play "firetruck" (which is a 2 second song, written by a 4 year old, with "firetruck" as it's only lyric). He claimed to have forgotten how to play it. He made attempts to play it, but what came out was the music to a bunch of universally familliar classic rock tunes with him singing the words to "firetruck" (which as I said is only 1 word; "firetruck") in the melody of the classic rock song. I wan't a big fan of the original, so Firetruck sung to the tunes of "Smoke on the Water", and "Ironman" made me smile.

    I have to take off, my new bookcases are being delivered.

    Keep the wrong hands off the biscuit fortune
    -Reeek

    Gay Tabasco Stalker


    tabasco
    Originally uploaded by Caulrophobic.
    I woke up way too early today. Seems like an appropriate time to talk about last night's Tabasco sauce "adventure." The word "adventure" is in quotes because it really wasn't much of an adventure. There wasn't even any running or lying (the true test of an adventure, is the amount of running and/or the amount of outrageous lies to dangerous people that can get you into big trouble).

    Tabasco sauce. Tabasco has been on the top of my shopping list for quite a while (yeah, I make shopping lists, for real). The weird thing is that I don't eat many foods that necessitate Tabasco, however, for some reason I really feel its absence in my life (and in my cabinets). Right, so I properly medicate so I can handle the chaos of the supermarket on a Friday night after work, a necessary ritual. I go to my neighborhood supermarket. Since my neighborhood is West Hollywood, the supermarket kinda looks like a gay night club (except there are more model-looking guys with their shirts off doing Special K in my supermarket). I push my cart full of cucumbers and mayonnaise (just a coincidence, I swear) up and down the isles, spacing out, staring blankly at my list. Truth be told; my shopping list actually consists of 5 things, and 2 of them are personal affirmations that I repeat like a mantra as I shop, the other 3 are as follows: "Tabasco, stuff for breakfast that isn't granola, and don't buy more toilet paper." Yeah 2 of the things on my list are there to tell me what not to buy. So? Fuck off. Anyway, I can't find the Tabasco anyfuckingware. I look in all the places where I assume a shelver would put it. Nothing. I ditch my near empty cart to quickly wind through the isles again to see if I just missed the sauce (also I didn't want it to look like I am crusing the supermarket for boys). Still nothing. All of the people that work there seem to be ether working the registers or chatting up customers. Finally I find an employee who is sprinting into the back room. I call out, "excuse me bruthaman" (he comes to a screeching halt) "Where is the Tabasco?" He tells me that it is in a weird place towards the bottom, but to the left of his huge gay cock... no not really, but that's pretty much the fine print. Tells me of the obvious place that the Tabasco resides. He asks if he can take me there. I forcefully decline the escort, but he comes anyway. I thank him. He proceeds to meet me at the checkout counter, he hangs out there (totally in everyone's way) until I pay, and get my stuff tossed (pun) into environmentally unfriendly bags. I pretend that it is total coincidence. It's not. I get an uncomfortable escort outside to my car. My indifference to said escort must have finally given him the message. So he finished blowing me in my car and then took off. No.., not really, he didn't leave immediately after he finished blowing me, we talked a while, No..., not really, I'm not gay and my ice cream was defrosting (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). He finally got my message and left me alone (bitch didn't even help me with my groceries).

    Wow, I just reread what I wrote and not only did my Tabasco story not really go anywhere, it was mildly homophobic. I'm such a prize!

    Who wants another cup of Joe while I'm up?
    -Rick

    chops


    chops
    Originally uploaded by Caulrophobic.
    My side burns are really fucking angry. They'll fuck you up! Recognize bitches!

    He makes us all feel so ignorant.


    Crispin reads
    Originally uploaded by Caulrophobic.
    Just... Yeah.

    Monday, May 23, 2005

    Pink Floyd and chickens

    Neato Benito Matty Pazopolous told me about a neuroscientific study involving Pink Floyd's The Final Cut, chickens, and the euphoric chill that one gets when they feel things like parental love.
    Here is a excerpt that I snagged from Roger Waters' website:

    "that the shiver of pleasure we experience while listening to our favorite music is the release of endogenous opioids, the same molecules implicated in social bonding, parental love, the "runner's high" -- and, of course, in narcotic drugs like heroin and morphine. Panksepp has found that animals appear to have chill responses to music as well. In one widely cited study, he played dozens of records to chickens attached to equipment designed to record their shivers of pleasure. The test revealed that the chickens turned out to have the strongest positive response to the late-era Pink Floyd record "The Final Cut."

    BawKAWK (that's a chicken noise, in case you didn't know)!



    !!!!!!!!!!!!!HOLY FUCK! I swear that what I'm about to write is the truth! This shit is really giving me chills! Dig this: As I was writing the word "bawkawk", the video for "The Fletcher Memorial Home" off of The Final Cut came on VH1 Classic. I didn't even know that Waters made a video for it. It "stars" the older gent that played the schoolmaster in The Wall. That's so fucking weird.

    Have a marshmallowy day
    -Rickshaw

    (PS Jay thinks "Rickshaw" is a good porn name for me. Because I don't plan on doing any porn, it is, i guess, a new default nickname that only he uses. I'm trying to figure out how I feel about it. It's been a while since I've gotten a new nickname.)

    Friday, May 20, 2005

    Ok, my 1st real post

    It's pretty fucking weird. I mean, there is a good possibility that no one will ever read this blog thingy. There is a better chance that I will get frustrated and ditch out on my blog page. I may really get in to blogging, get this page all fancy pants-ed out, and send this link to all my friends. Whatever. I, for some reason, feel totally obligated to write posts as if every person that I ever knew will end up reading them. Here's some personalized messages, just in case I am right:

    Mrs. Swinnerton, (my teacher from kindergarten) if you are reading this, I grew up and became a pornographer just like I told you I would. Also, you will be proud to know that I (mostly) stopped peeing during naptime.

    Rabbi Askinazi (my Hebrew school teacher when I was 12) if you are reading this, I grew up and became a Devil worshiper just like I told you I would. Also, don't think that I forgot about the weekly "did it grow back?" bris inspections. (Why is rabbinical molestation funny to me?)

    Speaking of rabbinical molestation...
    I don't really have any rabbinical molestation stories, I just thought it was a brilliant segue.

    Speaking of brilliant segues...
    yeah, I got nothing. I am gunna end this post. I'm all over the place. Possibly a newbie mistake; trying too hard or some thing. Now I'm gunna paste this into a word document so it can do a spell check so I don't embarrass myself any more then I already did. I probably even misspelled "embarrassed." Either way, you'll never know.

    -Rick out \\m//

    Thursday, May 19, 2005

    Just testing

    testing the fudge...

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