Sunday, May 30, 2004

I don't play that shit.

I don't give a fuck if your life sucks.
I don't give a fuck if you think my life sucks.
I don't give a fuck if you take pictures of yourself with a cock in your ass.
I don't give a fuck about how many hits your blog gets.
I don't give a fuck about who you met.
I don't give a fuck about where you live.
I don't give a fuck if your dumbass worries about being recognized from your blog.
I don't give a fuck about the weather in your area.
I don't give a fuck about what your kid said.
I don't give a fuck about what you bought.
I don't give a fuck about what you wore.
I don't give a fuck about who you fucked.
I don't give a fuck what you did yesterday.
I don't give a fuck about your vacation.
I don't give a fuck about how high you got or how much alcohol your drank.
I dont' give a fuck if Tony Pierce linked you.
I don't give a fuck if you got molested.
I don't give a fuck if he hit you again.
I don't give a fuck when you live.
I don't give a fuck when you die.
I dont' give a fuck about you.

I don't give a fuck whether or not you give a fuck. You know why? I don't need to you validate my existence. I can only hope that the feeling is mutual. But honestly, I don't give a fuck. Fuck a blog. Fuck you.

Take that shit personally.

Saturday, May 29, 2004

I woke up this afternoon and flipped on the television to the Cosby Show. Dreary-eyed, I half-watched the episode where Dr. Cliff Huxtable took Rudy, "Buuuuud", and a bunch of other kids to a gourmet restaurant to have some gourmet burgers. "Mmmmmm, burrrgeers." Inspired, I decided to take a trip to one of the better burger joints in town before I went to work.

I as I pulled up to Bud's Burgers, I could already smell the aroma left by a day's worth of cooking burgers and frying french fries. I parked in the empty parking lot, jumped out of my car and headed to the restaurant. Well, maybe "restaurant" isn't descriptive enough. You see, Bud's is really located in a glorified shack. The place is about the same size as a quaint one bedroom apartment and the dining area is no larger than your average living room. I walked in and noticed that the brown wooden tables are still set up exactly as I remembered. I looked up to the high vaulted wooden ceiling that probably measures about 20 feet at it's highest point. The Bust-A-Move arcade is still located adjacent to the walk where the entrance was. Directly behind it is an old Flintstones egg dispensing machine, exactly like the ones they had in Toy R' Us's across the nation circa 1985. Next to that was your typical "love meter" that measures your libido for 25 cents. Bottom line, the place was pretty shitty compared to the Pot Belly Burgers and Nation's of this world. But you should know the rule by now: The shittier the place, the better the food. Warning: This rule strictly applies to authentic Mexican food and burger joints.

As I ordered, I couldn't help but notice all the little things about the restaurant that I became very comfortable with back in high school. Bud's was the typical hangout spot for the me and the rest of the varsity baseball players at my high school. Regardless of whether we won the game or not, we were all able to go to buds and just talk. Sometimes it was just two of us, and sometimes there were 9 or 10 of us. It was a place to unwind and forget about any type of resposibility. We talked openly without having to worry about reprecussions. Sometimes I would look more forward to the aftergame meeting at Bud's instead of the game itself.

Being in there gave me an eerie feeling at first, but the place offered a sense of nostalgia that was both refreshing and relaxing all at the same time. When I got my order, I asked for a ketchup bottle, just like I did back then. As the young lady handed me the bottle, I felt the same greasiness on the bottle that I felt back then. I sat down and squeezed about a cup of ketchup on the wax paper covering my plastic orange tray just like I did back then. And for the first time in a while, I just sat there alone with just my thoughts and my memories and enjoyed my food.

When I finished up, I threw away my trash, put my tray in the same old place right next to the spot where I left the ketchup (in it's proper place as well). I said thank you to the young lady who served me my food as I walked passed her while she mopped the floor. She smiled back and I almost uncontrollably cracked a smile as I approached my car. It was nice to spend some time in a place that I associate with such good times. Good memories stay with you forever, you know?

It was a beautiful day, that's for sure.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Okay, this is the last straw. Parents are fuckin' up. It's officially official (with a stress on the redundancy). I've been saying for years that even though our children are obviously over-sexualized by the media, parents need to take responsibility for their children and raise them correctly. This is not a product of the media. This is not a product of anything other than parents (or parent) not teaching a child the difference between wrong and right. As basic as the concept may seem to us adults, it still isn't happening in today's homes. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK?

I'm almost not even shocked. I was chatting with Leah the other night and she was telling me how her friend or cousin or somebody was a kindergarten teacher, and how she was appalled to hear about kids making out in class. I can't believe that this isn't national news.

Oh fuck it. I lied. I'm shocked. This shit is crazy. I'm going to go reread Revalations to see if this 5 year old dick sucking is in there. Are you ready to die?

(Props to my boy Anthony for the link.)

Sunday, May 23, 2004

this is an audio post - click to play
Damn, this one only if you're REALLY bored. And if you can't sleep, you might want to click this too....
this is an audio post - click to play

Saturday, May 22, 2004

I've been getting the feeling that I've been getting hits from people who've accidently wandered onto my site in search of something completely different. Instead of finding what they were looking for on the World Wide Web, they unfortunately stumbled onto this piece of shit. I decided to take a look at my referrals in my lame hit counter to see who was coming from where and why. To my amazement, I found this:

And as my wife knows, I hate leaving people disappointed. So I've decided to help people out. I will give the people what they want. You're searching for it? I can help you. Come one, come all!

Let's start off with #1. We have someone that has searched for "fat kirsty alley picture". We all know Kirsty from the "Look Who's Talking" movie series, "Cheers", and more recently on "Veronica's Closet". I did a search on google and I came up empty. So, I have to disappoint the fans of the new and improved fat Kirsty Alley. No dice. But I promise that this will be the last time I disappoint those in search of Utopia on the Internet.

#2 in our diagram shows that someone is looking for the first name of rap star, Chingy. Well, I won't leave you Chingy fans hangin'. Chingy's real name just happens to be Howard Bailey Jr. That's some shit right thurr. But since you're here checking out my site for Chingy shit, let me put you up on some knowledge: Chingy is wack. Go listen to some real music instead of puttin' money in the pockets of a weak ass rapper. I know I'm here to help the needy, but you need to open people's eyes sometimes. People get caught up in that TRL/106 and Park hype and start wildin' out. But I digress.

For numbers 3, 4, and 5, we have a group of people searching for "guys jacking off pictures". Well, I've been there. It's late. You haven't had any lovin' in a long time. You're home with nothing to do but surf the web for pictures of guys jacking off. It doesn't hit any more rock bottom than that. But I'm here to help you all out. Here is what you've come for. When I say I'll deliver the goods, I'll deliver. So for all of you guys and gals looking to getting into some great pictures of guys jacking off, here you go. It's on the house...

Was it as good for you as it was for me?

I remember an old Saturday Night Live commerical skit that featured Kevin Nealon and Victoria Jackson sharing the most intimate of moments sitting on a dual toilet seat. It was so memorable because I felt that it literally is a very personal and intimate moment that most don't share with anybody else. I don't think there is any other time where a human is so vunerable as when they are sitting on the toilet releasing a bowel.

There is nothing more personal than the time spent sitting on the toilet and taking a dump. It's probably the only thing I can be doing except jacking off where I would be really embarassed if my wife walked in on me. I mean, this is the same women who picks my whiteheads and has seen my penis up close and personal. But I am still embarassed when she comes into the bathroom while I'm dropping the kids off at the pool.

Isn't it kind of odd? I mean, we all do it about once a day. It's part of our everyday lives and our fuctions as a living organism? So why does it seem so private and taboo? Why is it so disgusting to talk about? Why are we so sensitive to something that all animals do?

The answer?

We are in love with taking a dump. Dropping a load is associated with such relief and pleasure that it, like sex, is something that we choose to keep private and to ourselves. Think about it. Our pants our down around our ankles. We're sitting down, concentrating hard on the task at hand. Hell, some people read or smoke to keep their minds elsewhere. Afterwards you have to clean up, but some people refuse to wash their hands.


So that brings me back to that old SNL skit. A couple. Sitting together at the toilet. Sharing a "moment". It's really not that far off from reality. Sharing the a moment where you two drop a bomb together really is the next level in an exclusive relationship. Can't you see that?

Okay, maybe it's just me. I don't know. Forget it. Forget I said anything.

Friday, May 21, 2004

Tales Of A 9th Grade Nothing

I was pleasantly surpised last week when I received a phone call on my cell phone from an old friend. It's been almost two years since I've seen her, and just as long since I have spoken to her. It was admittedly refreshing having such a long "catch up" conversation with her because we were such good friends in the past. This led me to think about how our relationship came to be the way it was and why she was and is so special to me, even if we haven't been speaking as regularly as I'd like to. So here's that story. It's not funny nor ironic. It's just something I like reminiscing about. Great friends are made of this.

We both attended the same elementary school, but it wasn't until junior high when I met her. I was in 8th grade and she was in 7th. Her older brother was in the same class year as my older sister and they were friends. So I knew about her before I really met her face to face. What started out as an odd and awkward (I remember showing up at her house once unexpectedly with my sister and she ran to her room and refused to come out)friendship developed into your stereotypically junior high friendship where most of our interaction happened on the phone. I'd talk to her about the girls I liked. She'd tell me about the guys she liked. We just talked, ya know?

9th grade rolled around something weird happened where I became very attracted to her. Not the petty "God damn she's gorgeous" attraction typically defines girlfriend/boyfriend relantionships at that age. It was different. I was so attracted to her mental and I didn't know how to deal with it.

My first reaction was to automatically tell her how I felt, not even thinking about the possible disruption it would cause to our existing friendship. So during one of our late night, post homework phone conversations I just blurted it out. She was literally shocked. She was admittedly a "late-bloomer", and I could tell that what I told her made her completely uncomfortable. It was obvious that she wasn't ready to be with me or anybody else for that matter. So I took a step back. She ended up explicitly stating that she wasn't ready for anything at the time, and I understood. Interestingly enough, we maintained the same "friendship" we had before I dropped the bomb on her.

A few months rolled around and we're still friends. One day during one of our daily 3 hour long phone conversations, she blurted out words I remember 'til this very day: "I'm Ready". Mind you, at the time Tevin Campbell had an album out called with the same exact name, an album that either she bought me or I bought her, hell I can't remember. Well, it was super cliche and I swear to God I'm not making this up. So, that nightwe were officially boyfriend-girlfriend in every sense of the word in junior high.

Now, like I said before she was a late bloomer. By the time we got "together", she was my 4th girlfiend and although I wasn't having sex, I was a little more advanced on the physical aspects of boyfriend-girlfriend interaction. My idea of what a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship entailed was slightly different than hers. I can remember how awkward it was that first day back at school after we were official. We just stood there. I was holding my backpack. She was holding her's. And we just stood there. With zero to talk about.The bell rang and we had to get back to class. And I extended my arms to at least get a hug. She kind of half reached out and we gave each other the worst hugs in the history of hugs in the galaxy. I mean, I've seen armless people give better hugs.

But I didn't really think much of it later that day. After school, she came up to me and gave me a letter and slide it into my pocket and told me to read it later. I got home that night feeling pretty good. I had a girlfriend and I loved talking on the phone with her. Unusually, she didn't call me when she normally did, so I gave her a call. When she answered, she seemed hesistant.

"Umm, is everything okay?" I asked.

"Uhhh, yeah. Did you read the letter I gave you?"

"Aww, no. I totally forgot about it."

"Well, take a look at it. Look, I gotta go now. I'll talk to you later."

"Umm, okay."



So, I ran upstairs, picked up my jeans and grabbed the letter out of my pocket and read it. As I read it, my heart immediately sunk. It was a break up letter. A fuckin' breakup letter. I couldn't believe it. It basically said something along the lines of "I guess I'm not ready" type stuff, and the most awkward hug ever pretty much sealed the deal. Pathetic, I know.

Well, even after all that we still remained friends through high school, where it culminated in me pretty much organizing her 18th birthday celebration ceremony on the fly a day before it happened and having it executed flawlessly. She was beautiful that night and I'll never forget it. That night, I couldn't help but think about her being the first girl who I knew I liked (dare I say "loved") for everything she was as a person, not strictly on what she looked like. I remember just standing there watching the event unfold and practically kicking myself that I let her get away. She was obviously a catch but was taken by another guy at the time. That, along with all the obvious personality differences among other things made me realize that she was never meant for to keep, but was meant to meet. She was the girl that taught me to look further than the exterior and find someone that can stimulate you not only physically, but mentally as well.

She's a special woman, and with this phone call last week told me that she was getting married. I could be nothing but happy for her because I know she is capable of finding a great guy, and I also know that she's going to make this guy very, very, happy.

We meet people for a reason, ya know? And if you notice that your paths keep crossing in a positive manner, God has blessed you with their presence for a reason. So, this is my official "thank you". Thank you God for allowing me to meet such a special person. Thank you to Che Che for being that special person.

I hope you read this. Congrats on the engagement and I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

It's been 9 days since my last blog, and quite honestly I haven't felt like writing. In addition, there have been numerous newsworthy occurrences throughout the past week that one thousand and one other blogs have already covered. So I never really felt the need to say anything. And most importantly, life has been relatively uneventful and I'm very happy, so there really isn't anything to bitch about. But there are a few things I'd like to talk about.

We have the beheading of a contractor by supposed Al-Quaeda militants. Then shortly there after, the CIA conspiracy theories regarding the beheading. Either way, it fucking sucks. Let the man rest in peace for cryin' out loud. I don't have the nerve to even watch the video myself. I just don't see any reason to, ya know?

What else? Ahh,yes. Latoya was given the boot on American Idol. People are screaming racism. People are screaming controversy. I don't give a fuck. It's whatever. People really need to take American Idol for what it is. It is NOT a talent show. It is NOT reality television. It is something that someone thought would bring in ratings. And you know what? They've succeeded. The biggest slap in the face to any aspiring musical artist that is known as American Idol has crumpled more panties in a bunch than your grandma. I don't even watch it and I'm writing about it. Genius marketing strategy.

On a similar note, I've seen commercials on WB regarding a spoof on American Idol where they purposely select the unskilled and untalented, which obviously equal ratings. As if we weren't sick enough of UC Berkeley's William Hung, WB has decided to bring forward hundreds of wannabe singers that "haven't had any professional training". They even have a fugazi ass Simon to berate the "contestants".

MTV, the real leader of the Free World, won't be left behind. They are also promoting an upcoming series with the same "fake reality" concept. Since it's obvious America is no where near sick of Punk'd,Fakin The Video picks up the ball and hobbles with it. Will I watch it? Probably not. Anyone who knows anything knows that Sci-fi Channel's Scare Tactics is better than everything else in the prank/hidden camera genre. Just the fact that MTV is behind such a show is enough to convince me it will suck.

So here I am once again, sitting on the fence in regards to reality television. I don't watch a lot of it, but I can't stop talking or complaining about it. Maybe our society is hooked on watching "reality" because we're all filled with shit in our own lives. I mean, we might as well live vicariously through the "real" lives of reality show cast members, right?.

Well, if that's the case, I got first dibs on Puck.

Friday, May 07, 2004

I've been on this weird ass introspective tip lately and fuck me if I'm going soft. Shit ain't the same anymore. I don't walk around mad at the world anymore because the world hasn't done shit to me. Lady Luck was my bitch for a minute, but I got too old to depend on her shady ass. No need to bend her over because she is no longer in service.

I ran into this cat at Longs the other day that I used to want to beat the fuck up. He was still short and walked with the same limp. Yup, that same annoying ass limp. He nodded "wussup", so I nodded back. He extended his hand and I gave him a pound. At first I didn't recognize him, but he obviously recognized me. So I say the usual "Ay, mayne. Whatcha up to these days?" Turns out he's doing the school thing. "Right on", I responded. As he walked away, I realized, "What the fuck am I what up to this bitch?" 5 years ago and I probably would have slapped the fuck out of him. Now I'm trying to "catch up" with him, as if I really give a damn. Good lawd, I'm gettin' soft.

Y'all see the "intelligent" Joe all the time. All this smart talk and this "deep" stuff? That's not me on the surface. The surface is what most see. You can find me at the local basketball court, talking using the latest slang and uncontrolled profanity. And I know most of y'all don't want to see me drunk. There's nothing like a drunk fat ass Filipino dude describing his favorite sexual position. I got a darkside like an uneven suntan, and that shit ain't pretty.

Fuck this soft shit. I'm gonna go listen to some Tupac and knock some old grandma down a flight of stairs with a dead baby seal filled with white spotted owl feathers.

I used to have this recurring nightmare when I was younger. Maybe from when I was 8 to about 14 years old. It didn't happen all the time. Only once or twice a year, but it was just frequent enough for me to realize that it was reoccuring.

In my dream, there was just a large white marble. Like, huge. Like, ginormous. And as the dream when on, it would slowly start to move. I couldn't see myself in the dream, nor was the point of view from my vantage point. I just had this feeling that I needed to stop it from moving, maybe through sheer will. I felt helpless against this marble and it was totally out of my control. It wasn't until recently why I realized that that marble, of all things, happened to be my reoccuring nightmare instead of your usual "oh shit, someone is coming to kill me" type nightmares.

I'm positive I have control issues. I mean, not just control of people or situations, but control of everything in my environment. When I was younger, I used to count the rungs on the footboard of my bed. Over and over again, I'd count them with my feet until I fell asleep. I have to drive everywhere I go because I cannot stand not being at the steering wheel. I am totally anxious on airplanes because I fully understand that my life is in the hands of a man(or woman) that I don't even know. In my first few years of college, I used to go to sleep watching either Happy Gilmore or Pulp Fiction because I knew those movies so well, I knew I wouldn't miss anything if I happened to fall asleep watching them. This shit is almost scary.

I don't think it's really that bad, nor do I think it affects many people. It's become a character trait of mine and I'm sure it's something that my wife is well aware of by now. It just made me giggle the other day thinking about my reoccuring "nightmare" and how silly it might sound to other people, but in the context of my life it makes perfect sense. I don't think many people are as introspective as I am. Maybe the amount of time we spend reading other peoples' blogs could be spent on more worthwhile things, such as reading your own blog and getting to know yourself.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

Chatter Box Chatter

The Friends series finale was on tonight, and as expected I didn't watch it. I can't say that I'll miss it now that it's gone. I've watched a few episodes through out the years. Maybe enough to count on my fingers and toes. I can admittedly say that I did laugh the few times that I did watch it. But I can't say I remember any particular episode. I can remember the naked neighbor. I can remember Joey's "How you doin'?". Now that I think about it, I remember that one episode where Ross dammit, Chandler and Phoebe pretend to be attracted each other until Chandler realizes that he can't do it and finally admits that he loves Monica.

Wait, is that recollection even correct? Ah, who gives a fuck? It's over. Boo hoo. Either way, it will always play second fiddle to Seinfeld in the world of "Must See TV". Hell, I'd rather watch reruns of Married With Children than Friends.

And on the same wavelength, I can only think of a few television series' that I was sad to see go. The one that stands out most in my mind is my all-time favorite sitcom, The Wonder Years. As I know I've mentioned before, I related to Kevin Arnold more than any other fictional character on television. The girlfriend. The hard-nosed father. The annoying best friend. I WAS Kevin Arnold. But I don't think a good portion of America related as well as I did. I can't find reruns of this show anywhere.

Nickelodeon was pretty good at showing reruns a few years back, but have since cut it out for their new Nick At Nite line up that includes Cheers, Roseanne, The Cosby Show, etc. Bitch ass ABC Family used to show it at Noon during weekdays but have since replaced it with a less enjoyable episode of Full House. I mean, sure. Capitalize on this whole Mary Kate and Ashley thing. But dammit, don't do it at the cost of dropping excellent, and dare I say, classic television.

But classic is after all classic. It's in the past. There really isn't anything out there that I can say I've latched onto in the same manner. I know I haven't. I know a lot of people felt the same way after the Seinfeld finale, which I have to mention ended on such an anti-climactic note. The finale of Friends is probably going to be the same for their die-hard viewers. But that's it. There really isn't anything there anymore. Other than Frazier, can you think of a "spin-off" that came even close to matching the success of it's predecessor? The Jeffersons? Laverne and Shirley? Not quite. I guess they can always enjoy the reruns and their Season DVD's. I just hope I don't hear about people crying over this shit.

It's not that serious. I mean, it could be worse. Imagine the last season of Saved By The Bell with a bunch of late 30 somethings. *Wretch*