I’m sure I’ve mentioned somewhere in previous posts that I’m a New Englander, but unless you’re from here you can’t really comprehend the significance of that statement. New Englanders wear their citizenship like a badge of honor, defining ourselves not by our individual states but by our geographical region, much the same way someone from Scotland or Ireland would define themselves by their family, or clan.
So to help all of you southern, inland and west coasters out there understand the Clan New England, I’m going to break it down with a metaphorical example. Imagine a Thanksgiving day dinner table, and at one end you have:
This is grandpa. He doesn’t do or say much, and he’s been around so long you almost forget he’s there. Oh, and he doesn’t have teeth. Next to him is:
This is the oldest son, the one who went off all gung-ho to Vietnam and came back disillusioned and pissed. He rides a Harley and defends his right to not pay taxes. He’ll school you on the history of any firearm known to man, whether you ask him to or not. When he’s not at Laconia for bike week he’s at a Knights of Columbus meeting. He earns his money either by being a trucker, mechanic or working construction. And his wife is Asian. Always. Next to him is:
No one gets under New Hampshire’s tough leather skin quite like Vermont. Part hippie poser, part Phish fan, all organic NPR listening Vermont. He’s college educated, usually earning a degree in either history or philosophy, which makes him an expert on EVERYTHING. He’ll chastise you for driving anything other than a Prius and is forever preaching the evils of pop culture. The only reason he owns a television is to watch PBS, and he’s married to a girl from:
The oldest daughter of a respectable family, make no mistake she is Vassar bound. When she’s not out shopping for argyle socks she’s sticking a finger down her throat or sneaking out to heavy metal concerts to bang tattooed pretty boys on motorcycles. I’m guessing. Next to her is:
He’s the red-headed step child; New England’s own version of Oliver from the Brady Bunch. Our own personal small ball of “why?” And that leads us to the twins. I say twins because this next state is geographically bipolar. Divided by the city of Worcester (pronounced WOOS-tuh), their personalities are as oppositional as any two children could ever be. And that state is:
The child west of Worcester is the girl twin. She’s well-adjusted and lacking in any definable accent. She knows what she wants and that is to GET THE HELL OUT OF NEW ENGLAND. The twin east of Worcester is the boy twin, the one who calls you at 2 a.m. to come bail him out of jail because he:
A. Gave a Yankees fan a beat down.
B. Defended his position that Manhattan clam chowder is, by definition, not a chowder.
C. Beat someone who said something disparaging about Aerosmith or Godsmack or Denis Leary.
He’s the guy who doesn’t actually live anywhere; he just floats from couch to couch to couch. He borrows your car without your permission, drinks all your beer and steals your stuff. And even though you know he’s going to sleep with your girlfriend you let him in your house anyway because he’s just so damned awesome.
Just like any family we fight and spat amongst ourselves, but heaven help the punk who steps to one of us, because then he steps to all of us. Whitey Bulger wouldn’t be Whitey Bulger if he were from the midwest. Well, maybe Kansas. That place is like the friggin’ Twilight Zone. So the next time you cross the border into New England, roll down your windows and listen carefully; you just might hear our siren song:
The story behind my Super Secret Project begins like any good story begins; with lobster and beer. Or as they say in Portland, Maine where my good friend and partner in crime Tom Elias lives, “Lobstah and a rack a pounders.”
It was during this fateful drunken weekend spent at his beach house with my best friend Quinn and the infamous HR Nightmare that my latest writing project was born. That project, ladies and gentlemen, is a four novella collaborative series entitled:
YEAR: 2012, mainly
POPULATION: 7 billion Human souls and counting…
From Purgatory –
The Grim Reaper and other three Horsemen of the Apocalypse are stretched to their limits reaping souls, and more drop dead every day. With his department near the breaking point, Grim requests a team of five thousand Lesser Angels to serve as Deputy Reapers.
To Hell –
Lucifer is faced with overcrowded prisons and work camps. He petitions the Board for permission to break ground on the 667th level of Hell.
To Heaven –
Gabriel, president of the Board of Archangels, denies both requests, citing budget restrictions. Grim, determined to get what he wants, goes over the Board to the Office of Heavenly Affairs, otherwise known as God. God denies Grim’s request but assigns a Heavenly Liaison to assist Grim, a liaison with a singular solution to the issues facing both Grim and Lucifer.
And back again -
The liaison’s name: Jesus.
REAPERS WITH ISSUES is the first in a four book novella series that chronicles the Grim Reaper’s struggles in middle-management. Click on Grim at the end of this post to visit our companion blog to learn more about the authors and the sequels to be released over the next few months. Don’t forget to sign Grim’s “Death Book” before leaving.
This series is meant to poke good-natured fun at the topics of Chrisitanity, homosexuality, recreational drug abuse and office politics. If you are at all easily offended, we, the authors, will not be offended if you choose not to read our work. Please do not chuck hate bricks through our windows.
Please to enjoy the following opening of Reapers With Issues:
REAPERS WITH ISSUES
Death killed time rereading God’s memo while he waited for his dealer to show. Semi-baked, he decided, would be the condition necessary to inform his staff that their department would not be receiving the help they so desperately needed and that someone else, an outsider, would be put in place to oversee their operation. As far as Heaven and the Archangels were concerned, the Horsemen were officially on their own.
There had been a time when Death, Grim to those who knew him, could singlehandedly reap his entire department’s quota of souls and still have time left over to indulge in some high quality herbal recreation. The reality of reaping a population closing in on seven billion left Grim no choice but to seek his recreation locally. It didn’t take long for him to discover that local weed, like local Purgatory, was mediocre at best.
Lack of free time and quality pot were merely symptoms of a larger, growing problem. Reaping while short-staffed had robbed his Horsemen of any kind of life outside of the job, and lately Grim had noticed cracks beginning to show.
Pestilence developed a nasty habit of calling in sick with a new exotic illness at least once a week, and an incident over a cage dancer forced War into court-ordered anger management classes. Only Famine had been able to withstand the pressures of the job, although Grim did notice that he’d been shedding copious amounts of hair lately.
It was on behalf of his Horsemen that Grim requisitioned the Archangel Board to reassign five thousand Angels to his department for Reaping duty. A requisition that Gabriel, Head of the Archangel Board, repeatedly denied. Grim’s decision to go over the Board’s head to the office of Heavenly Affairs yielded nothing but a Heavenly Liaison, and God only knew who the Hell that was.
Unable to make sense of God’s decree, Grim stuffed the memo back into his pocket as he scoped out his surroundings which were, at the moment, in the alleyway behind his office building and the home of the Office of Human Death (OHD for short).
Talk about shitting where you eat, Grim thought to himself as he checked for souls milling about. The last thing he needed was for word to get out that the once great Reaper of Death had been reduced to buying sub-par pot behind his office building in the lamest ‘burb of the Universe.
Paranoia getting the better of him, he walked to the end of the alleyway which emptied into Purgatory’s corporate district, a massive office complex comprised of row after row of generic steel buildings, each one an exact replica of the one that came before.
Finding no one, Grim laughed to himself. Total waste of time, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time anything bad happened in Purgatory. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time anything good did, either.
Just the same, Grim thought it best to cloak himself in a human disguise, namely the dead body that until an hour ago belonged to the organic hemp farmer that was his latest reaping assignment. “Meat suits,” as the Horsemen liked to call them, were a necessary evil now that the Archangel Board cut the OHD’s travel expense budget, forcing Grim and his staff to reap by bus instead of horse. All it took was one bad road trip on a bus bound for Newark to make him rethink wearing his cloak while on assignment. Mortals, he discovered, were a lot faster and stronger than they looked.
Grim listened as the clock tower in Purgatory Square chimed one o’clock. Pedro, his dealer, was late. Out of both time and patience, Grim walked back to the rear entrance of the OHD just as the door swung open.
“Jesus Christ, Pedro!” Grim shouted. “Scare me to death why don’t you?”
Pedro stepped out into the alleyway, his eyes darting up and down the length of it. “How’d I scare you?” Pedro asked. “You’re the one in the Jesus suit.”
“Jesus? Really?” Grim asked as he smoothed down the late farmer’s long, sandy locks. “I kinda thought he looked like Clapton.”
“Clapton or not that’s some scary shit, man,” Pedro said, looking Grim up and down. “Someone said they saw Jesus walking around here this morning. You know he’d tell my Pops if he caught me dealing again. My old man believes every word that fool says.”
Though he may have been known throughout the Universe as Saint Peter Junior, “Pedro” earned a reputation in underground circles as the prime procurer of black market merchandise. It didn’t hurt that having a Father who manned the Gates of Heaven gave him access to all the best incoming contraband.
“I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Apostles die hard. Now are we going to do this thing or not?” Grim asked, hoping to get back to work before he was missed.
Pedro stepped away from Grim, eying him suspiciously. “First tell me why you’re wearin’ a mortal in Bland Land. You ain’t reaping.”
Grim pointed to his chest and said, “Lungs.”
“Ah…makes sense,” Pedro said, relieved.
Lungs and pockets were two of the three attachments Grim thought made wearing a mortal’s meat suit bearable. The third attachment he hoped to utilize later on that night.
“Are you serious about Jesus being here in Purgatory?” Grim asked, peering over his shoulder. “Because he is the last person I need to deal with right now.”
“Hey man, all I know is what I heard,” Pedro said. “Why? You gonna kick his ass? Let me know now and I’ll give you odds.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve had enough run-ins with Skippy Christ to last an eternity,” Grim said, remembering a certain spring day two-thousand years ago that didn’t end well for either of them.
“Skippy Christ,” Pedro chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that one.” Once he was sure they were alone Pedro opened his robe, pulled out a baggie and handed it to Grim. “This stuff’s fresh from Mexico. Lucky for you my old man doesn’t shake down nuns. Mother Superior came in loaded.”
“I guess this is my lucky day after all,” Grim said as he dug the farmer’s wallet out of his back pocket. “How much for the bag?”
“For you? One-fifty. Cash.”
“One-fifty?” Grim asked as he thumbed through the thin wallet. “What can I get for…sixty-five dollars and a condom?”
“Sixty-five’ll get ya’ an ounce.”
“An ounce? That’s it? You do know I’m Death, right?” Grim punctuated his question by slashing the air with an invisible scythe.
Pedro laughed. “Yeah, you keep swinging,” he said. “Everyone knows you work a pen better than a blade now a days.”
“Is that so?” Grim asked, knowing all too well it was.
“Oh yeah it is,” Pedro snickered. “Hey, I got an idea- how ‘bout you write me up? Oh man, I can see it now, ‘Dear God, Pedro wouldn’t cut me a deal on weed, the stingy pendejo. Kisses, Death.’” Pedro doubled over laughing while Grim stood there and seethed.
“Just give me the ounce and shut your piehole,” Grim said, finally.
Struggling to catch his breath, Pedro handed Grim the entire bag. “Throw in the rubber and the bag’s yours. I’m heading down to Lucifer’s club tonight. I’ll put it to good use.”
Grim’s eyes flew open wide. “Are you shitting me? Lucifer’s got a club now?”
“Hell yeah, he does,” Pedro answered.
“Of course…” Grim said in a sigh.
Ever since God in his infinite wisdom promoted Gabriel to President of the Archangel Board, Grim’s budget had been sent to Hell, literally. While he and his Horsemen had to make due with meat suits and bus passes; Lucifer and his crew of demons enjoyed a new office complex with an onsite gym and spa, and apparently now, a club.
Nepotism ad infinitum.
“Hey man, you should come check it out,” Pedro said as pocketed the condom. “Music sucks but the women are hot. Bring a rubber or your pecker’ll burn like Hell for a week.” Pedro dug deep under his robe and scratched.
Grim opened the bag and inhaled. “Kid, if this shit smokes up as good as it smells I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well let’s find out,” Pedro said as he pulled out a lighter and let Grim sample the merchandise.
Grim took a hit and quickly put his lungs to work. In no time the smoke made its way to his brain, filling cracks that had become chasms created by supervisors with agendas and employees with complaints and a Universe dependent on him to hold shit together. Grim took another hit and released the stress of his middle-management Hell along with the sweet smoke he blew out in a slow, steady stream from his lungs. For one perfect moment, Death was happy.
A snapping sound by his ear pulled him back to reality.
“Hey, wake up. You’re vibrating,” Pedro said, pointing to Grim’s hip.
Grim reached down to his pager and saw that he had a message from his secretary. His absence had been noted. Grim paid Pedro in cash as promised, making a mental note to start reaping in more affluent neighborhoods in the future. “Let me know the next time you get another haul like this one,” Grim said, regaining focus.
“Hey no problem. I’ll even cut you a deal if you hook me up with your secretary. That is one fine lookin’ chica.”
“Fran? Sorry kid, but you’re not her type.”
Pedro rubbed his ample belly and asked, “Oh yeah? What’s her type, then?”
Grim stepped through the door and said, “Bony,” just as it closed behind him.
Another urgent page from Fran rolled in as Grim tore down the vacant hallway that led to his basement office. Stopping at the janitor’s closet, Grim pulled the memo from his pocket and then removed his meat suit, swapping it with the cloak he’d stashed there earlier.
Officially in uniform, Grim took a minute to compose himself before he opened the door to his office. Though he knew for a fact he was in Purgatory, Grim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to open the door to Hell.
TODAY IS THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF MY BLOG! TO COMMEMORATE THIS AUSPICIOUS OCCASION I HAVE DECIDED TO RERUN MY VERY FIRST BLOG POST.
PLEASE TO ENJOY…
So yeah, I wrote a book.
I must have been high when I wrote it because there’s no other explanation I can give for my 120,000 word upper YA novel where the only noun I used more than “boner” was “blood.” It goes without saying that I’m self-published. I didn’t even try to submit it traditionally. Can you just imagine the poor agent who gets my query letter?
“My novel, THE GODS OF ASPHALT is complete at 120,000 words and is the first in a series of five books that for some reason I’ve decided to write out-of-order. Each one is told from the point of view of a teenage male protagonist who has exactly zero supernatural powers (unless you consider perpetual erections a superpower). Oh, and it also has Spanish subtitles.”
On the good side, if you’re like me and are just a little too into music, motorcycles and all around badassery this is the book for you. If you’re not, I’m sure Jodi Picoult’s got a blog somewhere. You can find the opening to chapter one at the top of the page under the tab GOA REVIEWS and you can find my book on line at:
I promise you, this is an actual clue!
Even if you don’t get the clue, you can still enjoy this kickass song.
Have you figured it out yet? This might help:
So far you’ve got DON’T FEAR THE REAPER and CREEPING DEATH. Now here’s clue #3:
This is the only bit of information I’m able to part with at the moment….
I’ve been taking a break from blogging to work on a super secret writing project that is set to release September 1st (no, it’s not GOA2. That’s due out January 1st. Sorry, Megan).
Lately I’ve been struggling not to spill the beans because I can’t keep a secret to save my life. So instead of ruining the surprise I am going to periodically give out hints over the next few weeks, sort of like letting out steam so I don’t blow the whole thing at once. I will officially let the cat out of the bag August 25th in the form of an opening excerpt and companion blog.
Until then, your first clue is….
THE ADVENTURES OF HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND
Judging from the actors, your movie is a rom-com-buddy cop movie, with Edward Hotspur as the alien no one understands. Hilarity ensues as Edward, separated from the mother ship, is lost and adrift in dark foreboding Canadia. Kayjai, president of Canadia, takes pity on him and drives him (in a fast car, and apparently very few clothes) southeast to the wilds of New England, where for some reason, his gadgets are telling him to go.
Trask Avenue, a member of Canadia’s equivalent of the CIA (the dreaded MSF – Moose Syrup Fanatics), follows in hot pursuit. At the border, bored Border Guard, El Guapo, decides to leave his job and accompany the two star-crossed travellers on their journey. At one point, he distracts Trask from his pursuit while Kayjai and Hotspur escape. He is last seen (until the finale) telling a confused Trask (who has just arrested him) “Hey, if you can’t beat em, confuse em!”
Our story continues through the wilds of Nebraska and Ohio. They stop off at an empty diner, run by BestBathroomBooks for some food. He dispenses wit and wisdom along with hot coffee and huevos rancheros. They continue on their drive, stopping at an Ohio crossing to let the freight train pass. A badass in a mustang pulls up, none other than GingerSnaap. Hotspur reminds her of the frog who done her wrong (no, really, an actual frog) all those years ago, and there is a spectacular heart stopping chase through the cornfields (are there cornfields in Ohio?) of Ohio.
Kayjai and Hotspur manage to escape, heading east toward the dawning of a new day. They are exhausted and pull over to rest. While sleeping, Kayjai is visited by Sandylikeabeach, who sums up what has already happened, and hints about what may happen next – but she does it all in one long sentence that even includes her trademarked asides. And it’s all in Charo’s voice!!! (Seriously, this is my favorite scene of the movie!)
As they come out of the wilds and into the bigger cities, Trask Avenue is closing in. But Hotspur uses his magic to convince unbelievably sexy companions Sparklebumps and Megan that he is the good guy. They use their not inconsiderable wiles to slow down Trask while Kayjai and Hotspur escape.
Finally, closing in on the snow filled bus lots of New England, the two stop at the tire yard, and ask a shirtless, sweaty HR Nightmare (wearing a green shoulder mounted bikini thong)(because that’s how he rolls) where they can find the magic moose of Massachusetts – which is the only thing that can save Hotspur now.
(Sorry – earths environment is slowly killing Hotspur. What? I’m sitting at my desk writing this thing, cut me some slack. We good? Ok, moving on.)
HR points down a snow filled trail. Kayjai slowly eases the car down the path. We see Trask (in his gov’t issue Crown Victoria) speeding toward them. In the back seat, El Guapo rises, swinging a ski pole at the back of Trasks head. Trask yanks the wheel and Guapo flies out of the car, landing on a plank and, with a “WOOHOO” snowboards into the distance.
But while Trask was distracted, a blue Charger comes rocketing along the road. “SHINY!!!” bellows GingerSnaap, as she races along, bumping mercilessly into Trask in an attempt to drive him off the road. BestBathroomBooks, in the car with her, calmly calls out reasons to Trask why he should surrender. Trask grits his teeth and continues pounding down the road.
Into a clearing.
Where Sparklebumps, Sandylikeabeach and Megan all dance gracefully on an empty patch of land.
A bright light suddenly engulfs the beautiful ladies as Kayjai and Hotspur glide to a halt, Trask pulling up behind them. Arms spread, Hotspur steps into the circle of light, as Trask raises his gun. Sparklebumps flashes him to distract him, but surprisingly, that only works for a moment. Hotspur turns, and in the language of his people, yells “Unicorn! Palindrome lyric poem! Innuendo!”
Trasks weapon flies from his hand, and bewildered, he, with everyone else, watch the circle of bright light condense into a pinpoint beam of rainbow as Hotspur floats gently up to the mothership.
Kayjai strolls over to Trask. “For fucks sake.” she says.
Trask raises an eyebrow.
Apologies to everyone slandered in this, and if you’ve made it this far, next round is on me. Really, you earned it.
One of the ideas I’ve tossed around lately is taking up the challenge of writing a screenplay. But what to write about? A movie about life in New England? A story about growing up with my Italian mother? Who knew it would be a trip to my Site Stats page and a view of my top commentors that would inspire my latest, greatest idea. I give you…
THE TOP TEN COMMENTORS AND THE ACTORS WHO PORTRAY THEM IN MY SCREENPLAY…
HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND
It goes without saying that since I don’t know anyone personally, my “dreamcast” will be comprised of actors who I believe best reflect the bloggers’ particular personality traits and not necessarily what they look like. Now let’s start the list with:
10. BESTBATHROOMBOOKS to be played by Hugh Jackman
Who better to play Les the Great than Hugh Jackman? Both are smart, witty and so very likable. The only question is, does Les dance?
9. KAYJAI to be played by Cameron Diaz
Specifically, BAD TEACHER Cameron. Who better to do both Kayjai and the word “Fuck” justice?
8. TRASK AVENUE to be played by Kenneth Branagh
Kenneth Branagh has the talent and ability to go from a man of great intellect to a dastardly villain in very few words. Like John, I’d pay money to watch Branagh fold towels or write a clever blog.
7. GINGERSNAAP to be played by Sandra Bullock
Quirky, fun and self-deprecating, Sandra Bullock is the perfect fit for everyone’s favorite bloggirl next door.
6. SANDYLIKEABEACH to be played by Charo
Not only is Charo a feisty Latin Superstar, but she’s the best choice to play someone who’s bright, bubbly and sexier than twice the women half her age.
5. EL GUAPO to be played by Mark Ruffalo
The consummate Everyman, both Mark and El Guapo are proof that Nice Guys really do get the girl.
4. SPARKLEBUMPS to be played by Marilyn Monroe
Was there ever any doubt that the world’s most famous sex kitten would play our girl Sparkles? Men everywhere know why.
3. VERYNORMAL to be played by Emma Stone
No one pulls off both Badass Chick and Sweetie Pie better than Emma. Sounds like a British somebody else I know.
2. HR NIGHTMARE to be played by Joe Manganiello
Obviously I know what HR looks like, so when I thought about who should play him in my movie I couldn’t pass up True Blood’s own Alcide (don’t believe what he says about the muscles, ladies. It’s the hair and beard that does it). Like Alcide, HR sports a perpetually pissed off look on his face, not to mention that after a lifetime of being harassed about his Transylvanian roots he absolutely despises Vampires. That means the number one top Hellis commentor is….
EDWARD HOTSPUR to be played by Ruki
Followers of Edward Hotpsur’s blog know of his love of visual kei music and specifically of the band, The GazettE. What you may not know is how similar the lead singer Ruki is to our own EH. Both are creative, enigmatic, genuine and self-aware. Both have amassed quite a following despite never trying to be mainstream and have elevated what they do to an artform. And from what I hear they both have Discharge.
So there it is, people; HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND. Coming soon to a blog near you!
Have you ever sat down to your keyboard, stared at your blog and had nothing come to mind? I’ll let you in on an embarrassing secret...so have I. If like me, this has happened to you, then you may suffer from a condition endured by many around WordPress; a condition known as “Lame-ass Blogger Syndrome.”
Little is known of what causes Lame-ass Blogger Syndrome, an affliction that affects as many as 1 in 3 bloggers world wide.
For the next installment of THE HELLIS 100 I have decided to create a list of some of the best-selling books of all time. Not because of their stellar content or because they are some of my favorites, but because they may well be the most abused and exploited novels ever.
Confused? Alright, I’ll explain:
Have you ever sat next to someone who was reading a book that they were just a little too eager to tell you about? Did you ever wonder why that was? Well I have discovered that there are people out there with no interest in reading great literature, they simply purchase certain books to adopt a perceived “mystique.” Today I am going to save you the ass-pain of figuring out how to differentiate between genuine readers and those with something to prove.
We start our TOP TEN LIST OF BOOKS FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE AN AGENDA with…
10. David Foster Wallace – INFINITE JEST
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Confident, Educated, Worldly.
Who he REALLY is: An Efete Wanker.
If you look closely enough you’ll see a wet ring around his collar where the captain of the football team gave him a swirly back in high school. And ladies, you better believe he’s still angry about it. This fop is going to employ the pre-emptive “shoot down” by randomly insulting you before you say a word because he assumes you won’t date him. Then he’ll call you a lesbian. To your face.
9. Johnathan Frazen – Freedom
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Intelligent, Powerful, A Man of Consequence.
Who he REALLY is: A Pseudo Intellectual.
Don’t bother saying a thing to this self-aggrandized windbag because he won’t hear a word of it. That’s because your words can’t drown out the sound of his own voice resonating inside his head. This blowhard hasn’t really read the book, he has simply committed to memory The New York Times review of it. Ladies, don’t bother kicking him in the balls because he won’t feel it. All the blood has left his withered nether regions in order to fuel his massive, throbbing ego.
8. Nick Hornby – High Fidelity
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Hip, Urban, Cool.
Who he REALLY is: A Hipster Douche.
My apologies to all you die-hard Hornby fans out there, but just like Fedoras and Elvis Costello Hipsters have ruined this for you. Pray they don’t discover Adult Swim. Oh shit…
7. Douglas Adams – Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Quirky, Clever, Witty.
Who he REALLY is: A Self-hating Uber Dork.
This is the man who, when he’s about to ask you out, looks as though he’ll take his own life if you say no. Because despite all his education and life experiences, he doesn’t for one moment believe he has overcome whatever debilitating flaw it was that prevented him from getting laid in high school. If you can stand tears and pu**y worship then ladies; this is the guy for you.
6. Bret Easton Ellis – Less Than Zero
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Edgy, Raw, Unpredictable.
Who he REALLY is: A Basement Dweller.
Chances are you’ll meet this dude in a used bookstore or an underground vinyl den because he is above it all. He’ll tell you all about how he “chose” to leave corporate America and live in his mother’s basement and how it had nothing to do with his raging coke habit. He’s not shy about sharing stories of his latest conquests with anyone who will listen and as awful as that sounds, what you must NEVER do is agree to read his manuscript when he asks you to. And believe me, he will ask. Just. Don’t. Do it.
5. Jodi Picoult – My Sister’s Keeper
Who the reader wants you to think she is: Compassionate, Feminine, Maternal.
Who she REALLY is: A Desperate Housewife.
The only thing needed to push this woman off the razor-thin edge between estrogen laden housefrau and dick-eating femshrew is one bad dumpster bang. Seriously. This woman is so desperate for love she’ll deny her lack of ability to get it and instead play her failure off as female enlightenment. But guys, don’t let this one fool you. She’ll read deeper meaning into every word of the Valentine’s Day card she bought for herself that you would’ve gotten her had you only bothered to get to know her better. Your relationship arc will mirror her favorite soap-opera couple and you will have to check the TV Guide just to find out what is going to happen next. Don’t bother wearing a cup boys; just tear those puppies off and chuck ‘em in a lake. It’s bound to be less painful in the long run.
4. Jack Kerouac – On The Road
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Enlightened, Self-Actualized, Deep-Thinking.
Who he REALLY is: Dangerously Anti-Social.
This one longs for the days of social simplicity and freedom from the shackles of modern society. What that really means is he has absolutely no clue how to relate to others; namely women. Be warned people; this dude is one remote cabin, bad cigarette, loose leaf piece of notebook paper away from penning his “manifesto.”
3. Ernest Hemingway – For Whom The Bell Tolls
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Exciting, Rugged, Dangerously Sexy.
Who he REALLY is: A Closet Rapist
I am going to insert a qualifier here. If you see a college age male or a man over the age of fifty reading Hemingway then you needn’t worry. One is broadening his horizons and the other has lived long enough to appreciate classic literature. But if you see a man around, say…thirty, spouting how Hemingway “knew his shit” then ladies, you need to run. NOW. Because this piece of work uses Hemingway’s genius as a reason to explain away his own hard drinking and random abuses. You’ll hear how he admires the days of “real men” as he cups his iphone instead of his balls and then boasts about how his unwanted sexual advances are really romantic overtures. When you run into this dillhole make sure you hand him a fifth of scotch and a shotgun and tell him to complete the transformation. Expect him not to get it.
2. Nicholas Sparks – The Notebook
Who the reader wants you to think he is: Attentive, Passionate, Nurturing.
Who he REALLY is: The Flaccid Casanova.
This tool appears in all the places that he believes women predominately gather, like yoga class or the self-help section in bookstores. He’ll make a point of letting you see him holding this book but make no mistake, the fool has never read a word of it. This lowly scavenger’s game isn’t to impress you with how in touch he is with his feminine side, it’s to pick up female scraps the Alpha male leaves behind. So the next time you see this loser lurking about, fix him up with Miss Desperate Housewife up there. It’ll be a match made in “meh.”
1. Chuck Palahniuk – Fight Club
Who the reader wants you to think she is: Smart, Tough, Empowered.
Who she REALLY is: The Damaged Chick.
The Damaged Chick is the most dangerous of all the deluded readers because there are no obvious outward signs to her blinding dysfunction other than her sweaty clasp on an a Chuck Palahniuk novel. Deceptive and disarming, this woman knows her prey and isn’t above playing the “adorable” card in order to get what she wants. Make no mistake boys, what she wants is your head on a plate. Oh, she’ll bat her eyes as you tell her she resembles a Disney Princess and smile sweetly when you describe how her wisp of a frame will fit nicely in your pocket. All the while she’ll be cursing you for not seeing the badass rocker chick she really is. Like a Gremlin, this woman comes with rules. Don’t offer to open the door for her. Don’t lift things because you think they are too heavy. Don’t pat her on the head and placate her ego. But most importantly, whatever you do, NEVER ask her about her blog.
***** BREAKING NEWS – H.E. ELLIS HAS RECEIVED THE GLITTER E. YANUS AWARD *****
Yes, ladies and gentleman; I have received the Glitter E. Yanus Award. What, do you ask, is the Glitter E. Yanus Award exactly? Why it’s only the most prestigious award given to bloggers with rockin’ ghetto ass or opposable genitalia (I only have one of these. You guess which) and I happen to be one of its honored recipients. Bestowed upon me by Les the Great over at BESTBATHROOMBOOKS; the rules for passing along this award are as follows:
First: Tell people at least five things you do that would make them want to kill you, or at the very least, make them hate you for the rest of their lives. It’s a good thing there’s only five, because I could be here all day.
1. I SPEAK IN RANDOM ACCENTS IN PUBLIC. What’s great is going to the grocery store and buying milk, bread and eggs all while speaking in a normal accent. Then going back the next day to the same cashier and buying the same three things and asking the same inane questions only this time using a British accent (think Mary Poppins Chimney Sweep). Hi-larious.
2. CONSISTENTLY AND INTENTIONALLY MISPRONOUNCING PEOPLE’S NAMES. If I really don’t like you I’ll change your name all together, such as in:
ME: “Hey Phil.”
RANDOM MAN: “Uh…my name is Bob.”
ME: “Hmm…no. You don’t look like a Bob. I’m going to call you Phil.”
3. REPEATEDLY INSERTING MY S.A.T. SCORE INTO RANDOM CONVERSATIONS. “You want to know where the library is? Why sure. You just turn left up here onto Main Street. You can trust me on this. I got 1430 on my S.A.T.s.”
4. PRETENDING I KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE. I’ll let your mind fill in the blanks on this one.
5. PRETENDING I CANNOT REACH THINGS THAT I OBVIOUSLY CAN, ONLY TO ACT OFFENDED WHEN SOMEONE MENTIONS MY HEIGHT.
ME: *struggling for something at eye-level* “Can you hand me that box of pasta please?”
HELPFUL GROCERY-BOY: *smiling* “You could have totally gotten that. You’re not that short.”
ME: *gasping* “Did you just call me SHORT?? WHERE IS YOUR MANAGER??”
*Helpful grocery-boy flees in fear, leaving a trail of urine behind him*
The next thing you have to do according to the rules is this: Blindfold yourself and walk out into traffic on the freeway. Since there are virtually no freeways in the state of New Hampshire I chose instead to stand out in the middle of the road and declare that as a whole, Massachusetts residents make better drivers. That’s TWICE as dangerous as a freeway, brotha.
The third thing I am supposed to do is pick out five things that I would stick up my ass if I was forced to. FORCED TO?? What makes you think I don’t already do this for FUN?? On with the list!
1. AN ALLEN WRENCH. How many times have you needed to tighten something and wouldn’t you know it, you needed an Allen wrench to do it. Like a Boy Scout, my ass comes prepared.
2. NINE VOLT BATTERIES. Again, this runs along the same lines as an Allen wrench. Never have one when you need one. Well I do.
3. VANILLA EXTRACT. I don’t use it often enough to award it space in a cabinet, but I need it none the less.
4. DR. PEPPER. There’s a windfall law suit just waiting to happen.
5. LOCKET-SIZED PHOTOS OF MY PROCTOLOGIST. Nothing says, “I love you” to an ass doctor like finding photos of himself during an exam. What can I say? I’m bashful.
I am also supposed to pick out five bloggers who I feel are worthy of Prom Court. Since I am Prom Queen for a day, I’ve decided to nominate seven lucky ladies as recipients of this award:
MISS LIFEINTHEFARCELANE: Voted most likely to find a Rugby player up her ass.
MISS DARLENE STEADMAN: Voted most likely to find something one would describe as “bitchin” up her ass.
MISS GINGERSNAAP: Voted most likely to find something she lost up her ass.
MISS KAYJAI: Voted most likely to find four things that each begin with the letters F, U, C, and K up her ass.
MISS SANDYLIKEABEACH: Voted most likely to find something both hot and Latin up her ass.
MISS VERYNORMAL: Voted most likely to find something cider flavored up her ass.
MISS SPARKLEBUMPS: Voted most likely to find something sparkly up her ass.
And since every Prom Queen needs a Prom King, I’ve nominated:
HR NIGHTMARE: Dude…I’m not saying a word.
By now most of you have figured out that my three favorite things in life (behind New England sports teams) are music, cars and men. While those three things are fine individually, when I combine them I find myself in trouble. So for the next installment of The Hellis 100 I give you:
THE TOP TEN MUSIC, CARS AND MEN MASH-UPS OF MY LIFE
I’ve decided to divide this list into three categories; accidents ending in hospital transports, angry boyfriend induced recklessness (get used to seeing the letters “HR” here) and sheer stupidity. I’ll start the list with “accidents ending in hospital transports.”
10. HUNG A PINTO IN A TREE
Yes, I really hung a Pinto in a tree while drag racing my boyfriend. But to be honest, it was one of those south Florida scrubby trees so I didn’t catch the epic air you may be thinking I did. I’ll say this for Ford; they did a hell of a job on the ’76 Pinto. That sucker drove away once the Ft. Lauderdale road crews pulled it down. That’s what my boyfriend told me since at the time I was in the hospital getting checked out from the fall I took as I climbed out of the tree. The accident itself didn’t leave a scratch on me. Here’s the song that was playing at the time:
9. PLOWED AN OLDSMOBILE INTO A GUARD RAIL
At first I wasn’t sure if I should include this incident as I wasn’t the one driving, but I decided it qualifies because: A) a boy most DEFINITELY was involved and: B) so was a song; a song that to this day I refuse to listen to while in a car. This highway wipe-out lead to an ER visit and a free pass for my friends and I to screw around in the high school elevator for weeks following. The song involved was:
8. PINNED MYSELF UNDER A KAWASAKI NINJA 750
Ladies, listen up. When your boyfriend tells you that there’s a difference between riding a classic bike and a crotch rocket, listen to him. No matter how bad you want to punch him straight in his cocky face. That’s right, HR. I went there. And while there was no music playing when I dumped this bike, every time I hear this song I think of that night, and remember wondering if the ambulance was going to find me in the middle of nowhere.
Now we’ll move onto “angry boyfriend induced recklessness” with:
7. SUNK A SUZUKI IN A SWAMP
By now you may have noticed that I don’t like admitting when I don’t know how to do something a boy can do; so you can imagine how I handled my boyfriend telling me that men drive stick better than women. For the record, the boyfriend in question wasn’t HR (don’t believe what HR says; I taught him to drive standard). No, this boyfriend was a good ole boy from Tallahassee who just may have been the world’s biggest Hank Williams III fan. Sadly, he was also a Tampa Bay fan (sorry, Dayton). I’ll spare you the gory details of my “didn’t know what he meant by downshift” reaction as I drove straight into the swamp and instead I’ll just say this: I blame Hank.
6. GOT CAUGHT GIVING A HANDJ*B WHILE DRIVING A CARMEN GHIA CONVERTIBLE
Look away, HR. This was before you but after number seven up there. By the time I had the opportunity to drive my then boyfriend Rick’s Carmen Ghia I had learned to drive a standard properly. However, the stick I was handling at the time belonged to his best friend, Raphael. What can I say? Rick pissed me off. I get warm, fuzzy feelings every time I hear this song, as does the Broward County highway patrol; helicopter division.
5. EXPLODED A 4-RUNNER MOTOR INSIDE A TOYOTA CELICA
Alright, so this one may need some explanation. More than anything I love taking big motors and cramming them into small cars (paging Dr. Freud). So for my birthday my then boyfriend (yes, this is you HR) took a Toyota inline six motor normally found in the 4-Runner and dropped it into a 1984 Toyota Celica. For those of you who may not know this equals a whole lot of awesome, considering that my Celica was a rear-wheel drive five speed manual. Talk about a racer’s wet dream. That is until I blew a piston out the side of the engine block. I’ll defer to HR in the comments as to how I managed to do this. I’ll just say he and his boys pissed me off enough to take my anger out while listening to this song. You do the math.
4. STOLE A CORVETTE AND MET A SERIAL KILLER
After my Toyota debacle HR wouldn’t let me near any car he owned, especially his 1978 Silver Anniversary Edition Corvette. It took all of my feminine charms to persuade him to hand over the keys to his beloved Corvette. Alright, the truth is he was passed out cold and I stole them from his back pocket. TomAto, tomato. Needless to say I blew that car to smithereens as well and was offered a ride home from a trucker who I later found out was a wanted murderer. For the whole sordid story, go here. Pantera was the soundtrack to that night:
Now onto “sheer stupidity” with:
3. SPENT THE NIGHT WITH JEB ON A PARTY BUS LOADED WITH HIS STONED WRESTLING BUDDIES AT A MAYHEM CONCERT
Since the statute of limitations has not yet run out on this particular evening, I’ve decided not to tempt the Gods of “dodging a bullet” by declaring how motherf’in awesome that night was. I’ll just state for the record that I was not stoned nor was I driving. What happened to the party bus that night is God’s own personal mystery. I’ll let your imagination wander while you listen to my favorite Godsmack song of all time and the signature song of the evening:
2. BLIND NIGHT ON BALD MOUNTAIN ROAD
Did you ever do something so stupid that even while it was happening you were sure you were going to die? Well I did, and I have assigned that night of stupidity number two on this list. My brother’s best friend Rick (yes, that would be Carmen Ghia Rick) was not yet my boyfriend, but I sure wanted him to be. At the time Rick and my brother lived in Saratoga, New York which is a town with many winding mountain roads including the featured road of the evening, Bald Mountain. So when Rick called from a bar and asked me to drive my drunk ass brother’s car home I jumped at the chance to make time with my future boyfriend.
Then came the dare. The dare to follow Rick home while driving my brother’s Monte Carlo SS.
At 3:00 a.m.
With no headlights.
Yes, the whole “dare” was to see if I could keep up with Rick’s Carmen Ghia while I drove my brother’s Monte Carlo without the headlights on. Now Bald Mountain is a road that my brother described as knowing “better than the skin of his dick,” so I believed him when he said he’d be able to alert me to every corner and turn before they appeared. This sounded perfectly reasonable, until he passed out five minutes down the mountain. Obviously I made it through the whole winding nightmare with only Rick’s tail lights to guide me and yes, impressed the hell out of him enough to ask me out once we got home. At the time this was my brother’s favorite song, and the memory of that night is one of the happiest and scariest moments of my life.
1. FRANK STALLONE AND THE NEVER ENDING MASH-UP
Now that I am older and wiser (in other words, legally able to be tried as an adult) I make somewhat better choices where music, cars and men are concerned. For instance, I take full advantage of Prince Charming’s fire department scanner to let me know where the police are responding before I pick a road on the other side of town to catch air on. I’ve also found that my taste in music has begun leaning more toward classic than angry rock.
But the biggest change I made was my decision to replace men with cars; namely my 1968 Chevy Impala which I named Frank Stallone with…well, every man out there. Frank’s the perfect man for me; solid, dependable, quiet when I want him to be. Roars when I make him. Most days Frank and I are happy just to tool around town lost in our daydreams. And while his fantasies involve a certain Metallicar, my focus is more on the two boys inside it and my fantasy of being the center of a Jensen Ackles – Jared Padalecki sandwich.
If I were smart I’d end my post here and get to work on the writing I had planned for the weekend, but the phone call I got while writing this post pounded the hell out of my rebellion button. Yup, Jeb just called and told me to pack my shit because we’re off on an adventure to Connecticut to catch LIT in concert. Sadly, minus the party bus. I AM my own worst enemy.
For the next installment of The Hellis 100 I’ve decided to tackle the topic of horror movie villains. Since no one loves a good horror flick more than I do (well, maybe Nick does), I’ve decided no Hellis list could be complete without my ten personal favorites. I give you:
THE TOP TEN SCARIEST HORROR MOVIE VILLAINS OF ALL TIME
Now I know there will be a great deal of debate here because like sex, what scares someone is just as subjective as what makes them feel good. The list below features what gets inside my head and pounds my fear button like a monkey on crack.
10. Asami Yamazaki – AUDITION
For those of you who have never seen this movie, DON’T. I’ve tried to watch it three times and have never been able to make it past the first thirty minutes. If you are truly a glutton for punishment go here first. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
9. Nosferatu – NOSFERATU
Even though I saw this movie as a kid, when people dress up like this particular incarnation of vampire today I am freaked the fuck out. Not bad for a movie made in 1922.
8. Fats – MAGIC
I have to admit that I have never seen this movie. I saw this commercial on television as a kid and it scared me so much that thirty-five years later I’m still freaked out enough to include it on this list.
7. Billy – THE SAW SERIES
Though never technically given a name in the SAW series, the puppet known as “Billy” scares the beejezus out of me. Thanks to him I can’t be within ten feet of a tricycle.
6. Pennywise – IT
I’d like to remind you all that the move “IT” was made for television and not a mainstream horror movie. None the less, simply mentioning the name “Pennywise” to anyone who’s seen it will bring about a shudder. That is a testimony to the acting ability of the great Tim Curry. I found the scariest moments weren’t the scenes where he had huge dripping fangs, but the ones where he is simply…menacing.
5. Frank Booth – BLUE VELVET
The least offensive thing about this character is his nearly New England level usage of the word “fuck.” This sociopath rapes, tortures, and mutilates all while huffing amyl nitrate and switching back and forth between two different personalities he refers to as “baby” and “daddy.” This movie should be watched with a Pollyanna chaser just to get the bad taste out of your head.
4. Max Cady – CAPE FEAR
Max Cady isn’t your ordinary everyday grudge stalker because this dude isn’t content to come for you, he’s coming for your daughter. My apologies to purists because as much as I loved Mitchum; DeNiro’s version of Max Cady was far more sadistic to me.
3. Alex Forrest – FATAL ATTRACTION
Cheating husbands and bunnies be warned; this deranged stalker will NOT be ignored.
2. Annie Wilkes – MISERY
A novelist with a kickass car meets his biggest fan. You do the math.
1. Buffalo Bill – SILENCE OF THE LAMBS
I know what you’re thinking and yes, Hannibal Lecter was the shit. But he’s not who scares me here. Above all others, the character that freaks me the fuck out most is Buffalo Bill. Because you think he’s normal. But make no mistake, Bill doesn’t want to rape you or torture you, he wants to BE YOU. It’s the ultimate insult to your humanity. There is nothing in the world that frightens me more than another person strutting around inside a Hellis skinsuit.
To this day the following song sends chills up my spine:
Let me explain the process for which I selected this next installment of The Hellis 100. You’ll notice below that I have uploaded ten songs to this post. These are not a representation of songs that I am necessarily a fan of; they are songs that I have to sing no matter where I am or what I am doing at the time. So I give you…
THE TOP TEN SONGS THAT ONCE HEARD I AM COMPELLED TO SING
10. BEST OF MY LOVE – Emotions
9. FUCK YOU – Cee Lo Green
8. SAFETY DANCE – Men Without Hats
7. IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT – R.E.M.
6. BARENAKED LADIES – One Week
5. LOVE ME DEAD – Ludo
4. TRIBUTE – Tenacious D
3. BLACK WIDOW – Alice Cooper
2. SPACE ODDITY – David Bowie
1. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY – Queen
All right people, for the next installment of The Hellis 100 I’m asking for your help. I’ve called in a few of my New England cohorts for their input on some regional remedies for hangovers. What I’d like you all to do is add your own regional remedies to the list in the comments below. Now let’s get on with:
THE TOP TEN BEST FOODS TO EAT WHILE YOU’RE HUNGOVER – NEW ENGLAND EDITION
10. From the depraved mind of HR’s boy Looch comes…DEEP FRIED HOT DOGS
9. HR’s buddy Cisco uses heat as a hangover distraction with…BUFFALO WINGS
8. HR insists on this gastronomic catastrophe…THE STEAKBOMB
7. Jeb and his wrestling buddies indulge in the morning ritual of…DENNY’S GRAND SLAM
6. These next two remedies are Connecticut frat-house staples…LEFTOVER PIZZA CRUSTS
5. and DRY CHEERIOS
4. No New Englander starts his or her day without DUNKIN DONUTS COFFEE, even if they’re sober
3. If you’re ever hungover in Boston be prepared to be handed this concoction:
THE CLAMATO COCKTAIL
2. Hung over in New Hampshire? MAPLE SYRUP OVER SNOW will cure what ails you
And the number one remedy for a hangover anywhere is…HAIR OF THE DOG
Before I jump into the next installment of The Hellis 100 I’d like to let you know about a great blog called Mona Lisa Memoirs that I had the privilege of writing a dating disaster guest post for. Check it and her own stories out after reading this post. Now, onto the pretty…
What you may not know about real world me is that real world me has many gay friends, both male and female. During an inpromptu conversation the other day I happened to mention my blog and the need to come up with another ten item installment list. They put their heads together and came up with the following:
TOP TEN PEOPLE TO MAKE YOU QUESTION YOUR SEXUALITY
I decided to break this down into five women and five men, starting with…
5. NICOLE SHERZINGER. This Pussycat Doll’s vague ethnicity appeals to men and women alike.
4. JESSICA ALBA – There’s nothing vague about this Latina’s smoking hotness.
3. ANGELINA JOLIE – It turns out more women find her attractive than men. Just ask Sparklebumps.
2. SCARLETT JOHANSSON – The twenty-first century’s answer to the blonde bombshell.
And with a unanimous vote for number 1….SALMA HAYEK. I think it’s the dress.
Now onto the gentlemen, starting with…
5. ALEX PETTYFER – The combination of pretty boy and badass makes him an easy choice for number five.
4. WILLIAM LEVY – Telemundo’s definition of tall, dark and handsome.
3. JAMES MASLOW – The quintessential boy next door and my inspiration for Sawyer Hayden.
2. JENSEN ACKLES – One word. Guh…
And the man voted most likely to make men everywhere question their sexuality is…
Ladies and Gentlemen it is official; I have finally hit my one hundredth blog post. To mark this historic occasion I have decided to blog about 100 of my favorite things in ten separate blog posts; all in wacky Hellis fashion of course. To kick things off I’ve dedicated my first blog post to….
TOP TEN FAVORITE CLASSIC SITCOM CHARACTERS
I suffered for years as a kid from insomnia and spent many a sleepless night watching reruns of classic sitcom television. Over time I developed a fondness for certain characters, so here is a list of my top ten favorites:
10. Florence Jean Castleberry – Friends like me call her Flo. The rest of you can kiss her grits.
9. Schneider – Never met a toilet he couldn’t unclog or a MILF he wouldn’t dry hump.
8. Maynard G Krebs - Think perpetually horny, arguably stoned Gilligan.
7. Jan Brady – The poor man’s Marsha.
6. Rosco P. Coltrane – His laugh is the very definition of Awesomesauce.
5. Arnold Jackson – Go on and tell me you didn’t see the episode with the bicycle man.
4. Isaac – The Love Boat’s very own Lando Calrissian (because he was smooth, not because he was black).
3. Horshack – Living proof that you can be both a dork and a nerd.
2. Mrs. Roper – Television’s first Desperate Housewife.
1. And last but not least I give you The Ghetto Cassanova himself… J.J. Evans.
There are so many reasons why the seventies were awesome that I needed to narrow it down to just one letter, and that letter is F. First, we begin with the obvious choice, FASHION. Or better yet, FAIL.
And what post about the seventies would be complete without FARRAH HAIR. When I was a little dark haired girl all I had to look up to for a media role model was a blonde beach bunny named Farrah. My Italian boy cousins however, got to have a television icon and Guido Extraordinaire, FONZIE. Seriously not fair.
Next we have FOGHAT, FRAMPTON AND FREDDIE. I’d like to think there’s a special place in music heaven for Freddie Mercury.
I’d also like to think there’s a special place in automotive hell for whatever sadist “revamped” the 1974 Mustang in order to better handle the rising costs of gasoline thanks to the imposed FUEL EMBARGO. Pure Sacrilege.
For some reason, interior designers of the seventies were all about the concept of designing for the FUTURE. Apparently, the world will exist on nothing but shag carpeting, paneling, polished chrome and FORMICA.
One of the biggest events of the seventies was the advent of FREE AGENCY in sports. No longer “owned” by teams, a player could broker his own deal, essentially selling himself to the highest bidder (Confused? Watch Jerry Maguire). Pete Rose was one of the first to leverage his talent for the best deal. I’m sure he did great things with that extra cash.
Now a nod toward Pop Culture; namely FADS, FEVER and FRANK-N-FURTER.
BUT WHAT REALLY MADE THE SEVENTIES GREAT WAS:
Oh man, I’ve gone and done it. I made the mistake of commenting on a SciFi blog. Finally watching the Star Wars Trilogy deluded me into thinking that I had a sufficient handle on the SciFi world enough to comment on it.
Boy, was I WRONG.
It all started innocently enough the day I stumbled onto a blog post about SciFi Fandom. Still high from my Star Wars euphoria I mistakenly mentioned in a comment how I am a fan of SciFi now and how I enjoyed Star Wars, specifically Chewbacca. Unfortunately for me the post was about Star Trek. Apparently these franchises occupy two completely different sets of fandom. Silly me thought that they both fell under the same SciFi umbrella.
Luckily for me the host of this blog is a real class act, and graciously agreed with my assertion of Chewbacca’s uber awesomeness despite my ignorant Star Trek faux pas. I wasn’t so lucky in the comments, however. An individual who refers to himself as “Anonymous” let me know in no uncertain terms that Star Trek and Star Wars are two separate franchises despite the fact that they are both set in space. He then went on to call me “Lumpy McPlumperson” or something to that effect. I’m paraphrasing you see; because I am terrified that if I don’t make this right I may just disrupt the space/time continuum or tear open wormholes or create some cataclysmic event to bring about the end the universe as we know it. So in the interest of intergalactic peace I’d like to take this opportunity to make amends.
I’d like to apologize for my ignorance in regards to your beloved choice of fandom. While I may be a novice in the world of science fiction I certainly understand the concept of loyalty to one’s affiliations. I imagine I’d feel similarly offended if someone insisted New York was part of New England or that substituting Spanish words for Italian ones is an acceptable practice because they’re “close enough.” So if you’d be so kind, I’d like to offer you an olive branch:
** LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED BY ANTI-STAR WARS SENTIMENT **
** HEAD OVER TO SIGHTSNBYTES’S BLOG FOR HIS OWN TAKE ON THE SciFi EXPERIENCE **
Awarded to those folks that recently bravely fought in, showed exceptional bravery and valor in, and then survived, unscathed, the now infamous “Monty Python and the Holy Grail Holy War Blog Apocalypse Mudslinging Shoutfest of 2011 presented by Depends Undergarments.”
FELLOW HONORED RECIPIENTS ARE AS FOLLOWS:
Miranda at Scattering Moments
Lisa at Woman Wielding Words
Jamie at The Life of Jamie.
Steve at The Odd Ramblings
Tori at The Ramblings
Mrs. Firepants at whatimeant2say
Sparrow at Sparrow’s Ramblings
Jackie at The Slowvelder
nrhatch at Spirit lights the Way
Blog buddy John Erickson (No blog)
My Blonde Cousin Whitney (No blog)
In order to receive my award, adherence to the following rules is mandatory:
1. You must display this award on your own blog so that others will know of your service and bravery. – DONE AND DONE.
2. You must do a solo interpretive dance to any 70′s Disco song of your choice, preferrably while wearing underwear. I ONLY WEAR UNDERWEAR WHILE I POLKA. DISCO IS STRICTLY DONE COMMANDO.
3. You must list on your blog, or in comments to this post, a detailed description of your most embarrassing obsessive-compulsive disorder affliction: IT IS PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO READ A MAGAZINE FROM FRONT TO BACK. BEING LEFT-HANDED, I FIND IT EASIER TO READ IT BACKWARDS. CANNOT MAKE MYSELF READ IT THE OTHER WAY.
4. You must try to visit at least 3 new blogs today. Go to blogs you already visit and then visit the the blogs of 3 commenters who’s blogs you have never visited. I HAVE VISITED ALL OF THE ABOVE!
5. You must approach someone within your family, workplace, or school, that is obviously having a bad day, and you must grab them by the shoulders, shake them violently if needed, and then scream at the top of your lungs…”Lighten up already!! SMILE!!!! Life is too freaking short to be in a bad mood!!!” If you honestly have no one you can accost, a small pet, toy, stuffed animal, or ham, will also work. AS A MATTER OF FACT I DID THAT VERY THING THIS MORNING! ALL IT GOT ME WAS A LONG, RAMBLING FOLLOW-UP EMAIL HAVING SOMETHING TO DO WITH ATHEISM…
AND NOW TO YOU, DEAR IDIOT; MY FELLOW “FUNK-BUDDY” I GIVE YOU MY FAVORITE FUNK SONG OF ALL TIME!
I know I should be above something like this, but I’m sorry, I’m not. This is just too funny for me to pass up. Recently a fellow blogger put out a very funny, very harmless post about MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL. For some reason another blogger named Neil (he offered his name) raped the shit out of XXXX’s comments. (I’ve chosen to respect the blogger’s privacy by replacing his name with XXXX. As you read on you’ll see why). When XXXX blocked his subsequent comments, Neil did what any self-respecting, sane individual would do. He blasted everyone who commented on XXXX’s post, including me.
BIG. FUCKING. MISTAKE.
Since I can resist anything but temptation I took the liberty of answering his questions. You’ll see them in italics after his answers. Feel free to agree or disagree as you see fit. So without further interruption I give you…NEIL!
DO YOU LIKE PEOPLE LYING ABOUT YOU? I DO NOT! Well thank you for defending me!
I read your post in reply to XXXX’s lies about me and so I shall ask if you believe in Truthfulness, Honor, Honesty. Integrity and Fairness or not? Yeah, I’m gonna go with “Not.” I’m morally compromised. Easier to get laid that way.
IF YOU DO BELIEVE IN THOSE THINGS, THEN METHINKS YOU’LL BOTH READ AND CAREFULLY CONSIDER MY RESPONSE. METHINKS THOU HATH A WORD BONER FOR JOLLY OLDE ENGLAND.
Do you not think it is rational, intelligent and logical to know BOTH sides BEFORE rushing to judgement? “Not…think…” the negatives are giving me SAT flashbacks.
Should you not have the facts BEFORE you agree with XXXX is? Great. Now I have the FACTS OF LIFE theme song stuck in my head. Thanks a lot, douche.
Has it not occurred to you that simply because he writes an entertaining blog and calls himself an Idiot, he is telling the truth? It’s been a while since I had to diagram a sentence, but I’m pretty sure you just exonerated him here.
The facts are that I have a many, many year reputation for being extremely honest and truthful. Many, many a year, but not ALL of them. From 1978-1982 he was known as “Big Daddy Pimp Master.”
In 1964 JUMPING JEHOSEPHAT JUST HOW OLD ARE YOU?! a friend & co-worker at NCR’s Electronic Division where I was supervising the manufacture of the old large main frame computer’s gave me the nick name of “Nasty Neil”
Brain…on…overload. Can…not…process. Shutting…down…
When I asked him (John Shensky) why he had chosen “Nasty Neil” for my nick name, John replied: “Because you like to go down on me after we…” Oh wait, it’s right here:
“It is because you are always telling the truth and most people do not like hearing the truth.” I like my answer better.
XXXX has just proven he is a perfect example of someone who can not handle the truth! XXXX and Tom Cruise have a lot in common. Well, they have THIS in common. I’m assuming XXXX isn’t a dick who can’t act.
I can, and on request, will supply reference after reference from people who have known me for longer than XXXX has been alive. Some of my references could go back to 1948! They COULD go back to 1948. But I’m thinking everyone who knew this guy put bullets in their heads somewhere around 1949.
Here is one of them. It is what Phil Ronca sent me. I served with Phil in “B” Battery, 321st FA, 101st Airborne in the 1959 to 1962 time frame. We finally in (thanks to the internet) got back into contact in 2010,
You are one of the most honest and good men I know and I have always told every one so” I’m betting Phil hasn’t been laid since 1962.
AND You were always a good guy and with a good heart. (Until he stumbled across Brainrants’s post about peanut butter and bacon sandwiches).
that is why I was trying to get in touch with you.” (If you want Phil’s email address, just ask.)
Oh sweet Jesus…
Neil, buddy, you have NO idea what you’ve just done! As I type this I am staring at an empty bottle of Adderall and that, my friend, does not bode well for you. Because let me tell you, I’m gonna stuff your boy’s inbox with so many naked pictures of Abe Vigoda he’ll swear it’s a Fire Island butthole. Seriously, when I get through with him your buddy Phil is gonna pound you into hydrogen fusion, I shit you not.
Ok, now to one of the LIES XXXX told about me. Was it the one where you’re part of a gay two-man act called “Bob and Neil” who perform on the strip in Atlantic City? Oh, that’s the truth. Sorry. Carry on.
As far as I can remember, As far as you can remember? It was yesterday Methuselah! (Our boy Neil here is an atheist, so I doubt he’ll get the reference)
the following is about what I posted as a reply to his blog about the movie “Monty Python and The Holy Grail”
I LOVE THE MOVIE Read – “BONERRRIFIC!”
And I am sure all of my fellow members in the 4 organizations listed below loved it as well. I’m sorry, but I do not believe in any of those organizations.
We are some of those who have realized main reason most religious people believe in the religion they do and in the number of gods they is simply due to who raised them Yeah, I’m thinking we need to give Lazarus a pass on this one.
We realize had we (or they) been raised as a Jew, we would be a Jew, and the same for being a Moslem or a Christian. And we would believe in a single god. On the other hand, had we been raised as a Hindu or a member of the Shinto religion, we would believe in Many gods. I think you mean Manny Godds, the guy who sells plasma screens off the back of a truck down on Fifth Avenue.
As XXXX did NOT allow this reply to be posted, I ASKED him if he was a religious bigot of not? Is that like “days of yore?”
“Neil – No …. I am not a religious bigot…. I just think that publishing a long rambling tirade against all religion as a comment on a movie comedy post is not appropriate. If you care to comment about the actual MOVIE…feel free…. if you want to rant and rave about anything else….go elsewhere Damn it, you sane bastard! You’re ruining my shtick!
So I sent him a reply in which I said things like: “Well XXXX, you have just proven you really honestly are an Actual Real Idiot! The less popular companion to the “Real” Girl Doll
1. NO, “Oh So Totally Clueless One, my post was NOT “a long rambling tirade against all religion” “Totally Clueless”? Why does Father Time here speak like a twelve year-old cheerleader?
2. Are you so brain dead you actually believe Two or Three short paragraphs are “a long rambling tirade against all religion”? Oh, I sooo want to follow this dude on Twitter.
3. And FYI, “Oh So Illogical One” what I posted was NOT “against” religion in the Least. Wait, the Crypt Keeper knows “text” speak?! Yeah, I’m onto you Ashley.
I simply explained why most religious people ARE religious in the first place and why they believe in the number of gods the do in the second place. (IF YOU THINK I AM WRONG, WHERE IS YOUR PROOF AND/OR YOUR LOGICAL REASONS I AM?)
Alright brain buster, let me get this straight. You’re suggesting the only reason we believe what we do is because we were taught to believe it? Then riddle me this: Despite the fact that I was raised in a strict Catholic family, I find that if I don’t masturbate 2 to 3 times a day I run the risk of stabbing someone in the eye with a pencil. Your logic dictates that I should behave as I was raised. See the flaw?
And yet, it seems YOU ARE TO DENSE to be able to comprehend these simple facts! So THAT’S my problem. I’m DENSE! Yeah, I can live with that. Now where are my batteries…
4. IF you actually had a fully functioning logical brain, you would know “Monty Python and The Holy Grail” a Movie you raved about, is MUCH MORE of an ATTACK on Religion (and bunnies) than was ANYTHING I said!
While I had attempted to post my reply, he had already banned me from being able to reply as well as launching his tirade and his LIES about me.
Worse. Than. Stalin.
I thank you for your time
Neil C. Reinhardt
“A 76 year old Pro Iraq War Agnostic Atheist Activist, a former member of management in some of America’s Top 500 corporations, 101st Airborne Vet,
It’s like he’s getting paid by the “A.”
An Iconoclastic, Philosophizing, Deep Sea Diving, Crime Stopping, Beach Volley Ball Playing Grumpy Old Son Of A Beach!”
RIGHT ON MAUDE!