This here is my latest poem. Seriously. It's not polite to laugh. I've been known to write a sweet-ass sonnet from time to time. This here ain't no sonnet but may be something even better. Brought to you now, without the approval and come to think about it the consent of anyone else in the band, I give to you my half of the lyrics to the title track of the upcoming Unknown Soldiers album! Keep in mind Money Shot has equally if not more lines than I do in this tune so the true identity of this song will not be put forward here. His shit's way better than mine anyway...Anyhow, onto the song...
There's a nagging deep down inside me
I can't escape, it's hard to breathe
Reality breeds the nightmares of my sleep
And every waking moment it is all I think about
Wanna lock myself in my room and
DRINK TILL I PASS THE FUCK OUT!
The pounding and porno
And late nights have born no
Solutions. I forego
All rational thought.
Keep pumping and panting
On stained floors I can't bring
My legs up and standing
SELF DIGNITY IS ALL BUT LOST!
Conscience is begging for a quick release
What have I done, please be a dream.
Plead to any God that'll listen to me
But His forsaken torment has been brought upon myself
A line's been crossed and now my thought is
FOR HIM TO GO AND FUCK HIMSELF!
All friendships been severed
The loved ones off better
Not knowing just whether
I'm dead or alive.
Alone I am lost
A bottle the cost
One lifetime is tossed
Time to man up for my crimes
...so that's what I got...please keep in mind that I left out the chorus and all of Money's shit. Just wanted to give you a taste of what's going on in Unknown Soldier land. Don't tell them I told you. Im out.
gII
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
A Crystal Observation...
Crystal Light is the Iced Tea of choice in my kitchen. It comes in these ridiculously tiny packets that magically yield up to 2 quarts of refreshing goodness. More importantly (to some) it contains 0% of everything from fat, sodium, carbs, etc., (not to mention completely void of any nutritional value whatsoever.) It tastes pretty decent although personally I prefer the big ol' cans of powdered mix where I gotta drop 4 heaping scoop-fuls in the pitcher to create a sweet, enjoyable anytime drink. But this ain't about my preference.
It's about what else, or lack there of, the Crystal Light in my kitchen contains. Upon further investigation, as I scan past the Nutrition Facts and come upon the list of actual ingredients the basic, everyday, recognizable if not entirely understandable words play out. Citric Acid (provides tartness.) Maltodextrin (ok, sure.) Instant Tea...um, ok. That seems odd. Why is Instant Tea not the first ingredient on this list? Isn't the first ingredient supposed to be the most prominent? So am I drinking "Iced Tea" or fucking "Citric Acid?" Hey, don't get me wrong. If "Citric Acid" is what it is then pour me another glass, I'm a fan! Can't we just call it what it is?
Next on the list is Corn Syrup Solids"tt."
Eyebrow raised.
How many footnotes do I need to reference if we're already at double crosses? The traditional asterisk, single cross, and now double crosses??? Ok, I'll play along. Let's see what double crosses denotes...oh god, you gotta be shitting me.
tt = ADDS A TRIVIAL AMOUNT OF SUGAR
Who...what...what the FUCK is a trivial amount of sugar?!? Did I miss the memo? Since the fuck when did the F.D.A. approve "trivial" as an acceptable classification of measurement when informing consumers of what's in their consumables? Trivial? What the fuck does that even mean? Stop yourself. I looked it up just to make sure I'm not that out of touch with reality that I missed the redefinition party. Nope, trivial still means "unimportant, insignificant, trifling and /or common place." Huh. Really?
SO THEN WHY THE FUCK DO I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT IT?!?
Oh, that's right. I live in America. Land of the free, home of the brave (those parts I am extremely proud of) and oh yeah, home of the country where anyone can sue anything with a better than 50/50 chance of "winning."
So, what fucking asshole sued some other dumb asshole to force my government to put this piece of legislative bullshit into action?
Or, was it some bored politician with a family full of fatties and a bone to pick?
Or, is Crystal Light at fault and did they themselves add this info in their own self-serving pomposity hoping to curry favor amongst the health conscious-lable reading sheep shoppers.
Who the fuck cares...I don't. I just needed to get this off my chest.
gII
It's about what else, or lack there of, the Crystal Light in my kitchen contains. Upon further investigation, as I scan past the Nutrition Facts and come upon the list of actual ingredients the basic, everyday, recognizable if not entirely understandable words play out. Citric Acid (provides tartness.) Maltodextrin (ok, sure.) Instant Tea...um, ok. That seems odd. Why is Instant Tea not the first ingredient on this list? Isn't the first ingredient supposed to be the most prominent? So am I drinking "Iced Tea" or fucking "Citric Acid?" Hey, don't get me wrong. If "Citric Acid" is what it is then pour me another glass, I'm a fan! Can't we just call it what it is?
Next on the list is Corn Syrup Solids"tt."
Eyebrow raised.
How many footnotes do I need to reference if we're already at double crosses? The traditional asterisk, single cross, and now double crosses??? Ok, I'll play along. Let's see what double crosses denotes...oh god, you gotta be shitting me.
tt = ADDS A TRIVIAL AMOUNT OF SUGAR
Who...what...what the FUCK is a trivial amount of sugar?!? Did I miss the memo? Since the fuck when did the F.D.A. approve "trivial" as an acceptable classification of measurement when informing consumers of what's in their consumables? Trivial? What the fuck does that even mean? Stop yourself. I looked it up just to make sure I'm not that out of touch with reality that I missed the redefinition party. Nope, trivial still means "unimportant, insignificant, trifling and /or common place." Huh. Really?
SO THEN WHY THE FUCK DO I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT IT?!?
Oh, that's right. I live in America. Land of the free, home of the brave (those parts I am extremely proud of) and oh yeah, home of the country where anyone can sue anything with a better than 50/50 chance of "winning."
So, what fucking asshole sued some other dumb asshole to force my government to put this piece of legislative bullshit into action?
Or, was it some bored politician with a family full of fatties and a bone to pick?
Or, is Crystal Light at fault and did they themselves add this info in their own self-serving pomposity hoping to curry favor amongst the health conscious-lable reading sheep shoppers.
Who the fuck cares...I don't. I just needed to get this off my chest.
gII
Monday, June 27, 2011
One night after the game...
So one night on my way home from the ball game I said to myself "How couldn't this be the most opportune time to buy a bag of drugs." The ball game was over, can't recall whether we won or lost, but judging by the amount of beer I consumed it was obvious that I'm the winner. Awaiting my train to roll into 125th my body-mind-and/or inner demons convince me the 7 minute E.T.A. is plenty of time to step outside for a quick butt. And hey, who knows, maybe by chance there might happen to be a gentleman outside willing to trust a white boy from the suburbs and sell him some dope.
Well wouldn't you know it!?! By golly, there was such a gentleman!
Now, I know for some of you it may be hard to believe but sometimes the drink disables my instincts and I get played for a fool. After striking up the obligatory conversation with aforementioned gentleman I'm assured he can procure what I desire.
DO NOT GIVE HIM THE MONEY!!!
DO NOT GIVE HIM THE MONEY!!!
...my mind is screaming and I don't. Yet.
He goes on about his man right around the block that got what I want and that all I need to do is give him the money and he'll be back in five.
Yeah ok, not gonna happen.
As I continue to refuse his offer he pulls out his wallet, driver's license, and car keys as "collateral." "Check it out. Look, it's me. I ain't gonna fuck you. Here's my shit."
And I accept. Like a dumb punk ass bitch I accept. I do. I'm drunk. Blind drunk. Drunk so much that it really looked like the dude to me. That and I just really wanted to get high. There is no doubt this is the same guy.
I convince myself, reluctantly receiving his wallet and keys in exchange for a 20 and a dream.
The moment he walked away I knew he would never come back.
Fuck this and fuck him, hope he enjoys his crack
Might be a 20 lighter but the trains here at last
I got 45 minutes to peruse this black sac in my lap
Scored a credit card, driver's license, doctor appointment notices.
Found a gold plated document denoting some church of religious devotion.
And a set of keys with a Miami Beach keepsake.
Now what the fuck am I gonna do with another man's life's take?
Take it home, stash it away in a dark place and try to forget
Took about a week and a half but after that I didn't let
It bother my conscience anymore, that shit buried deep down in a drawer.
Never giving a moment of thought about some other man's belongings I bought.
...Until this evening as I hang around cleaning and handle this gleaming gold dedication to believing in something I don't know what about.
Should I drop this in a mailbox or just throw this shit out?
What if it was me? Lost my I.D., car keys, credit cards and picture of my family?
I would want someone to return it...fuck that shit, I'ma burn it! All!
Well wouldn't you know it!?! By golly, there was such a gentleman!
Now, I know for some of you it may be hard to believe but sometimes the drink disables my instincts and I get played for a fool. After striking up the obligatory conversation with aforementioned gentleman I'm assured he can procure what I desire.
DO NOT GIVE HIM THE MONEY!!!
DO NOT GIVE HIM THE MONEY!!!
...my mind is screaming and I don't. Yet.
He goes on about his man right around the block that got what I want and that all I need to do is give him the money and he'll be back in five.
Yeah ok, not gonna happen.
As I continue to refuse his offer he pulls out his wallet, driver's license, and car keys as "collateral." "Check it out. Look, it's me. I ain't gonna fuck you. Here's my shit."
And I accept. Like a dumb punk ass bitch I accept. I do. I'm drunk. Blind drunk. Drunk so much that it really looked like the dude to me. That and I just really wanted to get high. There is no doubt this is the same guy.
I convince myself, reluctantly receiving his wallet and keys in exchange for a 20 and a dream.
The moment he walked away I knew he would never come back.
Fuck this and fuck him, hope he enjoys his crack
Might be a 20 lighter but the trains here at last
I got 45 minutes to peruse this black sac in my lap
Scored a credit card, driver's license, doctor appointment notices.
Found a gold plated document denoting some church of religious devotion.
And a set of keys with a Miami Beach keepsake.
Now what the fuck am I gonna do with another man's life's take?
Take it home, stash it away in a dark place and try to forget
Took about a week and a half but after that I didn't let
It bother my conscience anymore, that shit buried deep down in a drawer.
Never giving a moment of thought about some other man's belongings I bought.
...Until this evening as I hang around cleaning and handle this gleaming gold dedication to believing in something I don't know what about.
Should I drop this in a mailbox or just throw this shit out?
What if it was me? Lost my I.D., car keys, credit cards and picture of my family?
I would want someone to return it...fuck that shit, I'ma burn it! All!
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Magical 8th Beer
There's no harder choice than deciding to crack open that "8th" beer. After working your ass off all day the only thing on your mind is going home, drinking a beer, walking the dog, smoking a butt, maybe eat, and sitting your ass down in front of the computer/TV and decompress.
That 1st beer always goes down too fast. You don't really get a chance to sit down when you walk in the door. The dog is going nuts and you just went through a grueling hour and a half of Catholic School Homework with the little one. So you grab the bottle, pop the top, and start slugging gulps down while putting the leash on lil' miss pyscho. Grab the cell, camels, and head outside for an event that'll take at least 30 minutes.
When you finally get back indoors that 1st beer is gone. The 2nd beer in essence becomes the 1st beer because this is the beer you can actually enjoy. During this beer you can sit and try to catch the days news. The dog has done her business and takes time out to eat. She usually relaxes for about 15 minutes giving a nice respite from everything.
The 3rd beer is opened and consumed during this brief downtime. Short lived. The bitch starts garnering for your attention.
The 4th beer. It's now time to smoke and walk the dog. Starting to catch a slight buzz off 3 beers during the first hour home the 4th beer goes down smoothly and quick.
5 and 6 pass by whilst listening to the ball game and thinking of things you don't need but must buy online. Dog is in her bed. Now one can truly relax...
!Numero Siete!
You have crossed the threshold at number 7. Drinking a 6-pack is probably documented somewhere as being the "just right" amount of beers to get you feeling alot better than you were 4 hours ago. Or, a 6-pack was designed from some scientific research concluding that 6 bottles of beer is the "just right" amount of weight your wife could lift comfortably on her way to the checkout. Both are wrong. A) You ALWAYS need more than six. Even if you don't drink 'em all tonight, you can tomorrow. and B) If your chick struggles lifting anything less than a 12 pack, dump her, fast. Shit just ain't gonna work out.
Number 7 seems to go down pretty quick. The ball game is in the 5th or 6th inning. The evening has finally settled into a nice, relaxed state of haziness. Near the end of #7 you debate whether to pound it and open another or go and smoke a camel, come back in and go to sleep. But then something happens in the game and that pretty much makes up your mind. More beer... and a cigarette.
Any dedicated beer drinker has a bottle opener on their keychain or a lighter in pocket. Worst case, find an edge of anything, nestle rim of the cap on top of said edge and hammer down with free hand onto hand holding the gold. I have an old Mets baseball-bat-shaped bottle opener attached to my car keys. Lets Go Mets!
After taking the next victim out of the fridge I sit back down in front of my computer and snatch up the pile of metal sticks and rings accompanied with small plastic tags and snuggle it neatly beneath the cap. The keys bounce off the glass bottle announcing with a clear bright "ping" her arrival. The 8th beer! Oh, so tasty! Now officially fucked, cruising the internet between innings becomes a little riskier... Now you're on facebook considering chatting with people you haven't seen in 20 years. After sending a short "hey, what's up?" to a girl you completely dissed and/or cut off in the past you're on to shopping the net for anything and everything you can't afford, namely an "Unknown Soldiers" domain name that's going for over 3 grand. (No, not even the magical 8th has made me make that purchase...yet)
The game is in the 9th. The bottles are piling up. The bed is a beckoning. The Magical 8th beer has achieved its goal. I feel fantastic! I have numerous new albums on my IPOD! I reached out to chicks I'd never normally talk to! Fuck this, let's go for 9!
greek II
That 1st beer always goes down too fast. You don't really get a chance to sit down when you walk in the door. The dog is going nuts and you just went through a grueling hour and a half of Catholic School Homework with the little one. So you grab the bottle, pop the top, and start slugging gulps down while putting the leash on lil' miss pyscho. Grab the cell, camels, and head outside for an event that'll take at least 30 minutes.
When you finally get back indoors that 1st beer is gone. The 2nd beer in essence becomes the 1st beer because this is the beer you can actually enjoy. During this beer you can sit and try to catch the days news. The dog has done her business and takes time out to eat. She usually relaxes for about 15 minutes giving a nice respite from everything.
The 3rd beer is opened and consumed during this brief downtime. Short lived. The bitch starts garnering for your attention.
The 4th beer. It's now time to smoke and walk the dog. Starting to catch a slight buzz off 3 beers during the first hour home the 4th beer goes down smoothly and quick.
5 and 6 pass by whilst listening to the ball game and thinking of things you don't need but must buy online. Dog is in her bed. Now one can truly relax...
!Numero Siete!
You have crossed the threshold at number 7. Drinking a 6-pack is probably documented somewhere as being the "just right" amount of beers to get you feeling alot better than you were 4 hours ago. Or, a 6-pack was designed from some scientific research concluding that 6 bottles of beer is the "just right" amount of weight your wife could lift comfortably on her way to the checkout. Both are wrong. A) You ALWAYS need more than six. Even if you don't drink 'em all tonight, you can tomorrow. and B) If your chick struggles lifting anything less than a 12 pack, dump her, fast. Shit just ain't gonna work out.
Number 7 seems to go down pretty quick. The ball game is in the 5th or 6th inning. The evening has finally settled into a nice, relaxed state of haziness. Near the end of #7 you debate whether to pound it and open another or go and smoke a camel, come back in and go to sleep. But then something happens in the game and that pretty much makes up your mind. More beer... and a cigarette.
Any dedicated beer drinker has a bottle opener on their keychain or a lighter in pocket. Worst case, find an edge of anything, nestle rim of the cap on top of said edge and hammer down with free hand onto hand holding the gold. I have an old Mets baseball-bat-shaped bottle opener attached to my car keys. Lets Go Mets!
After taking the next victim out of the fridge I sit back down in front of my computer and snatch up the pile of metal sticks and rings accompanied with small plastic tags and snuggle it neatly beneath the cap. The keys bounce off the glass bottle announcing with a clear bright "ping" her arrival. The 8th beer! Oh, so tasty! Now officially fucked, cruising the internet between innings becomes a little riskier... Now you're on facebook considering chatting with people you haven't seen in 20 years. After sending a short "hey, what's up?" to a girl you completely dissed and/or cut off in the past you're on to shopping the net for anything and everything you can't afford, namely an "Unknown Soldiers" domain name that's going for over 3 grand. (No, not even the magical 8th has made me make that purchase...yet)
The game is in the 9th. The bottles are piling up. The bed is a beckoning. The Magical 8th beer has achieved its goal. I feel fantastic! I have numerous new albums on my IPOD! I reached out to chicks I'd never normally talk to! Fuck this, let's go for 9!
greek II
Here goes everything...
This is my blog. In all likelihood you will find it to be childish, vulgar and disturbing. Three words that more or less sum up who I am. Others may argue and say there is more to me than that, don't believe 'em. Everybody lies, to themselves and to those around them so they may be able to rationalize that their fantasy reality is socially acceptable, worthy of being deemed successful when it really is just a slightly different fucked up version of everyone else's. So that's that.
Included in this anti-selfeffacement movement will be my insights and opinions regarding personal, social and global events as I see fit. There will probably be some bullshit about the New York Mets from time to time, being that I'm a fan. You are forewarned.
This "blog page" is still in it's infancy so bear with me as I tweak and twist it into awesomedom...or awesome yet dumb, either or it's mine so fuck off and keep reading.
After much debate inside my mind over what should be the first offering of my special, intimate retellings, my reimaginationings, regurgitations of daily occurences, whatever, I decided to hit you up with this one. Destroy.
greek II
Included in this anti-selfeffacement movement will be my insights and opinions regarding personal, social and global events as I see fit. There will probably be some bullshit about the New York Mets from time to time, being that I'm a fan. You are forewarned.
This "blog page" is still in it's infancy so bear with me as I tweak and twist it into awesomedom...or awesome yet dumb, either or it's mine so fuck off and keep reading.
After much debate inside my mind over what should be the first offering of my special, intimate retellings, my reimaginationings, regurgitations of daily occurences, whatever, I decided to hit you up with this one. Destroy.
greek II
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