Push the button, ring the check, be a part of society. Welcome to your life, wishing it would end with every tick of the clock. Look to the door, every time it open automatically, and hope for the ex-worker gone postal. The barrel of his gun like salvation and his sullied image will appear an angel to your distorted world view. Take two in the morning and call no one. Fall into the darkness. Go gently into the dark night, miles of everyday hurdles and human drama to go. Coffee enemas your only salvation. Good to the last drop, from your ass to the floor. To the red bricks you hit with a pink sip in your hand.
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Dearly Departed
THE SEVENTH ANNUAL RONDO HATTON CLASSIC HORROR AWARDS
The King of Pop Culture is nomination for The Seventh Annual Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards. We give a shout out to our friends over at Cinema Suicide and sneak our way onto the ballot in this Bold Rewrite.
A Far Cry from Being an Apocalypse, Now, but I’ve a Heart of Darkness
I’ve stared into the Abyss far too long writing this review of FarCry 2. Not because of the game itself, but because reviewing it has to be done on so many levels at once, and it’s kind of maddening.
A Use for QuickPress: Post Script
We have all come to the end of a letter. After we have signed our name, no sooner does the pen leave the page, or fingers leave the keyboard, when we think of a crucial tidbit of information that can not be left out. The thought so important it must be added to the letter, no matter the code of conduct. To remain within the bounds of decency, the modern genteel human will preempt their important tid bit with a P.S.
I.E. “P.S. Vacuum cleaner bit the dust, literally!”
Hollywood Rock!
For those who call the Thirty Mile Zone home, for good or ill, this is your music scene!
A Letter to President Barack Obama
What follows is the comment I left on the White House website regarding HR 1, the Monstrous Stimulus Bill of Doom. If you would like to comment on the bill before the President signs it, you can do so here. It won’t change anything, which is the irony of it all, but it would be good to let your voices be heard by some White House staffer who reads this stuff, regardless of whether you agree or disagree with the stimulus itself. I would, of course, be honored and impressed if my comment makes it to the President’s desk, but my hopes are not up.
Dear Mr. President,
Valentine Deported
It’s a good night for Pandora endorsed “Avant Garde Jazz”. A keyboard with 26 letters and a host of other marks to place upon the screen. The day on the calender says “February 14th” a manufactured holiday to celebrate the love we share for other human beings but, to be more to the point, a date manufactured to show the love we have for one targeted human being. Not the general shared love for all man kind that would seem to be a good idea.
We concern ourselves with the singular. Offspring of the Me generation, we have given over to our own selfish way to love and kneel before the alter of our own misconception. Who wrote the tomb of love? We can never uncover the sources, but know him / her to be a savage masochist. A being of midnight black self loathing. Not a skin tone but the color of a missing soul and utter lack of humanity.
Jason and the Obamanauts
President Obama took a mere two weeks to hire lobbyists, attempt to hire tax-evaders, and otherwise show himself for what he is: a Chicago Politician.
The First Love
Her name means mountains of cruelty towards man. Not a single target but a moving game booth of targets that star any human, who has a bit of flesh extended from his genital region. Bull’s eye and harry knuckles, she could cut them down like machine gun fire in the jungle. A urban thicket of pungent sweat stink and unnatural heat risen from the depth of Hell’s vents. Each unit riveted to the wall and fueled 24 hours a day.
Pump and bilge the sinking rowboat from the depth of an animalistic sea. Wave, far from a greeting, storm the flat level plane to toss the world and stir the soup. One man left unattained in the midst of the maelstrom. A life jacket his only tool for preservation. He is tossed as a salad is served to 10 foot giants in neck ties and Alligator flats.
