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Posts tagged “dance

Interview with the King of the Leprechauns

Today for our holiday interview we are lucky to have with us Fergus O’Malley, King of the Leprechauns.

You seem angry, Fergus. Can you tell us why?

Because of today, that’s why. We Leprechauns spend every Saint Paddy’s Day in hiding.

But I would have thought you’d be happy on Saint Patrick’s Day. Isn’t it an Irish holiday?

Saint Patrick can kiss my arse. His holiday has nuttin’ to do with Leprechauns or the Irish. It has to do with him bein’ chuffed and converting pagans to Christians. Patty boy can take his church and stuff it.

Does that mean you’d be in favor of your own holiday?

Jesus, Mary and Joseph no – we Leprechauns wish to be left alone. Every year it’s the same thing; tourists come from all around to visit Ireland to steal our gold. The worst are the Italians. Nuttin’ but a bunch of sausage stuffing pasta eaters.

Alright now, that’s enough about the Italians.

Ahh…why is that lass? Do you be one of ‘em?

Well, if you must know yes; I am Italian as well as Irish.

Ahh…the Saints have mercy on ya’. I was in love with an Irish/Italian girl once. Her name was Erin Go Braughless. A milkmaid, dontcha know. She had the strongest hands in the county. Why I remember once I stood on a stool and then she-

That’s quite enough of that. What’s the hardest thing about being a Leprechaun?

Aye, I’d have to say visiting America. The children chase us through the streets for our Lucky Charms. In Ireland, lucky charms are me wee bits, not a breakfast cereal.

Wow, I can see why you’d be angry. What is the one thing you’d like the world to know about Leprechauns?

That our shoe size is no indicator of our grand–

AND that concludes our interview with Fergus O’Malley, King of the Leprechauns. Return April 1st for our exclusive interview with Loki, the God of mischief. 


When Bad Videos Happen to Good Musicians

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The advent of Mtv was both a blessing and a curse for me as a kid. Once musicians had the ability to act in their videos, they somehow felt the need to put on a show as opposed to simply performing their songs. Sometimes, as was the case with Billy Idol, it turned out to be a good thing. I remember as a kid sitting transfixed in front of the television whenever REBEL YELL came on, staring at the screen and thinking some very, very grown-up thoughts about this bleach-blonde wonder. And who can forget THRILLER? I remember exactly where I was the first time I watched that video. I can do the dance to this day.

Sadly, not all my experiences were as positive as the ones I’ve mentioned. Not every singer is a star, as music video history has shown us. I’ve dredged up some memories (and hit the YouTube) for a sample of some of the worst offenders. It’s time to buckle in folks, because this is going to be painful. We start our list of bad videos that happened to good musicians with:

KISS – LICK IT UP

I brought a KISS lunch box to the first day of kindergarten, that’s how big a fan I was as a kid. You can appreciate my shock and horror the first time I was subjected to…well, whatever the hell this is. I still haven’t forgiven them.

Damn Yankees – HIGH ENOUGH

The next video is every bit as tragic as the previous one because it features the cataclysmic crash and burn of one of rock’s best guitar legends: Ted Nugent. That’s right, Mr. Cat Scratch Fever himself joined a band who called themselves Damn Yankees- a band that can only be described as having all the raw sex appeal of the Traveling Wilburys, minus the badassery. Click play and see for yourself. The only thing in a Stranglehold in this video are Ted’s balls, clenched tightly in the fist of whomever he sold them out to.

David Bowie – CHINA GIRL

I imagine Bowie fans will come down on me for the next offering, but I will stand my ground. Yes, David Bowie is known for being unconventional and avante guarde, so the oddness of this video should come as no surprise. I contend that it is the utter lack of Bowiesque influence that bothers me most. It’s as if he’s trying to reinvent himself as a lounge singer. Not what I expected from Major Tom. And don’t get me started on the creepy pedophilic vibe running throughout this epic disaster.

David Bowie & Mick Jagger – DANCING IN THE STREET

It seems that whatever Bowie touched in the 80′s turned to musical “Meh,” as demonstrated in this technicolor nightmare featuring the once great Mick Jagger. This video is what I imagine homely girls do for fun at sleepovers. And…now I have no more followers.

Van Halen – TATTOO

This next one may be a bit controversial, since I am not entirely sure this song was good to begin with. It’s the rocking out on the down beat that does it in for me. On the flip side, it’s good to see Carol Channing getting steady work again.

Journey – SEPARATE WAYS

Even the most die-hard metalhead will admit to the powerhouse talent that is Steve Perry and to the awesomeness of this song, no matter how lame and sad this video portrays them all. Journey should have issued a fatwā on the dude who put this crap together. 


We have finally reached the top of the crap heap, to the musical spooge floating to the top of the bad video barrel. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the shiniest turd of them all:

Billy Squier – ROCK ME TONIGHT

Poor, poor Billy Squier. No musical career has been harmed by a video performance more than Richard Simm- uh, I mean, Billy Squier’s. ROCK ME TONIGHT was Billy’s biggest hit before this video came out, which makes me wonder who fell asleep at the wheel and hit “go” on this piece of musical holocaust. DISCLAIMER: Pregnant women and people with heart conditions should refrain from watching the following video:

There you have it, folks. My personal list of bad videos that ruined good musicians. If you can think of any I missed, feel free to leave them in the comments. On that note I will leave you with a palate cleanser from my youth. Please to enjoy, WINGER. Feel free to listen with the sound off.


A Tiny Thumbelina Tale

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imagesPinch me because I must be dreaming. Today we have another amazing addition to the Blogger Compilation Project better known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES (I know, I know, the asterisk fools no one, but I’m trying to class my blog up, okay?)

Anyway, this little bit o’ tome comes from none other than our very own Beach Bunny Sandy Floyd, better known to Blogworld as Sandylikeabeach. Her take on the classic Thumbelina is as witty, clever and brilliant as this tiny writing powerhouse is herself. Please to enjoy, A TINY THUMBELINA TALE.

 

by Sandy Floyd 

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but I always wanted to start the story of my life with that line. I have no idea if it was a dark and stormy night on the night of my birth or if I was even born at night. I was just a baby so I have no clear memories of the event. I’m not even sure I should start at the beginning. So let’s begin again.

I’m special. Well, as special as a person can be in a world populated by people, each one thinking he or she is special. Of course, if we’re all special, then special isn’t really special. It’s ordinary. It is the normal order of things. But I’m the Abby Normal of ordinary though my name isn’t Abby.

I wish it was Abby. Christ! I got stuck with an awful name. I swear to God, if there is one, that if I ever have children I will not stick them with some cutesy or super esoteric or just plain fucking weird name. And the lovely name that was bestowed on me? Thumbelina. What the fuck? Who names a kid Thumbelina? What the hell is a Thumbelina? I loathed my name. I shortened it to Tina. However, there was always that one teacher who insisted on calling every child by his or her proper name, no nicknames allowed. And of course, the first day of school each year my embarrassing name would be called out and I would have to acknowledge it and then say, “But I just go by Tina.” Then the more compassionate teachers would make a note on their rosters but the damage was done. The more obnoxious poets among my class liked to chant “Tiny Tina, Thumbelina” whenever I happened by.

Of course, even without the embarrassing weird name, I still would have been teased because of the tiny thing. Just as it’s not easy being green, it’s not easy being tiny and tiny is what I am though I’m not green and tiny, just tiny. Though now that I think about it, if green is the color of your species, then how hard can it be to be green? And if tiny is the size of your species, then being tiny wouldn’t be hard either, but tiny is not the size of my species so being tiny is not easy except that it is easy to be overlooked and easy to be treated like a child and easy to be thought of as younger than you really are which will be nice when I get older.

I am a very small person though not dwarf small, and unlike most dwarfs, I am exquisitely proportioned. But if other people didn’t feel compelled to state the obvious by telling me how small I am, I would rarely think about my lack of height unless I needed to get something off the top shelf at the grocery store. Of course, I’m sure one of the functions of the lowest shelf is to serve as a step for those of us who are vertically challenged to reach the stuff we need that is always on the top shelf. And I will admit to always being surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or some sort of reflective surface standing next to a normal sized person. Honest to God, again, if there is one, I look like a miniature person.

So despite all my name loathing during my formative years living on a farm with my foster mother after being abandoned as an infant with a note pleading for someone to take care of “our little Thumbelina” thus dooming me to a lifetime of name loathing and forever linking me to a shadowy group of people with weird names, my feelings about my name took a somewhat nuanced turn. Translation: I figured out how to cash in.

Upon my successful completion of high school, I knew college was a financial impossibility. I also knew that I did not want to spend the best years of my life waiting on people be it as a waitress or a retail worker. Cubicle life sounded no better. So having no moral compass, or any compass at all, I decided to put my decidedly good looks, flexibility and passion for my passion to good use. I became a tiny stripper and Thumbelina was my tiny stripper name even though that name is not tiny and doesn’t often, or possibly ever, come up in that internet what is your stripper name thing. But I was dancing and dancing made me happy. It also made me money.

Now some people might think stripping is demeaning and they have valid arguments and indeed, I would agree it is demeaning if the stripping is involuntary. However, if stripping is a personal choice, there is power in that choice. And pardon the obvious use of the word, but stripped of its moral questions, at its heart, it is art expressed in a very specific form of dance. The best strippers embrace this. I know I did, and I was one of the best. I even won the International Pole Dance Championship a couple of years ago. Though to be fair, Miss Australia probably would have won if she hadn’t had that embarrassingly awkward slide down the pole. A little lube goes a long way.

You might not think that a strip club would be the best place to meet the love of your life and before it happened to me, I would have agreed with you, but then it happened to me though the actual meeting thing took place in a coffee shop across the street from the club, but that first sighting was in the club. He was part of a bachelor party though not the part that was The Bachelor. He was just one of The Bachelor’s buddies helping The Bachelor celebrate one of his last nights of bachelorhood.

He didn’t look like the usual regulars, but boy, did he look good. He had this tall, dark and handsome bad boy with the scruffy beard thing going on even though he wasn’t particularly tall or dark, but he was definitely handsome. And he had that scruffy beard thing which looks great on a male model, though male might be redundant because no one ever thinks a scruffy beard would look good on a female model, but I’m not typically a fan of the scruffy facial hair decision. It’s not even a decision. It’s a mark of indecision. Make a choice, already. Grow a beard or shave, but damn, it looked good on him.

I could have looked at him all night. I didn’t, because I also wanted my usual haul of tips and it’s not just the dancing that does the trick, you have to make eye contact and smile at everyone to make the most tips. But I did glance his way every now and then, and each time, he was looking at me, but not in the way the usual strip club attendee does. When our eyes would meet, he smiled ever so slightly. It was warm and sweet and it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

After my shift that night, a couple of the other dancers and I headed to the coffee shop for our usual after work confab. We settled in a booth and that’s when I noticed him. He was at the counter and he was alone. I’ve never been a big fan of fate, but fate might be a fan of me, because as fate would have it, Amber’s phone rang.

“Ugh, that was the sitter,” she said as she returned her phone to her handbag. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. Jason has a touch of a fever so I need to get home. See you later, TIna.”

“You going, too?” I asked Nina.

“Yeah, she’s my ride tonight. Good night, TIna.”

“Bye NIna, bye Amber. Hope Jason’s feeling better soon.”

The girls had no sooner walked out the door when the scruffy beard guy appeared at my table.

“Mind if I join you? I’ve never been a fan of eating alone.” His voice was like velvet – soft and smooth. A voice that could be on the radio, maybe a classic rock station or maybe even smooth jazz although much of what smooth jazz stations play isn’t even jazz, it’s more yesterday’s pop and soft rock.

“Um,” I hesitated because it’s usually not a good idea to get involved with customers, but he was good looking and he smelled good, or maybe that was the bacon cooking in the kitchen, but he looked and seemed to smell good enough to eat and I was hungry.

“It’s just a little food and conversation,” he said. And then he smiled.

“Yeah, company would be great.” I smiled back.

He slid into the booth across from me and smiled that smile. “I’m Cooper.”

I wasn’t sure if Cooper was his first name or last name, so I asked. My foster mom always told me I shouldn’t ask too many personal questions too soon, but how else do you find out stuff that you’d be wondering about and all that wondering would keep you from being able to concentrate on the conversation. And I was going to need all the help with concentration because I wasn’t really thinking about having a conversation with him, if you catch my drift.

“It’s my first name. It’s a little unusual but I like it.”

“It’s a great name. I’m..”

“Thumbelina. The tiny dancer.”

“I go by TIna.”

“How’d you come up with Thumbelina for a stage name?”

“It’s my real name. And you thought Cooper was unusual.”

He laughed and his laugh was even better than his smile. “Well, I think Thumbelina is a beautiful name. It rhymes with ballerina and you are an exquisitely beautiful dancer.”

He had me at ‘exquisitely,’ or maybe he had me at ‘mind if I join you.’ It doesn’t really matter when he had me, much like it doesn’t matter when the heart finds love, only that it does and mine did that night. We talked for hours or it seemed that way. At last, we noticed the night was easing into dawn and we made our way to the parking lot. He asked me where I was parked and I pointed to my car.

“I’m right next to you,” he said.

“That’s your bike? It’s gorgeous.” Though I didn’t add ‘just like you,’ but I was thinking it.

“Yeah, you like bikes?”

“I’ve never been on one but it looks like fun.”

“It’s just about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”

“I always thought that about dancing, but of course, I don’t always keep my clothes on for that.”

He laughed. “Here’s my number. Call me and we’ll go for a ride. And you can keep your clothes on the whole time.”

I smiled at him and climbed in my car. “It was nice meeting you, Cooper.”

“See you soon, tiny dancer.”

A few days later I had my first bike ride. I climbed on the bike behind him and as I wrapped my arms around his waist I said, “I think this is going to be the best part of the ride.”

He laughed. “Not by a long shot. Hang on.”

And off we went. He was partially right. Holding on to him wasn’t the best part, but it wasn’t the best part by a long shot. It was a very close second. The ride was exhilarating. Sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder, the wind in my face was a great feeling. We spent the afternoon on country roads, stopping here and there to admire the scenery or grab a bite to eat.

It was just like one of those Hollywood movie montages the writers employ because they suck at writing dialogue. And it did feel like one of those too good to be true but wouldn’t it be lovely if it could happen to me Hollywood scenarios right up until it turned into a killer zombie movie but without the killer zombies, but Killer Bees instead. But not African killer bees, but the biker gang. I know it sounds like a silly name, but the backs of their jackets have this evil looking killer bee and they used a sinister typeface for the name, so it doesn’t just sound silly, it looks silly, too. But I kept my silly thoughts to myself.

We ran into the Killer Bees at Roady Toadies, a little dive bar on the outskirts of town. Of course, we didn’t know the bikes we saw outside meant there were Killer Bees inside. In fact, Cooper said he recognized one of the bikes as belonging to a friend of his. We walked inside and let our eyes adjust to the light after being in the bright sun. Cooper spotted his friend and we headed over to where he was sitting.

“Jack, this is Thumbelina. Thumbelina, this is my good friend, Jack Sparrow.”

“Like the Johnny Depp character?”

“No,” Jack said. “I had the name first but I like to think he got his character’s inspiration from me.”

Cooper laughed and said, “I think he got the inspiration from Keith Richards.”

I smiled at Jack. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Likewise. Thumbelina, huh? That’s not a name you hear everyday.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied, except that I was hearing it more today then I usually do and right about then, a loud voice behind me bellowed my name again.

“Thumbelina! I’d recognize that ass anywhere even covered in jeans.”

I turned around and there was the biggest Killer Bee I had ever seen. Of course, it was the first Killer Bee I had ever seen so thinking it was the biggest one ever was a big mistake. Behind the loudmouth Killer Bee, were more Killer Bees and they were even bigger than Mr. Bigmouth which was how I was coming to think of him. Mr. Bigmouth didn’t look familiar and I had never seen men attired in Killer Bee attire in the Pussycats club. But he was looking at me, the way hungry men look at a grilled steak.

And before I could reply, Mr. Bigmouth looked around at his buddies and said, “Boys, this is your lucky day. We have a celebrity in our midst. This here itty bitty thing is Thumbelina, stripper extraordinaire!” Then he looked at me and said, “I watch your World Pole Dance routine on YouTube all the time.” He glanced at Cooper and added, “She won the championship a couple of years ago. You know that?”

“No, I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She is quite extraordinary.”

If I hadn’t already fallen in love with Cooper, I would have right then especially since he didn’t know about how Miss Australia should have won except for that embarrassing slip or in her case, slide down the pole.

But Mr. Bigmouth wasn’t done. “Why don’t you dance for us Thumbelina? Just climb right up on the bar and show us what you got.”

“You can see me dance at Pussycats,” I replied in an even tone.

“I want to see you dance right now!”

Cooper stepped between us, “Leave the lady alone.”

“She ain’t no lady.”

And then Cooper slugged Mr. Bigmouth.

“I’m not a fan of double negatives either, but I usually refrain from hitting the illiterate,” I said to him.

“I would have slugged him even if he was grammatically correct. No one gets away with saying you’re not a lady.”

But before we could congratulate ourselves on just how clever our repartee was becoming, all hell broke loose. It was the three of us, okay two of us because I’m not much good in a fight and I’m really tiny, against all those Killer Bees. Fists were flying, glass was breaking and I was ducking. I could feel strong arms around me pulling me backwards and then everything went dark.

I wasn’t unconscious, just locked in a closet. I banged on the door, but I guess Cooper couldn’t hear me over all the noise of the fight and last I saw, he and Jack seemed to be on the losing end. After what seemed like an hour but was probably much shorter because everything seems to take longer when you’re locked inside a closet, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. My heart stopped, but not because I got shot but because I was afraid of who might have. I could hear voices but I couldn’t make out what was being said or who was talking. Then it got quiet again, so I started banging on the door and screaming to be let out.

The door opened and a rather mousey looking woman was standing there.

“It’s all right, dear. Toadie put you in there. He thought you’d be safer in there.” She smiled at me and there was kindness in her eyes.

“Toadie is a real person?” I couldn’t believe how many people had parents that made such bad choices when naming their kids.

The mousey woman laughed. “Oh, he’s real all right, but Toadie is a nick name he picked up when he was a roadie for Z Z Top back in the day. I’m Mrs. Fields, Toadie’s mother. I help out in the kitchen.”

I refrained from asking her for a chocolate chip cookie and instead asked about my friends.

“Well, they’re a little banged up, but no permanent damage. Come and see for yourself.”

She led me through the kitchen and into the bar. I spotted Toadie right away because he looked like a toad, kind of like how that senator looks like a turtle. Toadie was holding a shotgun but when he saw me, he smiled and said, “Sorry to stick you in the closet like that, but a bar fight is no place for such a pretty little lady.”

“No worries, Toadie. Thanks for looking out for me.” I was looking around for Cooper and Jack. “Where are my friends?”

“They’re in the john cleaning themselves up. Those Killer Bees did a number on them, but as badass as they think they are when you point a shotgun in their general direction and let it discharge, they run away like little girls.”

I laughed. Then I heard a noise behind me.

“She does have an incredible ass, Coop.”

I turned around and flew into Cooper’s arms. “Everything about her is incredible,” Cooper replied.

“I think I’m in love,” I sighed.

He smiled at me, “I know I am.”

Jack said his goodbyes and left the bar. Cooper looked at me, “Ready to ride off into the sunset to that happily ever after place?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that. Especially if that place has a bed big enough for two.”

He held my hand as we walked out of the bar. We climbed on his bike and he looked back at me.

“Too bad it’s midnight,” he said.

“Midnight will do.”


Happy Birthday Tim Curry!!!

TODAY IS THE BIRTHDAY OF MY MOST FAVORITE ACTOR OF ALL TIME….TIM CURRY!!!!

I remember the first time I saw Tim Curry on the big screen. It was in a now defunct movie theater in Windsor, Connecticut with my best friend (yes, Quinn I’m talking about you) who dragged me kicking and screaming to see the movie ANNIE. I remember everyone HATING the character of Rooster but I was absolutely smitten. I loved his voice, the way he moved, his eyes, EVERYTHING about him.

It was just a few years later that I was dragged to another movie theater (yes, Quinn this was you again) in nothing but my bra and panties to see Tim Curry in the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. Let me digress for a moment here…
Have you ever had an experience as a kid that forever changed your life? That molded and shaped how you saw the world and yourself in it for years to come? Yes, that was what Tim Curry’s FRANK-N-FURTER character did for me. Since then I’ve made a point to either see or hear everything he’s ever done in his career (even Pennywise the clown. That’s how deep my love goes).

Now, I’m not one to go all gushy when meeting celebrities (my life spent as a somewhat groupie kept my Starstruck meter in check) but if I were to meet Tim Curry in the flesh I’d fucking cum in colors, I shit you not (suck on that sentence, Freshly Pressed). So here’s to you, Tim Curry, for another glorious year with you in it!


Welcome To My Desktop

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am an extremely restless individual, and that every now and then I’ve got to switch things up. It could be something as easy as driving a different car for a while, or something as epic as painting my bedroom hot pink.

Since I’ve taken on more hours at work, the switching up has been happening at my desk, or more specifically, my desktop, to the amusement of my many co-workers. So for the amusement of you all, I share with you today a gallery of my ever-changing desktop wallpaper.

Ah…yes. The General Lee. My first love.

Mmm…The Metallicar. My present love.

Next we have two pics that are the perfect marriage of humor and music, Tenacious D. and Dethklok. If you don’t know who they are, I suggest hitting the Google immediately. If you don’t like them, well…we can’t be friends.

Now we have the two greatest bands I’ve ever had the good fortune of hanging out with backstage. Lit and Godsmack. Boys and their tattoos. Dreamy.

Why Lemmy? Because Lemmy is God, that’s why.

Next we have two of the greatest influences of my life: Roller Derby and Charles Bukowski. Bukowski touched me deeply on the inside, and Roller Derby smacked the crap out of me on the outside.

Because I can’t download porn.

Next are two pics of my seldom seen daughter, Babygirl. The one above was taken on Halloween when she was two years-old. Her father wanted her to be a princess, but she wanted to be a “basketball boy.” You see who won. (Yes, that is a regulation sized basketball. She was, and still is, very tiny). The one below was taken in our backyard with my nephew. I plan on writing a story just so I can use that pic as a book cover.

Last but not least, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, my all time favorite desktop wallpaper pic ever!!!!!

Doesn’t this pic just say it all?


The Tortoise and O’Hare

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Today we have an offering from the Great White North in the form of a fable told by the illustrious Archon’s Den. Here is his take on the classic fable The Tortoise and the Hare!

THE TORTOISE AND O’HARE

by Archon,

Once upon a time, just outside New Haven, Conn., a  little rabbit was born.  His parents  lovingly called him Bunny, though, as he got older he felt he outgrew that  name.  Bunny was very smart.  He worked and studied hard at school and  got great marks.  Bunny wanted to  make something of himself, so with outstanding SAT scores, he applied to  Yale.

His parents paid for his education with bags of plump,  juicy carrots that they saved up over the years, and the occasional sack of  beets.  Bunny applied himself and  graduated from the Business Management course with flying colors.

He told his parents that he was going to get a job as a  financial advisor, and hopped his way down to New York City.  After waving his diploma under a few  noses, he got himself hired by no less than Merrill Lynch.  Here, he insisted on celebrating his  Irish Rabbit heritage, and began going by the name Seamus O’Hare.

While all this was occurring, just south of the border  in Mexico, there was a young turtle named Diego Tortuga trying to follow the  same path.  His parents traded  mescal to pay to have him attend a decent community college.  At least it was a real school, rather  than just one of those diploma mills.

When he graduated with marks as good as O’Hare’s, he  kissed his mother and father goodbye….verrryy sloowwlyy, and floated across  the Rio Grande.  Then he managed to  hitch-hike his way all the way to New York with a trucker, hauling back a semi,  loaded with Corona beer.  With great  good fortune, he also managed to obtain a position with Merrill Lynch, and began  working in the same division as O’Hare, who was immediately dismissive of  him.

O’Hare was a high energy broker, often leaping at new  investments without doing enough research.  He made money for his clients, and for himself, but was often distracted,  by a new girlfriend or a car-show at the Gardens.  He made fun of Tortuga’s slow, plodding,  but steadily productive methods of money management.

One day, after Diego had defended his careful planning,  Seamus O’Hare suggested a “race.”  The first one within a year to achieve a personal worth of $1,000,000,  would receive another ten thousand dollars from the loser.  Tortuga accepted the challenge, and the Race was on.

Shortly afterwards, the firm was joined by a Chinese  weasel, named Wun Raht Gai, educated in Beijing.  As he ensconced himself within the firm,  and learned of the competition between the two youngsters, his was disdainful of  them.  “Silly amateurs.” he  said.

Time passed, and the competition proceeded, with the  fortunes of both Tortuga and O’Hare increasing, Diego’s steadily, and Seamus’ by  leaps and bounds.  One day,  unbeknownst to each other, they both received a letter from Wun Raht Gai,  offering to help them cross the one million dollar finish line.

Tortuga’s letter said that the Chinese weasel had got  wind of a new process to remove Melamine from baby food.  O’Hare’s letter told of a new system to  get the lead out of children’s toys.  If they would just invest a quarter million dollars with him, he would  double it for them within thirty days.

Wun Raht Gai’s letters also said that he didn’t want  these investment opportunities to be overheard at the office, so they should  each bring the funds in cash to his apartment, to ensure privacy.

No-one seems to know exactly what happened to O’Hare,  and Diego the tortoise.  They each  just stopped coming to work at Merrill Lynch.  The Chinese weasel prospered in their  absence, taking over part of each of their *books*.  He moved into a beautiful penthouse  apartment.  There were some rumors  of him throwing a banquet and soiree for potential investors, where the featured  dishes were rabbit stew and turtle soup.


CITIZENS OF BLOGWORLD – I BESEECH YOU

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My fellow Blogglanders,

I’d like to take a moment to step outside of the humor box and use my blog post today as an opportunity to spread awareness for a cause I truly believe in.

There comes a time in the lives of all bloggers when we find a need to step back and reflect on our journey through the virtual utopia that is Blogworld. Some of us have come here to broaden our horizons and to find inspiration within the photo or travel blogs that pepper the Freshly Pressed page. Many of us find comfort and community amongst the animal lover or mommy blogs of WordPress. Still others use their blog to extract humor from the banality of the workday life and to share their plight with the blog world around them.

But once in a great while there comes a blogger who stands out among the rest- a blogger who effortlessly straddles the line between tragedy and comedy. A blogger who bucks convention with his often times controversial opinions on the validity of religion or the sanctity of marriage or the awesomeness of Star Trek. A blogger who challenges the status quo, strives to enlighten both men and women alike, and who boldly laughs in the face of clowns.

It is this singular blogger who I believe can deliver us all into an era of change and lead us down a path of righteousness and light. That is why I, Hellis of Bloggerland, am asking its citizens for their support and their vote for EDWARD HOTSPUR as champion of the BLOGGER IDOL contest.

“Amongst the weeds of the world, a flower grows…”

CAST YOUR VOTE FOR EDWARD HOTSPUR HERE:


***DATELINE – SANTA***

santa_arrested20721

// — NEWSLINE: NORTH POLE — //

Reuters

North Pole – The North Pole District Attorney announced today that his office would continue to pursue the prosecution of Santa Claus in spite of a new setback to Claus as his attorney, Jose Baez, removed himself from the growing Claus case after a successful appeal in the Pole Court.

Santa Claus, arraigned on a host of charges ranging from workplace safety violations and fraud, to prostitution and drug possession, now faces an uncertain future with a court-appointed advocate.

“I know this appears to be an abandonment of a major and beloved public figure, but I cannot in good conscience continue to represent Mr. Claus,” Baez said in a prepared press release yesterday.

When asked for a response, the DA merely said to reporters, “Mr. Baez’ statement says it all.”

Recent developments, however, have also added to the workload of the NPDA and his staff. In a heated court exchange last week, the DA was arguing for an injunction against Gloria Allred, the surprise attorney for Mrs. Claus in the concurrent and bitter divorce proceedings associated with this case. The DA requested the injunction due to the administrative burden Ms. Allred is apparently creating for the entire staff.

An unnamed source close to the DA, on the condition of anonymity, provided voice recordings, allegedly of the DA, stating, “If that bitch cries on the courthouse steps one more time, I’m going to personally rip out her uterus with salad tongs.”

In response, a representative for Ms. Allred stated that she would not stoop to the levels implied by that leak, but was very hurt by the implication that she even had reproductive organs.

Sources in the local legal community speculated that the DA is in fact overwhelmed with media requests and related issues.

“We just don’t get this kind of circus up here,” said one lawyer when asked about the issue, who went on to point out that the prior week was the break point for the DA’s Staff, which featured daily press conferences by Allred, as well as an appearance by Reverend Al Sharpton, who stood with Santa Claus after a prayer for justice.

“This is yet another example of the Establishment using its power in racist ways,” Sharpton said. “Santa Claus is a victim of racism, and we stand with him in his time of need. He is a brother, no matter white he is.”

The Sharpton rally soon turned violent, elevating this sleepy town to global attention, and the North Pole is now the growing focus of an Occupy rally, adding to the confusion here.

In light of all this publicity, one judge on the North Pole Circuit did say for the record, “The sooner this mess is over with, the better.”

FOLLOW THE DEBACLE:

SANTA SPAM PART ONE

SANTA SPAM PART TWO

SANTA SPAM PART THREE

SANTA SPAM UPDATE

UPDATE SANTA CLAUS

TRENDING NOW – SANTA CLAUS


Dear Hellis – A Letter To My Fifteen Year-Old Self

1987

I got this idea from fellow rockin’ chick Darlene at THE DAILY WOMAN. Make sure you check out her post which is witty and insightful as opposed to mine which is…well, you’ll see.

Dear Hellis,

You know how you are absolutely certain that you are going to take off to New York and become a dancer/artist/photographer after high school? Or how you are NEVER going to get married or have children, ever? Well here’s some advice I’d like to give you from the future to make your impending reality bearable.

1. Get off your high horse and date a nerd. Trust me on this.

2. Start studying for the S.A.T.s NOW.

3. Yeah, don’t get attached to all the awesome. Or to your ass, because in twenty years it is going to expand into epic proportions.

4. Your English Lit teacher is NOT correct. What you write will not forever be considered, “the sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate.”

5. Teenaged boys lie. Even the nice ones.

6. Don’t listen to your father.

7. No, your hair does NOT look cool like that.

8. George Michael is gay. Don’t waste your time.

9. What makes you popular at fifteen doesn’t mean shit when you’re forty. Grow a personality now.

10. DO NOT MARRY THE HOT ROMANIAN GUY BECAUSE HE LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THE LOST BOYS!!!!!

For more “Dear Me” letters visit CHATTING AT THE SKY.


Interview With…War

War

HE: Today we sit down with everyone’s favorite Horseman, War. Good morning, War. How was your trip to Earth?

WAR: Freakin’ awesome!  I missed the bus transfer in Purgatory, so I had to walk a some, but then this carful of female rodeo clowns gave me a ride in.  Say…do I have white makeup anywhere fun?

***

HE: *struggling not to look* What confounds you most about mortals?

WAR: Uh…nothin’.  Well, I guess sometimes I wonder why they go and hack and bludgeon the shit outta one another.  Y’all are so fucking good at it, I almost don’t need to try.

***

HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?

WAR: Battlefields, hands-down, and the bloodier the better.  Your inner cities aren’t bad these days either, on a small scale.

***

HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?

WAR: Shoot, do we have time for my list?  Porn star – that’s an obvious one.  I was thinkin’ doctor since I ain’t scared a blood. But the good kinda doctor like one of them Gyno…cogo-ologists, you know, the kind that looks at lady parts. Not one of them human butthole doctors. That shit ain’t right.  I was also thinking a vet might be awesome but only because I think the idea of having your entire arm up an elephant’s ass is fucking hilarious… [actually rolls on floor laughing]

***

HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?

WAR: Just one. Fucking Lazarus. I’ve had some reclassified out of my reach, like Caesar.  He got too big for his Rubicon-wading britches, so he got moved from my domain over to Grim’s.  Same with Napoleon, that little Frog pantywaist.  You might think Saddam Hussein escaped me by livin’ all up in his own asshole there, but in the end, that was MY noose.

***

HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?

WAR: There ain’t no downside, Sugar Britches (winks).  Uh, they’re kind of fragile.  Do you know how fucking painful bending your boner is? [shudders] Maybe the random need to back out a stinker.

***

HE: Is it hard working for God?

WAR: Fuck yes!  Think about it: “Now War, you’re supposed to go and reap souls lost to conflict… but don’t be too messy… and don’t break shit… and don’t be too noisy, I’m resting… and that blood will stain, so don’t get it on you!”  Seriously, I’d rather be married to a Human woman with control issues.

***

HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?

WAR: Lucifer is a card-carrying dickwad.  If he weren’t one of them special creations of God, I’dve pummeled the piss out of his silk-suit-wearing panzie ass millennia ago.  What I hate about Lu is that he won’t just come out and fuck with you like a man.  He’s got to be all passive-aggressive and shit, so you’re just cruising along thinking the everything is cool and BAM! You’re asking yourself, “Hey, how’d this dick get all the way up my ass?”

***

HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?

WAR: Oooooh!  Those are so good with cheese!  Or fried!  I once had them barbecued and then smothered with pilates.  Fuck, I’m hungry.  Is there a taco place close?

***

HE: Your dream date is?

WAR: You.  Those puppies real?

HE: [ahem] Can you just answer the question?

WAR:  Guess I shoulda worn the tattooed rocker meatsuit.  I’ll say my dream date was Catherine the Great.  You think that story about her dying underneath her horse was true?  The only thing close to being horse-like in that rumor was my epic fuckin’ …

***

HE: Alright, alright, moving on. Beatles or Elvis?

WAR: Fuck that hippy shit. I’m straight up old school metal dude, er, dudette. I do my best reapin’ to Disturbed. They ain’t metal but I love that shit.  Makes me want to go hack something with a dull blade. Or bone them in half…

***

HE: Favorite sports team?

WAR: You know the Mongols used to have this brutal sport played on horseback… I don’t know.  I have to admire teams that suck ass but have loyal fans.  The Red Sox come to mind.  I hang out with fans mainly for the fun, and of course cheerleaders.

***

HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?

WAR: Kicking ass and taking names, baby.  Humans are always coming up with new reasons to go schwack each other, and yours truly will be there to enjoy the fuckery.

***

HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?

WAR: I have a sensitive side… no shit.  One time, I was out reaping and there was this little kid who got shot.  So I was all, like, “Aww, that’s sad,” and then I jerked his little soul out – *ssschwaap* – just like that.  Sensitive an’ shit.

***

This concludes our sit down with War, the last of our interviews with The Four Horsemen. Stay tuned tomorrow for our exclusive on site interview in Hell with the ever stylish, ever evil, Lucifer. Then we’ll round out our weekend with an interview with the Big Man himself, God and his favorite son, Jesus! Stay tuned…


Happy Blogiversary To Me!

COVER

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.”

Yeah.

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:

SMASHWORDS

AMAZON


The Hotspur Challenge – Manfred Mann Edition

Manfred-Mann's-Earth-Band-Blinded-By-the-Light-&-Other-Hits

Resident blogger and uber audiophile Edward Hotspur recently penned (typed? keyed?) a post entitled: AN ANALYSIS AND DISSECTION OF THE UTTERLY STUPID SONG “ALL I WANT TO DO IS MAKE LOVE TO YOU”  in which he deciphers the twisted meaning behind Heart’s atrocious lyrics.

Naturally that got me thinking, and no good ever comes of that. So in the spirit of his blog post I offer up this challenge to the great EH:

What the hell was Manfred Mann trying to say when they released BLINDED BY THE LIGHT? I mean, WTF??? Just how prolific were drugs in the seventies?


Y? Because We Like You!

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Today is the darling of blogworld Sandylikeabeach’s birthday; so I’ve decided to dedicate this post to her by waxing poetic using the last letter of her name, the letter Y.

Oh Sandy, how do we love thee? Let us count the ways…

Uh…yeah.

Have you ever tried to write anything using the letter Y? No? Well there’s a reason for that. After many fruitless hours of finger-fucking the Y key into submission attempting to come up with something pithy to say, I finally gave up and decided to give my pal Sandy a gift that is far more practical. For your birthday I give you…

THE MOST KICK ASS BLOG POST OF SCRABBLE WORD WINNERS EVER!

That’s write er, right Sandy! I’ve compiled a list of the most obscure words ever to use the letter Y, guaranteed to impress naked writing partners or random animals everywhere! We start the list with:

YAKIMA: An American city southeast of Mount Rainier National Park and the county seat of Yakima County, Washington.

Not only is this word fun to say, but you can convince some of your dumber friends that it means something entirely different, like traditional Mongolian fare or the stuff that comes up after someone sticks a finger down their throat.

***

YANKEE: Ask someone from Florida what a Yankee is and they will tell you it refers to people originating in the northeastern US, or more narrowly, New England.

Ask any New Englander what a Yankee is and they will describe an athlete of questionable parentage.

***

YGGDRASIL: An immense tree that is central in Norse cosmology, on which the nine worlds existed.

Keep a dictionary handy when playing scrabble with some of your blonder friends, as you may have to argue that this word does not indeed define what a gynecologist often prescribes.

***

SYZYGY: A straight line configuration of three or more celestial bodies.

The Scrabble word to beat all Scrabble words, syzygy is guaranteed to take home the win. Prepare to be worshiped, for you are now a Goddess.

***

 

SANDY: A woman of extraordinary talent and unlimited creativity who brings joy and happiness to any life she touches. See: Sunshine.

***

FOR ALL THE WAYS THAT SANDY IS AWESOME, GO BACK AND START FROM THE BEGINNING:

El Guapo – S

KayJai – A

Trask Avenue – N

Edward Hotspur – D

TO WISH SANDY A HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLICK THE CAKE!

Now take it away, Danny Zuko!


Emancipation Proclamation

YAY!!! I MADE IT!!!

 


Shit My Kid Does – Four

HATIAWH

My real world life is such a circus that at times I find it hard to believe it’s not really some pre-scripted reality show set to make higher powers roar with laughter. Don’t believe me? Well here’s an example:

OPENING SCENE:

A family of five strolls down the fairway of carnival. The smell of fried dough and the musical stylings of a local garage band permeate the warm night air. In the lead is youngest daughter BabyGirl, holding a rainbow flashing scepter and donning a white fringed cowboy hat won for her by her father. Following closely is oldest son Prince Charming, angst-ridden, attempting his best Edward Cullen impression. Last in line is middle child, Junior. All are walking at a leisurely pace through the crowd until…

ENTER THE CATALYST:

Suddenly, to the horror of the parents, the first few notes of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline pour out of the large speakers framing the stage behind them. Both adults catch each others gaze, knowing full well what’s to come.

As if in a reoccurring nightmare that they are powerless to stop, mother and father turn slowly to look at Junior who himself is staring at Prince Charming, his eyes wild with evil contemplation. In slow motion the father reaches out for Junior as the mother shouts, “NOOO!”

But it is too late.

Charging forward, Junior snatches BabyGirl’s hat off her head, places it on his own and begins to dance, bump and grind style against the side of his much older, much larger brother’s leg. The howls of laughter from passers-by do not deter Junior, and this brave soldier pushes on, committed to the cause, straight on until the phrase, “touching me, touching you..”

SCENE TWO:

Location: The local Funeral Home….


Things You Can’t Unsee – Eight

Due to my working nearly non-stop over the past month I have decided to take this weekend off completely, so Love Letters Gone Wrong and SPaM will resume next week. Instead of blogging I’m just going to kick back, relax, and dance like a maniac in a hotel lobby with Chris Walken.

 


Sidecar SPaM

*** I AM STILL BEING HELD CAPTIVE BY NINJAS- SO THIS WEEK’S SPAM IS A REBLOG OF OUR GOOD FRIEND AND PLAYER RONNIE FROM THE LIBRA CHRONICLES ***

Take one part modern-day bachelor, two parts savvy player, add a splash of Cointreau and you get THE LIBRA CHRONICLES; an unapologetic blog that asks the question, “Can a blog really make it when the writer does not try to make a blog that targets special key words, certain audiences, weight loss or fitness or celebrities or some certain NICHE?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question when I first stumbled onto Ronnie Libra’s blog, but all it took was one look at his tag cloud filled with words like SEDUCTION, KEY WEST and POLYSOMNOGRAPHY to know that I wouldn’t be bored finding out.

*** So Ronnie, you describe your blog in your WHAT IS ALL THIS INSOLENCE page as an “experiment” in finding your target audience without the use of buzz words. Has your experiment revealed the results of who your target audience is?

I bet, like my mind, my target will be “Kid in a Candy Shop.”  Or more appropriately, “Ronnie in a Bar.”  So many flavors, why just settle for the same one all the time?  

*** In your page THE SEDUCTION CHRONICLES you include stories that you describe as including the “rawness and reality” of seduction. What motivated you to include these stories?

Hundreds of posts on private seduction forums.  People who’ve read them always tell me they are very inspirational, so I figured, what the fuck…. I may as well share them with more people.  If I can reach out to that one person who get’s inspired then kick ass!  I have done my duty. 

*** In addition to dating advice you have posts that focus on philosophy and inspiration. What has inspired you recently that you’d like readers to take away from your blog?

Momentum…  Keep doing what you love… Make it happen.  Fuck failure and fuck the outcome.  Go for it anyway.  Even if you are failing, keep going because the more steps you take towards your goals the better your momentum will be to take those steps. Be cool with failing, dammit. ;)  Penicillin was a mistake. OOOOHhhhh and some kick ass music, Music is my life.  I recharge off of it.  I have a giant history in my mind of music I love and I feel that, most of my life, every day can have a theme song.   

*** Many of your posts include sometimes graphic descriptions of many of your sexual escapades. Do you find it difficult to share these experiences with your readers? And what do you hope you can pass on in the way of knowledge?

Not difficult at all.  If you read the book, “My Secret Garden” by Nancy Friday, which is a book on REAL women’s fantasies, my reports become rated PG.  ;)  I’m trying to convey the process of Seduction with my writing.  Later, I may delve more into the actual sexuality and passion as well, I’m sure I will.

Here’s what I want.  I want people to be cool with seduction.  It’s not some taboo shit.  It’s everyday reality.  It’s happening all around us.  The girl that I just looked at, while thinking, that made eye contact and looked away.  It’s natural.

I want that guy or that girl who sees that sexy motherfucker they want to meet to go do it.  Go meet that person!

*** What would you like men to take away from your blog?

I haven’t really thought about this.  Maybe inspiration.  Maybe to get a little mad or inspired inside and say, “If this asshole can do this so can I!” ;)

*** What would you like women to take away from your blog?

Women readers seem to be the main readers so far in my blog.  I would almost want to ask them, “What do you hope to find here?  or Why are you coming back? or even, “Let’s say my blog was your dirty little secret that no one would ever find out about.  What would you want it to be like?”

*** What can we expect from THE LIBRA CHRONICLES in the future?

Utter Sexy Randomness.  Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry and sometimes Chicken Fried Rice.  Ya, it doesn’t have to make sense.  And music.  Lots and lots of music.

Follow Ronnie at THE LIBRA CHRONICLES

Have a blog, book or music to promote? Contact me for your own feature on SPaM at heellisgoa@gmail.com


Sawyer SPaM

james-maslow-article

This seems really odd to say, but today is the birthday I assigned the character of Sawyer in my novel, The Gods of Asphalt. His birthday features prominently in the book so I thought I’d answer some questions I’ve been asked over the past year about his character.

1. Why did you pick April 30th for his birthday?

I knew from the beginning he would wreck a motorcycle on his birthday so I needed it to take place during warm weather– but before his high school graduation. Research revealed that Nebraska high schools let out the first weekend in May so there was my time crunch. I wanted the added insult of him screwing up his life the instant it became his to own. Besides, Sawyer shares his birthday with someone pretty awesome.

2. Why did you pick Sawyer for his name?

Sawyer is sort of a default name. In my real life there is a real River, although he is nothing like the River character (I based the River character on someone elses life entirely). I always knew that I would name the character of the blonde older brother River, so I had to think of a name that was in the same vein for the younger brother. Thus Sawyer was born, and not Steve.

3. Why is Sawyer so tall?

Sawyer is tall because it allows him to be good at basketball. Sawyer needed a way out of his father’s life so I gave him basketball because it offers scholarships as well as being the perfect sport for a kid who lives on the road. Football requires gear, baseball requires a team, track requires good weather but basketball can be played anywhere, anytime with anyone. All you need is a ball.

4. Why do you describe Sawyer looking the way you do?

My kids helped with this one. My son Junior HATES being called pretty when compared to his good-looking, blonde older brother Prince Charming. I described Sawyer to my daughter and she instantly pulled up a television show called BIG TIME RUSH and said, “I think you are describing this guy.” In that moment James Maslow became my vision for Sawyer. I even wrote a little snippet in my book for him. I’m my daughter’s hero for that.

5. Why is Sawyer’s jersey number 13?

Because number 13 belongs to Steve Nash, my all time favorite basketball player.

6. How come Sawyer can sing?

Because I can’t. No, seriously; basketball was what Sawyer was good at, but music was what he loved and what his mother robbed him of.

7. Does Sawyer ever get Sarah?

Hehehehe…..


Happy Birthday Tim Curry!!!

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TODAY IS THE BIRTHDAY OF MY MOST FAVORITE ACTOR OF ALL TIME….TIM CURRY!!!!

I remember the first time I saw Tim Curry on the big screen. It was in a now defunct movie theater in Windsor, Connecticut with my best friend (yes, Quinn I’m talking about you) who dragged me kicking and screaming to see the movie ANNIE. I remember everyone HATING the character of Rooster but I was absolutely smitten. I loved his voice, the way he moved, his eyes, EVERYTHING about him.

It was just a few years later that I was dragged to another movie theater (yes, Quinn this was you again) in nothing but my bra and panties to see Tim Curry in the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. Let me digress for a moment here…

 
Have you ever had an experience as a kid that forever changed your life? That molded and shaped how you saw the world and yourself in it for years to come? Yes, that was what Tim Curry’s FRANK-N-FURTER character did for me. Since then I’ve made a point to either see or hear everything he’s ever done in his career (even Pennywise the clown. That’s how deep my love goes).

Now, I’m not one to go all gushy when meeting celebrities (my life spent as a somewhat groupie kept my Starstruck meter in check) but if I were to meet Tim Curry in the flesh I’d fucking cum in colors, I shit you not (suck on that sentence, Freshly Pressed). So here’s to you, Tim Curry, for another glorious year with you in it!

 


Interview with the King of the Leprechauns

leprechaun

Today for our holiday interview we are lucky to have with us Fergus O’Malley, King of the Leprechauns.

You seem angry today, Fergus. Can you tell us why?

Because of yesterday, that’s why. We Leprechauns spend every Saint Paddy’s Day in hiding.

But I would have thought you’d be happy on Saint Patrick’s Day. Isn’t it an Irish holiday?

Saint Patrick can kiss my arse. His holiday has nuttin’ to do with Leprechauns or the Irish. It has to do with him bein’ chuffed and converting pagans to Christians. We Leprechauns are pagan, dontcha know. Patty old boy can take his church and stuff it.

Does that mean you’d be in favor of your own holiday?

Jesus, Mary and Joseph no – we Leprechauns wish to be left alone. Every year it’s the same thing; tourists come from all around to visit Ireland to steal our gold. The worst are the Italians. Nuttin’ but a bunch of sausage stuffing pasta eaters.

Alright now, that’s enough about the Italians.

Ahh…why is that lass? Do you be one of ‘em?

Well, if you must know yes; I am Italian as well as Irish.

Ahh…the Saints have mercy on ya’. I was in love with an Irish/Italian girl once. Her name was Erin Go Braughless. A milkmaid, dontcha know. She had the strongest hands in the county. Why I remember once I stood on a stool and then she-

That’s quite enough of that. What’s the hardest thing about being a Leprechaun?

Aye, I’d have to say visiting America. The children chase us through the streets for our Lucky Charms. In Ireland, lucky charms are me wee bits, not a breakfast cereal.

Wow, I can see why you’d be angry. What is the one thing you’d like the world to know about Leprechauns?

That our shoe size is no indicator of our grand–

AND that concludes our interview with Fergus O’Malley, King of the Leprechauns. Return April 1st for our exclusive interview with Loki, the God of mischief. Until then, enjoy one of my favorite Irish songs as performed by Metallica. (Hey HR, this video reminds me of the parties you used to have at your house. You know the ones I’m talking about ;) ).


Yeah. I’m old.

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Thanks to my well connected friends I caught a LIT show this weekend and it was, well….let’s just call it awesome. What Catholic school girl wouldn’t love a tattooed rocker like A. Jay Popoff? Especially when I got close enough to reach up and wipe the sweat off his…uh, never mind.

As luck would have it a small group of us got to meet the band after the set and get autographs where I actually handed A. Jay an autographed copy of my book. Well, it was more like I signed it and then chucked it at him. You might think that trading autographs with a famous rocker would be the highlight of the evening, but it wasn’t. The highlight came when Kevin asked a small group of us to hang out afterward. That’s when I said….

No.

That’s right, people. I said no. Because the cigarette smoke and burning patchouli to cover the weed and the ringing in my ears from standing too close to the stage threatened to blast my skull in two. Because I made a long trip there and had a long trip home. Because I had work in the morning. Because I had to face the fact that I’m not twenty anymore.

God I’m old.


The Hellis 100 (41-50)

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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


Happy Birthday!

I636-Lg J Happy Birthday

I want to wish my very good friend an early happy birthday for tomorrow. You know who you are.

***

GAZETTE – BEST FRIENDS

As a child, I dreamt of the future
Even now it doesn’t fade, but is vivid as I look forward
So that I’d grow, I’d hold the tears in as I watched the scenery I grew up with crush under time.
I began to run towards that one big dream
Because my good friends were with me, I did my best

Live well, young man
You’re not alone, so muster your courage
Lunge forward, for right beyond this
You’ll be laughing and shining with your friends

The steep path that you’ll be walking will be lit, but full of thorns
Good or bad, from start to finish, you’re gonna do it anyway, so make your dream come true
For those who watch over you, for the ones you love and for yourself
Get your senses to a super high level, and walk your own path today

I began to run towards that one big dream
Because my good friends were with me, I did my best
Even if there’s a high wall in our way, we’re not stopping
We’ll break it down and go on towards our dream

Live well, young man
You’re not alone, so muster your courage
Lunge forward, for right beyond this
You’ll be laughing and shining with your friends


Why The Seventies Were “F*in” Awesome

seventies70s

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.

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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.

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Now a nod toward Pop Culture; namely FADS, FEVER and FRANK-N-FURTER.

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BUT WHAT REALLY MADE THE SEVENTIES GREAT WAS:

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PORN


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