Clay Aiken is Ridiculously, Ridiculously Gay.

I saw him catch a ball thrown by Jimmy Kimmel the other day. He did the queerest catch of all, the double arm under catch. And it was during some NFL game. I could see Jimmy's desire to show just how queer Clay is just bursting out. He even did a slow motion replay. But WTF is up with ABC pushing that fag's PR harder than Clay pushes at his male fans? Just milking the "is he gay or straight?!?!" conundrum as much as they can. Future folks will look upon our Clay worship on VH1 with shame.

I read that Paris Hilton and some guy broke up. Her vagina is just a shell of what it once was. I mean, she just gets dug out by everyone. Must be nice to live in a coked out coma, or maybe it's a disasterous nightmare, I dunno. I mean, how low can one's self-asteem really get? Or is that what passes for a life in the American no-class elite?

Bling Bling America, Bling Bling indeed.

What else, what else....

I'm addicted to Rome, watch it whenever I can and discuss it on the messenger boards, that's just the way it is. Everyone is murdering everyone, and their morals are very pragmatically relative. No very hard stances really. And the afterlife isn't limited by the same sort of hinderances as in judeo-christian hang-ups.

Bored.

Talking To Myself....

Falvin Shmavin. Bored off my ass so this post will be all over the place.

Britney had a kid today, a boy, through C-section. No loose pussy for Cletus, I tell you what.

My Buddy Amir is in Odessa, shooting a film, they start on the 8th of October. Super Duper. I may get to lay it down on an up and comer. Or I may get slapped down like a bitch.

Almost Convinced Dolph of the concept of Global Human Consciousness. Not Quite, but getting there. Hung out with Chuck today, he's a pretty fucking cool guy, and knows his stuffie stuff out here in the Permian Basin, which goes a long way. I have had the opportunity to work with some kick ass geologists: Chuck, Kevin, Dolph, Mike, and Chad. Yes people, Chad is one hell of a scientist, he just hides it under his ape ass exterior.

What else, what else... In Texas, displaced kids are starting fights in their new schools. In Boston, displaced kids are being stabbed in their new schools.

Apparently, you can play soccer with a ripped cock. Those wacky Germans just love their footie. Or is it Footie cock, I dunno...

It turns out that GW is Human after all, thereby destroying about 90% of the wacko theories out there, specifically those that speculate he is either Jesus or the Anti-Christ. Very odd how the country can divide the same man into 2 wholly different concepts. I just think he's a douche. Or a turd sandwich.

Next Time my vote is going to ripped cock guy. Any man that tough is going to make a fucking decision when he has to!

Delta and Northwest have filed for chapter 11, probably need to stop paying the board and officers so damn much when they are losing money. Also, most airlines are run like shit, and price gouge smaller markets.

This damn well is going at fucking 50 ft/hr so I am hating life. At least C-dub got some reefer in his system, maybe he will chill the fuck out from his bad mood.

The jokes on us, they are making a 5th bladed razor. And even though we laugh, we know that our dumb asses are going to buy it. I think the 7th blade is the 6th sign of the apocalypse. Did you know Gillette is a $50 Billion company?!? I mean, shaving cream is the business to be in folks.

Ok, I'm bored.

rockreeder

"You Must Be From Texas."

After just passing the sphincter of America, lovely Eunice New Mexico (or Anus, as I like to call it), the brilliant Adolphus and I arrived at our new home for about a week, just outside of a little town called Nadine. Needing water, Dolph suggested that I go grab some at the nearest local store, the Town & Country, about 4 miles down the road. Walking in, I notice a very cute Hispanic Girl smoking (INSIDE the store, take that hippies!), who quite obviously was The-One-In-Charge. Passing pleasantries took place and I walked on to procure the necessary supplies.

I arrived at the counter line, behind some of the finest Americans I have ever seen, both socially and genetically, and eagerly waited my turn to discuss further pleasantries with said cute Hispanic Girl. Upon my turn at bat, I notice an entire shelf of liquors from 750 ml on down. Mouth agape, I say, "Oh, shit, liquor on convenience store shelves." Her reply, "You must be from Texas." I smile and reply, "Yah, good guess. We can't do that because if we sold it like that in Texas, we'd shoot many more people."

Awkward Silence ensues.

"$6.94, sir."

I pay and leave, smirk on my face, secure in the knowledge that I have either weirded out another girl, or made her fall in love. Either way, she will most likely not forget her encounter with this Jewish sharpshooter.

5-7 days till decompression.

reeder

Labor Day Wishes From Republican Fuckjob McShithead

Hello, this is your friend and neighborhood Republican Fuckjob McShithead. I hope everyone out there is enjoying their catered bar-b-que lake picnics and box seats at the stadium this weekend, because I know I will.

This morning, my wife and I discussed having missionary sex but decided against it, so I retreated to our lake house kitchen where our servant LaKisha prepared us eggs benedict and biscuits made from scratch. I had a bite and scolded LaKisha for putting too much cream in the hollandaise sauce. I fed the rest to our dog Buchanan. I opened the Sunday paper but quickly tossed said paper when I saw that the only news was about those worthless Negroes that can't seem to find a job down in New Orleans. I mean, how long am I going to have to listen to their complaining? This is simply God punishing them for being such hedonistic slouches. They should just bulldoze the town and throw the bodies in the Gulf. I mean really! Just thinking about it makes me angry, so I bit off the end of my Cuban cigar but couldn't find a light. I pulled out the smallest bill in my wallet and lit it on the stove with LaKisha's help of course. I don't know how these blasted things work. As I moved the $20 to the end of my cigar I began to feel relaxed again. My robe, my cigar, and my porch that's all I need. Ahhhhhhh.

Labor day is tomorrow and I simply don't see all the fuss. It's just another day to me. I haven't had a job since daddy paid me $200 to mow the patch of grass in our front yard. I would always say, "But daddy, why doesn't Pedro do it?", to which he would reply, "You have to learn some responsibility somehow, son." Words I will never forget. I made my three passes with the riding mower and then I was a rich man. Nothing like a hard days work. That's what these... Negroes don't understand, a hard days work. Labor Day is just another excuse for them not to work. To hell with Labor Day and to hell with casual Fridays and to hell with bonuses and the eight hour rule. Work, that's what makes you a man, work!

LaKisha asked for the day off to see her two kids and husband back in her home town, but I told her that if she left me and Mrs. McShithead's side I'd be forced to replace her. She cried a bit but got over it quick. The workers at my Bible factory wanted off as well, but I reminded them that Jesus' work is never done and that I would default on all their pensions if they didn't show up. They got the picture. They realize that I'm teaching them a lesson. I'm teaching them the importance of work and that maybe one day they will be as rich as me. Muahahahahaha. 'Rich as me', I kill myself sometimes.

Tomorrow I'll be dining with governor Perry and discussing some Railroad commission documents that will have to be shredded in order for me to cash in on this $63 a barrel oil. Ricky understands money, which is a quality I found that all politicians have. After that I may go for a round of two of golf and a cocktail at the club. It's good to be me, Fuckjob McShithead.

Another Katrina/New Orleans Rant.

I figure every other jerk-off in the world is putting their dime's worth of bullshit in about the relief effort and the death of the only honest town in America, so now it's my turn. The only real mutha fucka saying anything worth a damn is Kayne West, laying it on the shoulders of the man where-the-buck-stops, or at least in other days it did. It sure as shit ain't the me decade, but the "What, me?!" decade.

And Lets face it, America hates poor black people. We never show them unless it's in some contrived version of reality. Bill Marr showed 2 pics, one of white kids with food, and one with a black kid with sodas. I'll let you guess where the "looter" and the "finder" tags came into play. I mean, what the fuck were these people supposed to do? No money to get out, no vehicles to drive them out, no door to door operation to get people onto the non-existent buses waiting for them. No free commercial or military flights to evacuate folks out. No Internet or cable to provide them the information they needed. No National Guard troops (partly because of the war and partly because of ineptitude) guiding people to these non-existent venues of transport out. No trains, no ships, massive budget cuts to your only national disaster organization, and no sense of true leadership by anyone.

The fucking new head of FEMA, Mike Brown, is a complete moron who didn't even know folks were still in the Superdome 2 days ago. The schmuck was an idiot who was a was simply a GOP supporter, fired from his previous job as a commissioner for the International Arabian Horse Association, had no experience in the field, and was given his original post as deputy by his old buddy, the previous head of FEMA for the Bush administration.

Contrast this to the head of FEMA during the Clinton Years (These are only for references Dolph, but the shoe fits), who was credited with revamping the whole agency from it's previous position as the bastard child of the Fed. James Lee Witt, the Clinton Appointee, would shit his pants at the shame this bastard has brought to his previously accredited organization. I met his Nephew Coy at the failure that was the 2004 Democratic National Convention. Great guy who was interning for Sen. Clinton, the balls of the operation, at the time. We got drunk a lot on Yachts from free champagne, and met people from the Real World. I should have known right then the whole ship was crashing in for the Dems, when Fucking CJ from Paris is crashing your parties.

But, on a lighter note, I have a plan for New Orleans. I call it: The "Escape From New York Plan!" plan. Get everyone out but the roaming gangs, wall the fucking place off with 50 ft walls, with snipers posted about every 100ft from secure and covered positions. Every now and again we would have to send in a Snake Plisken when a foreign dignitary or President crash landed there, but that's a small price to pay for such a fantastic solution! Stamp every inmate with a mark of the beast aka deep embedded chip, and match up a nice AWAC plane to keep tabs. This country loves making jails, so why not! I mean, we love them so much, we even have companies building and running them for us. Think of it, New New Awlin', brought to to you by Halliburton! Just Brilliant!! It is the solution for the new century, surely marking the upswing of a dying nation, one city at a time.

BTW, this years Mardi Gras is being moved by the administration to SLC, Utah! 3.2 beer, here we come!! No surviving black people allowed.

A Night In L.A.

The exclusive back room of the club who's name escapes me looked like the remnants of a velvet sneeze. Giant mustard yellow couches, oversized lemon yellow chairs, and orange-yellow velvet drapes hung on the wall splattered with random art arranged much like a game of tetris. I don't entirely remember how I became the focus of everyone's attention, but I had just done some coke in the bathroom with Chloe Sevigny and was talking incessantly. My monologue was given a soundtrack by the club music playing distantly. I looked out at my new captivated friends stricken with their beauty and fashion. All drinking designer martinis and wearing expensive shoes. I don't remember the subject of the conversation but I do remember everyone laughing and nodding in agreement while they hung on every word I said.

I also remember saying, "If you ask me we're looking at the beginning of the end of Johnny's career. Two more pirate movies and using Michael Jackson as a source of character acting is simply a joke. Next thing you know he'll be staring in 21 Jump Street The New Class on the WB."

A wave of giggles and affirming smiles crossed my loyal listeners until something caught their eye off to my right. I looked to see what could possibly divert their attention from my engaging banter. There stood Johnny Depp. He gave me a cold glare and walked out of the room briskly.

I looked back and my crowd had betrayed me. Looking away, coughing, and mumbling to themselves. My comments had gone from mildly humorous to callous and humiliating. "Fuck this." I said to myself. My Manhattan was empty and I was suddenly bored.

I excused myself and walked to the dimly lit private bar and ordered a shot of Johnny Walker Blue Label.

"Make that two.", a scratchy voice from behind me said.

Mickey Rourke lit a cigarette and leaned against the bar frightfully close to me. I've always feared this man and here he was blowing smoke in my face. The drinks came quickly and we toasted each other silently. He was wearing red tinted sunglasses and a white tee shirt tucked into his jeans that were held up by a belt buckle with two nine millimeters and a rose engraved on it. He tucked his Marborro Reds back in the brest pocket of his leather jacket and continued.

"You know what's wrong with this town? Too man assholes. Look over there, assholes, and over there, more assholes. If it wasn't for all the coke and Mexicans this town would fall into the goddamn Pacific.", he took a deep drag off his cig. "Did you hear about that Power Ranger who killed a man and stole his yacht?"

"Can't say that I have."

"He tied his leg to an anchor and sank him to the bottom of the fucking ocean. You never know about people these days. My little nephews and nieces used to watch that shit all the time never knowing that deep within the heart of their hero the Green or Yellow or whatever-the-hell Power fuck Ranger, was a bloody murderer. It's only fitting if you ask me. Everyone is nuts. If it wasn't for the zanex I'd probably have murdered someone by now too, but people would just say, 'I saw it coming.' Now, why do you think they would say that?"

I was growing weary of his ranting "Because everyone knows you're a drug addicted psychopath?"

Yet another cold stare. Next thing I know I'm lying on the floor semi-unconscious. I felt Mickey going through my pockets taking my money clip, cigerettes, and what little cocaine I had left right before I passed out. Fade to black.

I woke up naked sitting in a hot tub somewhere in what smelled like Malibu Beach. There was a party going on and I needed a smoke. I grabbed a pack that was convienently placed by my head. In the wrapping was a business card with a note, "Sorry about the nose, Jackie will take care of you." The card was for a dry cleaners in Hollywood, where I assumed my clothes was. I touched my nose and flinched in pain. I hope my eyes weren't blackened by the once semi pro boxer's jab.

A large breasted Hispanic woman eased her way into the hot tub and grabbed my cock. "Welcome to Earth again, gorgeous."

"Hi, yourself. I guess you're Jackie. Where the hell am I?"

"Malibu."

"Yeah, but who's place is this?"

"I thought it was yours."

"It very well could be. Who are all these people?"

"There's a party going on."

She continued stroking my cock while I sucked down my smoke. "How the hell did I get here?"

"Shut up, baby just go with it."

Four more equally beautiful women eased into the water at the other end of the mammoth tub. "Sounds like a plan to me, sugar."

"I think this man wants to talk to you.", Jackie

I looked up and it was Johnny Depp. Silently he bent down and gently kissed me on the cheek. I was so stunned I couldn't say a word. He looked at me, smiled, and disappeared into the party. The girls started to giggle and I was wondering what the fuck was going on.

To be continued...

God I Love Texas

As I was driving through Hobbs a few days ago, a sudden feeling of jubilation tore through me like a case of ex lax: Soon I was to be in Texas. As that feeling ripped through me, I looked up and saw that beautiful sign of entrance into this great land. Texas gets in your blood, you just know when you are home.

I missed all the insanity, the friendly folks, the 4.2% beer, the blonds, the legs, and of course, the guns. Just a few minutes ago, the man I believe to be the tool pusher (you can usually tell by the air of authority, though be it drunken) asked me if the geologist, company man, or other mudlogger was still here. I said that only Jim, the other logger, was here but asleep. He said ok, and that he and some hands were going to shoot off some rounds, but that he would wait till Jim woke up. Of course, I said my lips were sealed, not being a ho ass trick of a rat, and inquired about the guns. Me wantie to shoot gunny!

That's the kind of place this state is, just a fucking free for all. Just don't shoot the BOP.

And really, isn't that a good lesson applicable to everyday life?

Chad was right about Austin, it is a changin'. No longer the hippie/rugged individualist's town, it's become flooded with Dell Yuppies (or as I call them, cocksuckers), NY and LA rejects that couldn't make it, coked out Paris Hilton wannabes, reality show rejects, and all the Fazooli's you can handle, and then some. . Of course, there is a great deal of room for cross genres. Point of fact, Brad's (of Brad and Chad fame) girlfriend cheated on him with a bachelorette reject. I saw them at Kenichi, along with about 3 coke dealers (no bullshit). So sad on so many levels

Interesting sidenote, at bars, coke dealers are the ones who keep wiping their noses AND lead girls to the bathroom. Both prerequisites are necessary to make the distinction.

So Chad, you aren't a Townie, especially since you don't live there anymore. 4th street has created a world so far away from what Austin once was, filled with people who don't belong, that it ain't what it use to be.

I miss you Austin, but still, Yahweh bless Texas.

Fazooli.

rockreeder