Friday, February 18, 2005

Moronic Mea Culpa

Well, it seems that my "star" is screeching skyward, its points becoming molten and bending all crazy-wise as I hurdle through space, a latter day baby-Superman smugly secure in my interstellar cradle. My idiotic game playing over at Eschaton and Americablog has paid off in a bonanza of page views. Wow. I can remember a time not so long ago when each and every uptick on the old self esteem meter down there at the bottom would throw me into a realm of abstract metaphysical speculation. Who was that last person? Do they like my special and completely original ideas? Where are they from? Can I now consider them my new friend?

It seems like only yesterday that I was waiting, hour after hour, watching, hunched over and shivering, wrapped in my favorite blue blanky, rocking back and forth (and yes, touching), praying that I might witness the exact moment when that baby hit the century mark (thank you, thank you, THANK YOU Mike Sandival of White Plains, NY, I will never forget you).

Now look at me. A colossus astride the "blogosphere". I've captured your attention, entertained and intrigued you. Enlightened you. As Fat as Arbuckle, as offensive as Jolson. You love me. You HATE me. I've captured your heart, and I've Blown Your MIND. And yet I am you, and you are I. I am Everyman. And I am No1. Now that is a pair-of-docks, Is it not? [Ok, ok, so at the very least you'll grant me the fact that I've wasted a few precious moments of your life here on this earth, the ONLY one you have, thereby making me the keeper of those tiny slivers of your soul. I have them! They are mine! I keep them in a little carved ivory box, right here in my desk... Mmmm. I think I'll enjoy one right now, swish it around in my mouth, let it run through my fingers... Yes, yes... the precious.]

Anyway, my point here is this. Though my ego obviously craves the attention, I can't help but feel that I've somehow cheapened myself. Don't get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for the world's oldest profession, it's just that THIS, this is not what I had envisioned, not what I set out oh those many years ago to do. I don't want it this way. (If you are looking for a good time and live in Chicago by the way, rock on over to Emily's blog, I hear she puts out on the first date!! No I am totally serious, check her out!!! [sorry Emily, you have been with me from the start, and you know that I love you!])

Well, so anyway, I promise to stick to the hard-hitting pansy-liberal-slanted blogfotainment that you've come to expect from me, and I will try not to be such a blogwhore. Well, maybe just sometimes. Ok, on Fridays. And Saturdays, you've got to give me the weekends. Also, seriously, I spent like 3 hours scouring the web for any and all youngish (ages 18-30) pictures of Jennifer Granholm. Please, please, please, if anyone has any, send them to me, and I will post them. Especially you Jennifer. We love you, and you are a wonderful governor, incredibly smart and talented. But you are also just so goddamned hot. Everyone wants to see pics of you from college, preferably on the beach. Call me. Any and all pics of Laura Bush being railed into will of course be immediately posted as well. Posted by Hello

Thursday, February 17, 2005

AngryMan's Clever Rouse

Ah HA! Ha ha HA! It would seem that angryman isn't as slow a dullard or even as dull a sloward as all of those "standardized tests" have hitherto indicated... Suck on that one for a while MOM! You too Dr. Allard, yeah, big man; Doctor of Education. What the fuck is that? "We need 30cc's of Algebra in room 109, STAT!" Child molester.

I apologize. Now that I've settled 2 of my many, many, many old scores, I'd like to take a few moments to welcome all of the new Clearinghouse visitors who where lured here via a brilliant bit of subterfuge. Angryman, in his infinite wisdom, jumped right on the fact that atrios@blogspot was mentioned in a bit on The Daily Show last night... So I jump on atrios, blast out a few spam style comments, and bingo bango...100+ more visitors overnight. Genius. Pure evil genius. And YOU fell for it. Didn't you? Wait, wait... please don't leave... Tell a friend!

Anyway, so as not to be a complete and total fuckface, below you will find the actual transcript from an Iraqi TV audio feed of the infamous Dec. 20, 1983 meeting in Baghdad between Lucifer and his dark apostle, the antichrist. I'll leave it up to you to sort out who is who. I want to give a major HOO WAH!!! to Green Zone Gary for salvaging this gem from the rubble. Again, this is an Angry Man Clearinghouse World Exclusive, all rights reserved. I posted it first Blogosphere! Smell that Drudge? That my friend is burning rubber, cause I just left you in the dust!

Seriously... tell a friend about my blog or link to me or whatever. I will pay you any amount of money.

Sometimes things aren't always exactly as they seem... oh wait a minute. Scratch that.

S.H.- "Greetings, mien Fuhrer"

D.R.- "Yes, yes, hello again buddy, how's kicks? Yes, yes, I know, and I'm sorry... I haven't had a chance to return your calls. I've been meaning to, and, you know how it is... Oh by golly, before I forget, I've been meaning to talk to you about Uday... I've heard some things and frankly, we need to talk... Bill Bowen over at Princeton is kind of getting all worked up about some of the stuff we're hearing over there, and I'm afraid it's getting harder and harder for us to go through with what we talked about...Now I know, I know I promised you your boy would be a Tiger and we would all still be pleased as punch if..." (audio becomes indecipherable as the two turn and enter the express elevator... seconds later the doors close and they plunge straight down through the earth's crust and mantle en route to the core...)

"Next Stop... Ring #1, Lake of Fire, Lucifer's Kingdom, Home and Garden, Housewares..."Posted by Hello

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

IKE meets Number 5

Hi. Yeah, not sure if this is the Gray Lady putting us on with a little preApril Fool's Onion-style joke article or not, but it seems that our military industrial complex, in its infinite wisdom, has decided it would be a grand idea to build murdering robots. I repeat, our GOVERNMENT/MILITARY ARE GOING TO BE BUILDING MURDERING ROBOTS.

Oh well, I guess our only hope now is that no superhuman cybernetic organism/naturalized citizen will succeed in capping its meteoric fascist rise to power in the halls of an unidentified Western state capital by altering The Constitution just in the nick of time thereby allowing it to avoid further "boobie grabbing" unpleasantness and mount a 100 yard last minute dash bid for the Presidency of the United...oh wait. Posted by Hello

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

The Coolest Human Ever

He has obviously become an engineer. I would surmise that his chief areas of interest are: 1. Inventing that musical robot. 2. Working on a way to enable all humans to live permanently in a system of matrix-style self sustaining interconnected pods whereby face to face contact will be eliminated in favor of a technohalucinatory dream world where none of us are truly as we seem...Posted by Hello

Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy Valentimes Day, Fools

Be sure to buy her a fuckload of shit. Prove your love. Turn your [prospective girlfriend/ girlfriend/ fiance/ wife] into a common streetwalker to satisfy us, your corporate overlords. This I command! Posted by Hello

Friday, February 11, 2005

My Super Sweet 16

Um, yeah. Can you say Columbine high? I was just wondering if anyone else was enjoying this MTV series as much as I am. I won't bother with any acerbic analysis of the child "stars" themselves, as that would seem redundant. Assuming this show is unscripted (which I still wonder about) it seems like Ava, Jacqueline, Lauren, and Little Lord Fauntleroy himself, Hart, will live out their miserable greedhead lives in consumptive oblivion. What I do wonder about is the level of culpability that will be adjudicated attributable to the producers of this show for throwing gasoline on the bonfire of rage that is inevitably consuming the protagonists' less wealthy peers. Ah, the miracle of adolescence; it's the last time you will be allowed to turn on your social betters like a pack of savage wolves, so don't pass it up my young friends...

I'll let Bill Murray offer up this parting chestnut: "You guys have it real easy. I never had it like this where I grew up. But I send my kids here because the fact is you go to one of the best schools in the country: Rushmore. Now, for some of you it doesn't matter. You were born rich and your going to stay rich. But here's my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down. Just remember, they can buy anything but they can't buy backbone. Don't let them forget it. Thank you."

I'm in a 400,000 dollar car!!!!!!! Posted by Hello

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Lesbian Kiss

Here's a funny little antidote for you (I figure it will also help out in my ongoing campaign to increase google hits [cunt, shaved pussy, barely legal, hot gay action]). My friend, Stanley, he's a very unique person. He is sensitive and profane, intellectual and lowbrow, naughty and nice. Perhaps six adjectives aren't an adequate flesh-out/setup for this story, but if there is one thing we can all agree on, it's that no one in the history of the world has ever thrown away perfectly good pornography.

Anywho, so Stanley has been known to go online in search of various useless items for purchase when he is incredibly bored. Sometimes ebay, sometimes Amazon, sometimes, well, I guess I don't really want to know where he comes up with half this shit. So one day he looks around his apartment and thinks, "Wow. I have a lot of blank space on these walls; especially right here in my bedroom. I had better purchase some 'art' to beautify my living space."

What does Stanley buy? You guessed it, the above poster-sized specimen of erotica tastefully entitled Lesbian Kiss. Now at the time of purchase, somewhere deep inside his brain, I know Stanley recognized that he was fulfilling a base and prurient desire. I'm sure he had a little tug-of-war in his mind, "Self, can I REALLY justify buying this poster? I mean, it is artfully executed, is it not? When mom and dad come over to visit and they see this hanging in my bedroom, they'll recognize the aesthetic necessity, will they not? I am an ADULT, and this is ART after all. Why, it's in black and white! If this were mere teenager's pornography, the girls would be naked and awash in blaring fleshy hues of pink and red. I'd better go ahead and order this just to satisfy my intellectual curiosity." Click.

Long story short, Stanley gets his massive "nude" and plops it up on his wall across from his bed. Day becomes night, night becomes day. The weeks roll by. All the while, Stanley is lying in his bed, staring at his acquisition, "thinking" about what he has done, "reanalyzing", the rational for his purchase. Eventually, after much anguish and self loathing, this tortured case of buyer's remorse became such a burden that our friend Stanley was forced to take Lesbian Kiss down, fold it up, plunge it deep into the middle of a big bag of sweaters and old socks, and donate it to the Salvation Army. Well, it's funny to me anyway. Posted by Hello

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Know Your Big Dummies

There are a lot of Big Dummies out there in the world. Do you know any more Big Dummies? The following is a partial list of Big Dummies; please feel free to add your own suggestions!

W aka Big Dummy in Chief aka Dry-Drunk Frat Asshole. Funny how much he likes clearing brush around the ranch. Kind of nice, engaging in manual labor whenever you feel like it. Hey, rich guy, why not try cleaning up your own pubes and urine stains from your own toilet for once. Seriously, have you ever cleaned up your own shitty messy toilet? No, of course you haven't. You've been wealthy as fuck your whole life. Sorry. Can I borrow $5000? Posted by Hello

Shaq aka Big Aristotle aka Big Racist. Possibly the world's largest racist (as gauged by body mass, not severity of hateful beliefs, do not confuse with the world's tallest hippie). Insensitive towards: Asians. Unintelligent. Posted by Hello

Demond Wilson aka Lamont Sanford aka The Original. Of all the big dummies, he seems to have been most unfairly shackled with this nick. Actually proved to be a rather thoughtful and level headed foil to his father's constant hilarious scheming. Posted by Hello

Monday, February 07, 2005

Hot Porno

Hot Porn to draw new readers. There's plenty more where this came from! Keywords for google: porn, porno, blonde, hot blonde, naked, nude, tits, titties, titttties, ass, ash, hot chick, chix, stripper, candy striper, dildo, studded dildo, dealdoo, purple g-string, red lips, dick, dildo blow job, hand jobs, skull fuck, dildo in anus... Posted by Hello

Stupid Bowl Whatever Number

Yeah, I said it, STUPID Bowl. You like that you faggoty assed football loving frat asshole. (Sorry my gay/tolerant/liberal friends, angryman was just trying to stir up the pot a little bit with our DEKE house readers. I fully support and count as friends and relatives a number of members of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered Community- it just gets the fratties more riled up to be so identified along with a disparaging remark about pro football all in once sentence. Believe me, I know how it gets in those big drafty communal living houses in the wee hours of the morning… hey, frattie, your in college, experiment a little, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Explore. Figure out who you are, there’s no shame in being true to yourself).

Anyways, sorry, so I sat through the “big game” last night with my friend’s plasma/lava/magma TV melting my eyeballs out of my head, wondering what the fuck exactly the big deal is? Game=Boring as shit. The score was close as hell, the final outcome wasn’t determined until almost the very end of the thing, and yet, it was literally impossible to get into the shit. Now, I imagine the story might be different if you where from Philadelphia or Main/Vermont or wherever, but for the rest of us, it’s a big snooooozer. I don’t know what it is about the NFL either; it’s just impossible for me to follow/enjoy. College football? Fun. NBA? I can get into the playoffs. But the NFL? No thanks, don’t want any. Bye, bye then.

As to the commercials? Overhyped, as usual. The only one I remember was the Ameriquest one where the guy “fake” kills his girlfriend’s cat. Now that’s funny. She comes home and sees her boyfriend holding her cat by the nape of the neck, blood/spaghetti sauce dripping down it’s fur, with a huge knife in the other hand. LOL. Funny. Am I right? Who’s with me?

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Addendum to Previous...

Addendum to Section 3 below of previous entry: After checking w/counsel, it has been determined that I had inadvertently left out a few modifiers (Ooops!) that of course should have been included. LOL, my bad everyone. The pertinent part of said paragraph should actually read as follows:

“…the express written purpose and intent of TAMC is to (dis)courage people (from) engag(ing) in real world “violent” activates (but) instead (to) whin(e) on the internet about how unfair the world is, or how those in power have slighted, jilted, or in anyway inconvenienced them. For example, you should read the paragraph above as (not)“giving you the go ahead” or “conspiring” with you in the murder of your boss.”

We here at The Clearinghouse would never want you to kill anyone. Ever. That includes your old girlfriend and/or her new hung like a horse boyfriend.

Recently, 1 second ago, it was called to my attention that several of my “readers” joined the fold here at The Clearinghouse (hereinafter to be known as “TAC” or “TAMC”) via a kind of collimated happenstance. It would seem that back in the salad days of the revolution, there was a site called “”, and that several people wandered through the front door here without the benefit of having wiped their feet on the proverbial “mat” of boilerplate located at the bottom center of this page. (previouswise having been referred to as “”) was a so called “rage portal” whereby “enraged” members of society could publicly vent their frustrations in lieu of, say, taking that meat cleaver you never use to your place of employment (you know, the one in the chopping block on your counter?), sneaking up from behind, and embedding it in your boss’s skull when he is bent over his laptop working on that excel spreadsheet that maps out the increases in productivity rung out of you vis-à-vis your stagnant salary. Well, I know a thing or 3 about the revolution… I was THERE man (but more on this later).

My point here is this: TAC is in no way affiliated with, organized by, or the intellectual or proprietary heir to or any of its parent S-corporations, Limited Liability Partnerships, or respective Holding Companies. Further, the express written purpose and intent of TAMC is to encourage people to engage in real world “violent” activates instead of whining on the internet about how unfair the world is, or how those in power have slighted, jilted, or in anyway inconvenienced them. For example, you should read the paragraph above as “giving you the go ahead” or “conspiring” with you in the murder of your boss.

I am glad I had a chance to get that cleared up… I will have to think of something “fun” to write later...

P.S. I didn’t wind up going to that hot party last night; instead I stayed home and masturbated to anime. Kind of sucks though, cause I heard J.T.T. was there and looking H.O.T.T.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Friday Night Live

Well, I’m not going to write anything too long or drawn out today seeing as it’s Friday which means party times, and I have got to get my ass in gear. Seriously, tonight should be one throbbingly intense thrill ride of delights. Looks like some bar hopping then 2 parties, one of which promises to include several B list Celebes and other figures of note. Seeing as I am really starting to figure out how to work this blog shit (see my newly constituted “links” section as well as the picture of the Holy One appended below), perhaps I will snap some picks for the gossip columns to feast on tomorrow…wish me luck!

Brocktoon is watching you. Always. Posted by Hello

Thursday, February 03, 2005

State of the Union Postmortem

All I can say is WOW. This whole blog thing is really taking off. Way back when I first started my blog, I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams the places that it would lead or the people that I might meet... Yet, right there at the bottom of my first entry, my very first comment! Welcome to my community fellow traveler. Please, please, come on in. Take off your shoes and stay awhile. No seriously, take off your shoes. They smell like chimp semen. Oh, by the way, you see that little counter I installed at the bottom of the page? Yeah, Daddy's been doing his homework. It tells me who is looking at my site, and where they linked in from. Well folks, it looks like our neighborhood has its very first registered sex offender! Anyways, welcome all the same. I'm a pretty fair guy. We've all got our little "secrets" don't we? Stay tuned in and I may begin revealing my own… one… at… a… time!

Well anyway, as promised, I watched the State of the Union last night. I have to say, and this is where I might get a little “controversial”; if you actually, and I mean truly believe that the winking and the grinning and the smirking of that Big Dummy is sophisticated, adult, bigwig-style behavior… then you might be a redneck.

No, but seriously, bill of goods sold/not sold, who cares… social security-smochel slaclermity, the manner in which the President comports himself is child like. It’s that simple. He behaves in a sophomoric fashion. Constantly. It’s like he’s the jackass friend-of-a-friend who always makes you cringe when he tags along to Denny’s late night. You’re already stoned, so you’re paranoid as hell anyway. You’re thinking, worrying, petrified… what will he SAY? You can count on the fact that he will at some point, some how, embarrass the hell out of you by making a totally rude comment to the waitress or telling a racial joke to the guy in the next booth.

ATTENTION ALL BUSINESSMEN: Please. I beg you. I understand you are trying to reenslave us. That’s fine. Great. We can’t do anything about it. But I mean, for the love of Christ, you couldn’t have the common decency to pick a guy that is not such a fucking jackanapes? I mean, it’s just plain insulting, and not only to us snooty self styled quasi-intellectual types, but also to our slack-jawed friends who are seemingly so easily convinced that a multimillionaire Yale Graduate is their cowboy boot wearing good buddy.

Oh yeah, before I forget, I also found it touching how God saw fit to have the dog tags clutched by the grieving mother (the very dog tags of the son who was just blown to shit in Iraq fighting for “freedom”) become all entangled and entwined, literally for an extraordinary amount of time, in the cuff or bracelet of the Iraqi woman who had just “voted” for the first time. Funny how that symbolic moment didn’t quite make the cut of being chewed over and over by the talking heads. Well, get used to it. Those dog tags are stuck to that Iraqi woman, and they ain’t comin unhooked.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

State of the Union

On the eve of the Big Dummy’s big speech, I thought today might be as appropriate a day as any to start up my very own “blog”. What’s that you say? How could I just now be starting up my blog??? Good point.

I probably should just skip straight to podcasting so you can take my actual voice with you on the subway. I could be right there in your head, just you and me as you try to avoid the soulless stare of the rapist/mugger sitting across from you. All you wanted to do was to make it safe-and-sound to your temp job, earbuds firmly wedged in your ears, while someone, anyone prattles on about how they ate 4 bowls of lucky charms this morning or how funny it is to see Verne Troyer drunk and naked on his Rascal. Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you. That is how life works. You are going to be raped/mugged without the benefit of ever having heard my angelic voice, and I am going to start with this, a blog. And no, I don’t know how to insert pictures or include links or any of it yet. So if you don’t like that, well tough titties.

So, now that we’ve dispensed with the unpleasantries, let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s the deal? Why am I writing this? Why are you reading this? Well, seeing as this is blog # 88,990,241 out of a possible 100 billion, you probably aren’t. Or if you are (Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?), be sure to “write in” to tell me how unoriginal my snarky little existential dear diary observations are. Either way. Who cares. The important thing is that I heard somewhere about how you may be able to make like $4 a month by having people’s eyeballs pass over such regurgitation every so often. I’ll have to work on seeing how you get that spigot turned on. Perhaps that can be one of my first “interactive” features, someone can tell me how to go about pulling down a few bangers from this pathetic cry for attention. Doesn’t get much more American than that does it… dreaming of becoming famous and cashing-in on one’s perceived “talent”?

Speaking of American and cashing in, back to the Big Dummy (no, not Shaq, the other one; the smirking wealthy fratboy). Perhaps he can provide an appropriate mooring for this, my virginal stream of consciousness-turned-actual-posted-text. What is my little corner of the interweb to be like? Who am I anyway? Will I ever write another word after this post? All in good time gentle readers. All in good time. Sufficeth to say, I am a human (male), an American (U!S!A!, U!S!A!), I live in a “blue state” (read: a state with a handful more self interested assholes who listen to NPR than bible toting corn cobs/nazi businessmen), and I am quietly, subcutaneously, growing more and more angry.

And, if your anything like me, you too are a college educated, under/non-employed liberal arts major who watches TV constantly, has a crushing student loan burden, and is just "smart" enough to like to keep up on “current events”, yet not so smart as to ever actually read a book. You will probably tune in to The State of the Union tonight for a few laughs and because it is preempting Fear Factor or Double Dare or whatever the fuck poison you usually choose to while away the precious minutes of your miserable life. And, also, somewhere down deep, you can’t quite kick that gnawing, acrid feeling in your stomach; unable to comprehend how it is exactly that a bunch of humanpigs and used car dealers could actually be running The Show.

Well, tune in tonight, then watch Chris Matthews or Ched Choppel or whoever beat the horse to death, then dial me up tomorrow to see if I actually write again.