HOW CAN I WATCH THIS SHIT? Part III

Along side Maury there is one other show I can't get enough of, World's Wildest Police Chases. Have you seen this shit? HOLY GOD! They show you asshole after asshole drive 100 mph straight into a tree. And the host, John Bunnell, I'd like to nominate him for saint-hood. I love it when he stands there all strong and shit while they act out an arrest behind him during his intro to the next clip. I couldn't do that. You know you're a real hard hitting son-of-a-bitch when you can walk through an arrest in progress and not even stumble with your lines. Well, maybe it's not that hard. If you've seen the show, 95% of the clips are from Macon County, Georgia. I'm serious. That's how I know Macon County is the biggest collection of badasses in the history of the world. Every single video starts out with, "Here in macon County, Georgia". Now that I think of it, his lines are the same for every single clip. It goes like this: " Here in Macon County, Georgia this perpetrator has decided to run from police. What he doesn't know is that this officer is a real great driver." He should change it up a bit, every now and then. Maybe something like this would work: "Here in Macon County, Georgia this drunken mullet on wheels has desided to take his uncledad's pick-up for a ride around the farm but what he doesn't know is . . . I'm banging his wife!" Then they cut to a live feed of John Bunnell doggin' that bitch from the back. Or how about this: "Here in Macon County, Georgia a normal traffic stop has turned into a high speed pursuit. The fact that this criminal has failed to realize is . . . that there's a small, bearded man wearing a pine cone hat in his back seat, waving a bloody hatchet above his head." That would freshen things up a bit. No? Oh, ok.

HOW CAN I WATCH THIS SHIT? Part II

You can tell how much trouble we're in just by watching t.v. for three minutes. Here's an example: I saw a commercial where an attractive woman looks into a mirror, runs her hands through her hair and then makes a face like she just shit a silly straw. Then the voice over says, "What's worse than roots?" What's worse than roots? How about cancer you stupid shit. I don't know, maybe being homeless or getting attacked by Johnnie and his cronies from the Cobra Kai Dojo. There was one other time I saw that commercial but I wasn't really paying attention so when the guy said, "What's worse than roots?", I thought he was talking about the epic mini-series starring Levar Burton. What's worse than roots? Fuck you. Is that how far out of whck our priorities are? You can't ask a question like that nowadays. You got suicide bombers and government cover-ups and that asshole yeti walking around. Fuck your hair. The commercial should've gone like this: The woman looks at her hair, makes an ugly face then the voice over says, "Get over yourself, asshole!". Then I would enter stage right wearing noghing but a sweater vest and neckerchief, crooning like a drunk. Now that would've made a great commercial.

HOW CAN I WATCH THIS SHIT? Part I

No matter how hard I try, I cannot stop watching television. No matter how many times I sit there and say, "What the fuck have we become", I still tune in night after night. It's too powerful. Either that or I'm just a big, stupid dick. I always hear people talk about t.v. as if it were a poison and I completely understand where they're coming from. On many accounts, I actually agree with them but I can't stop watching. There are so many good shows . . . like Maury. You watch Maury, right? That show is the shit. My wife records it on the DVR everyday and they don't just play one episode. No. Fuck that. They play two in a row and then a couple of hours later . . . THEY PLAY TWO MORE! Maury knows we can't get enough of his show. Day after day of paternity tests and crushed hopes, it's great. It doesn't matter where you're from or how you grew up, when you watch Maury you laugh, you cry, you smile when you find that renewed sense of hope and then you ask, "How the fuck are we the species that controls everything?" If you get the chance, watch the Maury show, let all of the information that you've gained sink in and then picture our president sitting on stage between maury and some angry bitch waiting for those child support checks to come rolling in. He fits right in! We're fucked!

LET "EM FALL! Part III

So I restate my plan, let the kid fall down and bust his ass every now and then. How did my son learn not to touch the stove top? Because his index finger almost melted to his thumb. I told him not to but he insisted on learning himself. Hey, wanna know how he learned not to stick his finger in the electrical socket? He sprinted into my bedroom one day showing off a new hairdo that was reminiscent of Einstein after a night of opium induced ass banging. Let them get their asses kicked a little. Obviously step in when the kid decides to set fire to the curtains or starts a "Fight Club" in the bathroom but other than that it's ok to let them pick themselves up when they fall. Let them gain some character while feeding their brains. Let them learn to be, at the very least, somewhat independant. Let them be thankful that mommy and daddy knew when to stop coddling their precious baby and allowed them to figure a few things out themselves. That way they might not be afraid to turn out a little like you. Hell, I hope my son turns out a little like his old man who at the age of twenty-five still lied to his boss when he had to go home and take a shit or "Help The Padre" as I liked to call it.
I believe that our children will thank us for backing off and giving them space. I had quite a few friends when I was younger whose parents were unbelievable. Constantly nagging and following them around and busting their balls to the point where one of closest friends had the theme from "The Omen" play on his cell phone every time his mother called. Take a good look "cuz that'll be you. Don't worry they'll be ok. Just stand back and watch them grow. They might just impress you.
THE END

LET 'EM FALL! Part II

Those rules, those guidelines that I mentioned in part I have evolved from generation to generation and have the potential for disaster. (Take a look around) Go ask any kid who's been pumped with so many narcotics that his eyes can't open all the way if he/she thinks all the emphasis on fitting in is a good thing. Despite my rather unique behavior and refusal to play well with others, I was never given medication or put through some of America's great therapy programs that worked OH so well for some of my friends whose parents lacked the balls to deal with a kid who's a little off the meter. No matter what wierd crap I pulled or how many people I pissed off, my parents never gave in to that American "save the children with sedatives" way of thinking. If I were born just ten years later I'm positive that I would have been given a healthy dose of pure bullshit in pill form so I consider myself lucky.
I can see it on the playgrounds of America. You people have given up on your children. Let me give you a little insight on how people with a little character might handle this situation: Let 'em fall. It's ok to step back and watch that little shit bust his ass every now and then. They learn from such incidents. You did the same thing. You learned by making mistakes. How did you figure out that you have to knock on your parent's bedroom door when you wake up in the middle of the night from a bad dream? I bet that image is scalded in your skull. Take it from me, my first is a real handful. He was one of those kids that had to be in constant physical contact with you. It didn't matter when or where, when he got the urge to fidget he would drive me to merengue and it's quite annoying when a small boy refuses to stop probing your ear lobe until you've lost consciousness and shit on yourself. When I say he brought my wife and I to the brink of insanity, I mean we were capable of setting the house on fire just so he wouldn't have such a cozy place to perfect his craft as a C.I.A interrogator.
Now, back to these rules that are supposed to turn our little crazy ones into controlled big ones. First off, I offer no mercy to those of you who chose abide by these guidelines. I think that those of you who go overboard deserve to be flogged in public. Second, everyone wants a pefect, little, obedient prick following them around, not questioning a thing said to them so you listen to any doctor who says, "Yeah. He's touched all right. Mix some of this in with his food and don't worry if he sleeps til his 30th birthday", as he pushes a bottle of multi colored pills with a picture of a dead fox on the side of it into your hands. Stop this shit. You're doing more harm than good and your kids will hate you for it. There is no good reason why generation after generation of teens and young adults who are starting families of their own should swear to a god that they don't really believe in that they will never, ever, ever turn into their parents. There are only a chosen few who don't contemplate shitting in a pond when thinking about growing into their mommies and daddies and they are either truly lucky or truly fucked.
To be concluded...

LET 'EM FALL! Part I

So I was reading some poetry that I had written and I couldn't help but notice that my poetry sucked anus. When I think poetry, names like Frost and Bukowski come to mind. What I have is a series of grievances that should be filed with the union. Every poem was one long bitchfest. Not that this is a bad thing, at least I'm aware of how shitty things have been since I replaced religion with thoughts of my own in '94. But it did get me asking why I hadn't perched my fat ass on top of a telephone pole somewhere and heaved heated jam baskets at the public. You figure someone with so much to be angry about would have done something to release a little of that aggresion. Well, my parents always told me that people get ass raped in prison so I decided to start playing the drums ... and occasionaly beat the shit out of someone but that's not the point. The point is that I didn't turn into a headline that turned into a movie of the week that turned into a reason to smother your children. Here is my call to action: STOP FUCKING WITH YOUR KIDS!!!
Stop telling me that they're the future and that they're important. I know this. I have children of my own and would do anything for them. What I will not do is climb up their ass and make sure that every single thing in their lives is to my liking or follows a certain standard. I like taking people's standards and shitting on them. I don't follow any rules and I don't expect my kids to either. I can only imagine how many of you are getting flustered and wishing you had my phone # so you can school me on parenting. Calm yourself. I don't mean rules like, "Don't kill the neighbor's cat then shit on their porch while you draw a hop-scotch grid that instead of numbers has all the funny little different ways of saying the word vagina." No. I mean rules like the unwritten ones that have been burned into everyones psyche. The ones that are supposed to make you fit in and be accepted. You can ask many of the fine folks that attended high school with me about how I love conforming to the norm. I almost got kicked out of school because I drew a shitty picture of the vice principal blowing the janitor, made 250 copies then plastered the walls with my master piece. Need I say more?
To be continued...

JUST LOOK AT THE MAP!!!

How is Staten Island not considered to be in New Jersey? HUH!!! It's right there. Take a look. There's less space between S.I. and Jersey than between S.I. and Brooklyn. All you have to do is take a spill off of the jagged rocks of Staten, float face down for four to seven minutes and you wash up on the lovely shores of scenic Perth Amboy. They even look the same. When you're driving across S.I. and cross into Jersey, you can't tell. It's the same land and everything. They smell the same too. You know, that combination of regret and poor judgement. If it looks like Jersey and smells like Jersey and is a whole lot closer to Jersey than New York then it's gotta be Jersy. Right? Of course not. I guess I'm just a big dick. Even the people in Jersey say, "Hey! That's ours!" and then try to throw lassos around it to pull it closer. Here's another point that supports my argument: The Verrazano Bridge. To cross the Goethals Bridge, which connects S.I. to Jersey, its true home, you pay six bucks. To cross the Verazzano, which connects Brooklyn and S.I., you pay nine bucks. NINE DOLLARS TO CROSS A BRIDGE!!! Why not ask for a collection of my pubic hair and three left toes of your choice? Maybe a good 'ol recatl exam and bitch slapping would suffice. How the hell can you justify charging people nine dollars to cross a bridge that keeps you in the same state? For nine dollars I better get some sort of gift when I reach the other side, like the Cup of Christ or a whistle or something.