Edgar Allen Bloggerific, Smiles Gaily

Halloween Gcast has been posted.

Have a YPS!! Halloween.

A view from today's chili cook-off...


Looks tasty, eh?









HALLOWEEN II (The Misfits)
------------
Formulae ueteres exorsismorum et excommunicationum
Strigas et fictos lupos credere

Daemon pellem lupinam
In trunco quodam cauae
Arboris occultandum

Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween
Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween
Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween

Metamorphoses lycanthropie
Possunt inquam
Metamorphoses lycanthropie
Possunt inquam

Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween
Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween

Hey Susie!? Did I Ever Tell You The One About...

So yeah, my friend F has bubbled up from her cesspool of antidepressant and antianxiety prescription abuse, again, and it’s not even a full moon, yet. She wanted to tell me, again, that her marriage to a guy from India was over (there’s a shocker) and that through all the horrors of that (and the loss of her job at the children’s psych hospital where I gave her the New Employee training years ago) she’d always thought of me. Which is a surprise, I guess I never knew that when someone calls you 30 times and sends you 15 text messages, drops by unannounced and uninvited twice (once with her mother) and sticks a note in your door - all during one weekend - that they are thinking of you. I guess I can be oblivious to subtle ways of communication after months of listening to her scream at her boyfriend in Michigan because he won’t let her lick his ass (seriously) and because she doesn’t have a body like Janet Jackson (though she did have her share of wardrobe malfunctions). I don’t know for sure, but I think it was about the time she told me she’d just cleaned the bathroom and realized she needed to use the bathroom and rather than soil the toilet she'd just cleaned, she shit in a trashcan, that I decided that I could no longer help her. It seems like the trashcan incident happened just weeks after the blowjob she sold for $40 to a local DJ.

So that’s how the weekend has gone. Dodging calls, text messages, and visits. Finally around *checks cell phone* 4:51pm I decided she was comforted in calling. She probably felt some sense of release being able to talk into the air like that, not knowing if I was listening to the messages or not. She could purge her soul and it would be digitally registered on come cell phone network out there, however briefly. She could rid herself of sins eternally and cleanse her mind and body of these toxins…until 4:51pm. This one, after at least 30 calls, I answered. I did not yell, scream, groan, whisper or stutter. I avoided power struggles. I merely spoke sternly and gave her permission to stop.

“You may stop calling this number.”

And I hung up.

To anyone reading this far, here’s a warm and friendly suggestion: Should you find yourself dining with a buddy in a Chinese restaurant and spy a former co-worker closely examining crystals and fine silk, stay at the table with your buddy and keep the flashbacks as memories. The promise of one more egg roll and a few more laughs is not worth trading in for 5-6 years of chaos. That one chance encounter can give you whiplash from all the cartoon headshakes you’ll be doing.

Also, if someone doesn't return your call in 2 years, and you know for a fact that's their voice your hearing on the voice mail...take a hint. They're done with you. They don't want to talk.

Happy Monday!!

CK!!

disappearing act.

It would be cool to pack minimal belongings and leave unannounced without a note or trail of bread crumbs to pinpoint the final destination. A disappearing act so thorough that it makes Elvis A. Presley, Jimmy Hoffa and W. Axl Rose seem like high profile folks in Y2K+6. That's probably what makes death so damn charming, because it's the ultimate middle finger to those people caught in the crossfire of your life.

Once the road belongings were decided upon, an enterprising person would sell the remainder of the shitpile on Ebay or have some kind of electronic garage sale or whatever people do to sell their crapola in the golden age of technological bullshit. While it's good to have money that folds and extra jingle in the pocket, it sort of defeats the purpose and gives the impression of pre-meditation. There's no fun in pre-meditated disappearance, because it seems so calculated and well, pre-meditated. Besides, it takes more time and effort. Who can be bothered with that?

Maybe that's the magic of the Witness Relocation Program without having mobsters ready to snuff you out. You can assume a new identity and leave everything in your cloud of dust while living anonymously in the wilds of Monkey's Asshole, Montana.

No crimes would be committed, no laws would be broken, and one could begin a new existence until some other group of assholes came along to fuck it all up again. In that case, it might be necessary to have a program similar to the old Subway card where you could get a free identity after you buy twelve identities.

Daily Packaging Sucks Less When...

All I have been doing lately is bitching about how busy it’s been, and well, nothing’s changed. Still. Busy.

BUT, today, despite the clouds and rain, is shining more brightly!!

I must blame the fact that I was in total shock for not taking a photo to post of the first WUNNERFUL thing that happened to me this morning. But that does not, in any way, take aware from the high level of wunnerfulness the experience. You see, I was a few minutes late getting to work this morning and when I stopped by Office Type’s door to wave good mornin’ (she’s not a morning person, so I try to wave and walk on) I spied something on her desk. It was a Halloween Edition of Red Hots!! Yep, a great big bag surrounding tons of little bitty bags. The packaging isn’t perfect on the little bags, but who could complain? I think this is the first year I’ve ever seen them, and you know what? She GAVE me the whole fricken’ bag!! Woo Hoo!! Thank you Office Type!! (I can say it loud ‘cause you know, it’s not mornin’ no more.)

Then you know what happened right after that? The mail came. You’re thinking, “Whoop-eee” aren’t you? Well, yeah whoopee because there was a package addressed to me and this time it didn’t have computer equipment in it AND I got to KEEP it!! What was it you ask? Let me give you a hint. HOLY SHIT I LOVE ME SOME BROWNIES!! MMMMMMMMMMM. That you are aware of, but did you know I am a very picky eater? I can’t eat just any brownies, but THESE brownies? HOT DAMN! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeclectic? Man oh man you make some wunnerful brownies!! They’re like DENSE. These are the densest brownies I’ve ever had the pleasure of sinking my teeth into. Chocolate chips even!! Thank you Eeeclectic!! (I can say it loud ‘cause you know, she’s WAY over there distance wise. I think it’s what, at least a thirty minute drive? Ok, maybe more.) [and NO I didn't open the card, but I sure am curious]

Lastly I just wanna say that Red Hots and Brownies can only be improved by good music. Look closely at the photos Bone Machine, I think you’ll be proud to see what the first tunes to grace the new Axim handheld are….

Now, it’s off to some GOODIES!!

Let's Play a Game of "New Post, Old Post"!!

Just click the link above and be transported back to a time when things was hectic, and brains were scattered!!


*gets up to start the day*










Groan.

Your Time Machine Packaging SUCKS!!

We are the Words of a Nation of Poets

We are the words
of a nation of poets
that doesn’t really read

They’ve got no time
for looking back
or even to take heed

We are the words
of a nation of poets
that doesn’t really see

They’ve got no time
to comprehend
We’re only used
to confuse
to distract
to bend

We’ve become attention grabbers
headlines in the news
Words like “steady the course”
become “here we go again”
We’re found in the seldom used hymns
in solemn church pews
We’re your mother’s friend who said,
“Once past fifty,
they look right through.”

The person putting us down
is as guilty as you
He gleans through your meanings
claims they’re true
but that’s not what he’d do

We are the words
of a nation of poets
that doesn’t really grasp

You’re unable to surrender
and give up control
Your days filled with agenda
You neglect the containers of soul
Here shoeless and soulless to boot
are the order of the day
Your critical ways
expressed in such a
robust rasp
and hazardous haze

We are the words
of a nation of poets
that doesn’t really read

-Mr. Bloggerific Himself, 10192006

Fuckin' dig it, man

I did a Gcast post this morning of a recent item I wasn't going to finish originally. But, I did and now you can hopefully hear me reading it...should Gcast cooperate. Look for "Words of a Nation of Poets" in the Gcast player to the left if ya wanna.

The actual words to come later. Maybe.

-Bloggy

BPC

I piss on your space.

Trends come and go like screams in the night and it seems like the worst of the batch make the biggest splash and seem to stay around the longest. Perhaps it's some kind of dog year conversion factor that makes it seem like forever cubed.

Of course, it might be that I'm just old and cranky. There is no "might be" there--I am old and cranky and having this MySpace bullshit rammed up, down, in and out of every orifice is making me older and crankier at a rapid clip. Like the resurgence of bell-bottom jeans, the trend of wearing pants at half-mast, and the continued popularity of Toby Keith, I just don't get it. Someone could explain it to me until the cows come home to drop some shit in the pasture and I still wouldn't understand it. The only explanation that makes a lick of sense is that the cream of the crap rises to the top. This would also explain the whole Puff Daddy (or whatever he calls himself today) phenomenon.

There have been a few occasions where I've gone to a MySpace page and after I arrive at the electronic doorstep, I immediately question my sanity for even thinking it would be worth the time and effort to do so. It's never worth the time, it's never worth the effort, and I hate myself for even gazing at the screen for the briefest of moments.

Unless there is some top secret content being guarded by the MySpace police (which appears to be the case since you can't do dick around the site without being a member and I refuse to be a member), it just seems like a whole lot of hype for a whole lot of nothing. A lot of pump and circumcision for intellectually-deficient content with a bunch of jackasses stirring the stink with even more boneheaded comments.

One thing I've gathered on my limited travels to this vast wasteland is that the sole reason for having the comments from other e-sheep is for one dipshit to wish another dipshit a happy weekend or acknowledging the presence of the damn weekend itself. It's like no one would realize that there was a weekend at hand if some genius didn't slap together some gay ass graphic to proclaim the arrival of this sacred event...the weekend. The last time I checked, the occurrence of a weekend isn't on par with Hailley's Comet and I believe that we generally have a weekend every fucking week of the year. In other words, cool it with the dumb ass crap and work on some new material for the love of all that is holy.

The whole shooting match is like the lowest common denominator of communication. With enough flashy colors and music playing, many folks won't realize that the content has the depth of an Arizona rain puddle. Now, I'm not claiming YPS!! to be the best site ever, but it sure as shit doesn't suck anywhere near as vigorously as the majority of that MySpace horseshit.

Chances are good that I would be able to simply live and let live while steering clear of the shit, but every time I turn around, someone is shoving MySpace up my ass in a non-loving fashion. It's not nice, it's not wanted, and it's completely uncalled for.

So MySpace, I piss on your weekends, your frilly lack of content, and oh, one more thing...YOUR PACKAGING SUCKS!!

Fanboy: The Tommy Womack Band & The Royal Court of China

[Bone, feel free to add what I’ve missed, I’m still floating a bit and I might overlook something.]

I can’t remember exactly how I learned about the show that was to happen on 10132006 at the Exit/In in Nashville, TN. I can’t remember if I read about it on www.tommywomack.com or if Bone Machine sent me word via email, or if Mr. Womack himself dropped the bomb. But what I do remember is that I had a feeling that sort of caused the need for the following phrase to hop into my mind like a horny jackalope ready date, mate and procreate:

“When life gives you shitty drawers, make S’mores!”

I had ‘em, and we made ‘em.

You see, while Bone Machine and I have TRIED to culturize our faithful commenters by educating them on the genius that is Tommy Womack after many a splendid solo performance, I had yet to have the opportunity to take in a show with Tommy and his band. While I’m completely 100% satisfied with the solo sounds of acoustic guitar and harmonica, the allure of eeee-lectric geeee-tar, drums, bass and a wunnerful backup singer was always swimming around in this over-sized gourd-shaped empty noggin of mine.

But as Mr. Womack was jetting across the pond to England, and appearing all over the states and on Leno and Letterman (LETTERMAN for crying out loud!) it was ill timing that prevented us from catching the band. Or was it ill timing at all? Maybe this was another one of those “things happen for a reason” type situations.

Somewhere around 1989 or so, someway, somehow I was introduced to the sounds of a band called The Royal Court of China. Over time I’d end up enjoying these boys enough that I’d own their first full release on cassette, their second on CD and two PROMO CD singles. (Promo, you know, those things clearly marked Not For Resale, but somebody always does?) Through the years I would listen to these two albums and enjoy the crap out of them and wonder why in the hell bands just explode sometimes. What is it in this world that can take a group of people that have some level of magic TOGETHER and rip them apart? And why is it that we can’t seem to use that power for good and make bands that suck explode instead of the good ones? (Man, what a list of those I have.)

Over time, two albums of material tends to turn into the situation where it’s like you’re in your car and you’re about to run out of gas. You’re coasting on the fumes of a band that had great promise and you’re hoping you’ll come up on the next CD so you can top off the musical tank.

Well, we coasted for 20 years, damn it, and finally it looks like the CITGO light for the Royal Court of China is back on. When we got to the Exit/In we were welcomed with old stuff and new stuff and it was preceded by the Tommy Womack Band. How fuckin’ cool is that?!!?

What? You don’t know how fuckin' cool that is? Well you could if you went here, here, or here. So, whatcha waitin’ for?!

Many thanks to Tommy. Well done man, you guys sounded great and I can’t wait until February for the official release of the new CD!! Many content successes to you Sir, few are so deserving.

Also many thanks to the RCoC dudes and I also look forward to your new release. You did promise? Right? Guys?










[A complete surprise to us, Ratt would be knockin’ ‘em dead in the back lot before we arrived. A performance we missed in its entirety.]

Signal In The Sky-O That's How You Know When You Have To Fly-O

Gcast player is go! Feel free to enjoy Tie Dye Horses via audio!
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|

They are your overlords.

Christmas is right around the corner...

and this would make a damn fine gift for me.

It's almost as cool as a bag of Red Hots lovingly signed by the YPS!! staff. Of course, that would fetch a much higher price than this old guitar.

Lookin' Out A Dirty Old Winderrr

The top 2 reasons I should become a smoker.

Reason #1.

Reason #2.

Eeeclectic Assignment: Bloggy Jr. Weekend

Reading, Vid Games, Reading, Food, Reading, Sleep, Vid Games and....Strawberry Whoppers!! Mmmmm.

Goodbye, Audioblogger, Your Packaging Sucks!!

Subscribe Free for future posts  Add this player to my Page

YPS!! SO-phisticated!

Yo.

Reduce, Reuse, ReSpongy

Hi.

Yes, this new post is an old post. In fact, it was an accident that turned into a source of giggles for many years before it was a post. It was either 1995, or 1997 as the file date says, but I guess you just never know when you setup a new computer and test the microphone for the first time. It's a very short download but may not be work friendly.

Welcome to the Golden Age of Computing!!


(Bone, do you still have that encyclopedia software?)





Added (longer download) bonus:

No Poo.

Musical References In The Key of Moo

What started as a normal conversation between Bone and myself has grown into the follow list of musical references in the key of moo. I am posting now, for your enjoyment and I challenge you to: Name That Moo!!

moo that bitch that doesn't moo
We have ways to make it moo
we've got the ways and means to moo orleans
You know your man is working hard, he's worth a moo.
Moo that to me once again.
I want moo to want beef
and the standard, Blue Moo of Kentucky
Walk And Moo All Night, Chewin' Cud Ev'ry Day
blue suede moos
any song by the Moo Fighters.
Moo are my sunshine
I AM IRON MOO!
moo moomoo we're all crazee now
you are the wind beneath my moo
Moove it on over
six empty moos
Half The Moo
Moo in Texas
Man Of Golden Moo
is that the, man with, the golden, moo, in his haaaand?
Moo Something Nasty
Daddy should have stayed in high poo
Moo Machine
Flick of the Moo
Let There Be Moo
Billie Moo
I'm Moo
Moo It
Outmooed
Mooed In Texas
hehe
Moo of thunder and rock and roooooooouuuuuuuuuoooooooooooll
Moo it out loud
Love Moo
Earth MooFo
Starmoo Champion
(it's time to turn this into a post)
When My Blue Moo Turns to Gold Again
Moos Before Sunrise
Original Message
(Yep, I'm making it a post.)
Back Moo Man

Signature Product

Disregard the “well it doesn’t look much like him” objections from Momma Bloggerific and run, right now, to the nearest Cracker Barrel and pick up your very own Elvis Christmas Ornament before supplies run out!! Choose from the “Black Leather Clad” Elvis, or the ukulele playing “Blue Hawaii” Elvis. Either way, you can’t go wrong.

Once you’ve made your purchase, your rockin’ packaging will no longer suck!!