Tuesday, January 30, 2007

A .22 calibur pistol is a good choice.

What they don't tell you about this mythical horse that "captured the hearts of millions."

"If your horse is in pain or badly injured, it may be dangerous or impossible to use an injection. A horse experiencing shock maylack the circulation necessary to distribute the drug to hisbrain or heart. For this reason, veterinarians may need a backup.

"A .22-caliber pistol is a good choice.

"The gun should be placed perpendicular to the forehead in the center of an X formed by drawing a line between the horse's rightear and left eye and left ear and right eye.

"If done correctly, death is instantaneous. To make sure the horse is dead, the veterinarian will listen for a heartbeat and may check the eye for a reaction by touching it.

"Horses have a very sensitive corneal response. If there is any sensation, it will be felt in the eye. If a horse needs to be put down during transport due to illnessor a trailer accident, it's best to call the state police. They can put you in touch with a local veterinarian, or in extreme emergencies, can shoot the horse to end its suffering.

"The ashes produced by cremation of the average horse weigh 40 to 45 pounds. Along with the ashes, the owner receives a certificate stating that the ashes received are those of the horse.

"Cremation costs about $300, or about the same as the cost ofbackhoe service for burial."
-Ontario Ministry of Food and Agriculture

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Deeper into the mine shaft

It is rare, but every once in a while all the employees at the paragraph factory are pulled together for a company-wide meeting.

Here we were to learn about the future of our company and about the other company that owns us. I'm sure any person with the brains equeal to that of an avacado could figure out where I work or what I do, but My Attorney has advised me not to mention the name of my company or the name of the boss who was talking at said meeting.

The following quotes, though, are true and related to how we in our industry are going to fare in 2007.

"Working for us is like being trapped in a mine shaft."

"We need to be as concered about reader penetration as McDonald's is concered about hamburger penetration."

"We only have a few years to survive. But if we hold our breaths long enough, we will be rescued."

"We are not a buscuit company."

"I am not above eating the first person who dies in the mine shaft."

"We have to trust in the inter-webs."

"All I really care about is having a warm body every once in a while."

"Quilts will save us from the nuclear winter that is about to come."

"We are not going to lay off anyone, but if you quit we will not replace you. How's that for job security?"

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Fuck you iPod. I'm so iPissed at you.

Dear iPod,

You fucking suck.

i thought we had some pretty good times together. Mocking people at the gym who were fatter than us and listening to Ashlee Simpson. All those long commutes to work where we would sing together to the Decemberists and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

Wasn't that fun?

Well then where the hell did you go? Why have you suddenly abandoned me? What did i fucking do to you that caused you to leave me in this utter state of silence. i can't stand my own thoughts alone.

i need you, iPod. Without you i am nothing but iAlone.

Even that seem desperate, but desperate times call for desperate mesaures. And i am not above doing desperate things to get you back. i swear, i'll jsut go out and buy a new iPod - a better iPod!

i'm sorry, baby. i didn't mean it.

Last night i had to go to the gym by my self.

Yeah, laugh it up chuckle-butt. i had to run my two miles and work out while listening to the endless drivle that only people at the gym can muster.

i, so badly, wanted to listen to TV on the Radio or some Bloc Party. But no, you jackass, you were out...gone...fuck you.

When i ran into an old high school friend i could not even pretend that i did not hear him say hello. No, i had to talk to him and make casual banter that was painful, i am sure for both parties.

i blame you.

Come home, please. i miss you. i am not the same when i am forced to listen to the radio.

i'll leave the light on for you,

Monday, January 08, 2007

Sad songs and waltzes arn't selling this year

It's a tired old path I have wrought for myself here in the late hours of this morning.

The knot in my stomach will not go away - but I can't tell if that is from my shere manic madness or the impending sickness that has been laid on hte head of my entire family.

My brohters fell to it first; vomitting every hour on the hour until they have expunged the terrorists from their souls. They were lucky, they had it first.

Now I sit and wait for it to infest my own body and ravage hte inner reaches of my digestive track.

God, 2007 sucks and we are only a week into this fucking year.

My problem has become the awful music I subject myself to. It's not that it is bad lyrically or musically. it is jsut a real mind fuck to sit in a dark room by your self and listen to someone wretch about their own horrible exsistance.

I do this to myself for two reasons: (1) at the end of hte day it is a nice depressant, like a stiff drink after these days that have followed the high intensity day we once lived. Alcohol has become a little scarse in my life for good reason. (2) the music tends to be a little softer by nature and I know it will not disturb my pedophile neighbor through these paper thin walls of my house.

But I have never cared what he thought. That is probably why I do not call the police or bring down the hammer everytime I see that weird kid hanging around outside his door.

Too old to be his son; to young to be a significant other.

I can't assume anything. I can only tell you what I see. and what I see makes me want to liquidate all my assests and leave this town for good.

An old english teacher stopped me one day and asked when I was moving back to Boston.

"I thought you were better than this town?" she implored.

"I thought so too. But I need some time to let the piss and vinigar make me a little more cynical."

Then when I tell someone to fuck off, it comes with a little experience.

The kind of experiences Joe cried about when I asked him why he stays in NEw Orleans. The kind of experience thrown down on me by some kid who was trying to rebuild his town.

I was there to drink and celebrate. He was there becasue it was his livelyhood. Me buying another drink meant he sent another kid to school. Build another home for someone whose home is now a pile of moist rubble sitting on a street corner.

There is no system to take care of these people and pure degredation that is happening in New Orleans in sickening.

The street are filthy, the people are poor and there is not one shred of a sign that hte public system set up to be a safety net is even present to catch these people as they fall further and further into dispair.

Joe, the talking bottle of liquor, had been in New Olreans his entire life - a brief 28 years. But he knew he did not want to be any where esle.

He could not fathom moving to some other town where he would be the outsider. As he stalked Burbon Street with several thousand revelers, he was jsut another face. but he was the only face who seemed tobe from the area. He was a local.

He was one of hte few who remain. But even he will admit that he is there to make a buck. A general contractor, he is one of hte handfull who has the ability to rebuild something and make a hefty load doing it.

People - politicians - say they want to rebuild, but what is there to rebuild?

"The french quarter shows we are rebuilding. look at how many people are here," he said.

But saying the french quarter is new orleans is like saying the Magic Kindom is Orlando. And that sure as fuck is not the case.

The prestine streets of Downtown Disney end at the gates.

From our hotel room on the Hotel La Salle - a grungy plce with character and a half crumbing theater around it - we could stare directly into the New Orleans projects. The water marks had not even been scrubbed off the sides of the walls from where it had risen

Its a sad state of affairs and one booze addled night there could not have given this reporter enough time to really grasp the complexities of the politics, moeny and peope who infest this town.

But eventually something will happen. SOmething will snap and the city will either vomit up the final remains of people who will give up in their futile attempt to rebuild the city - or it will finally expunge itself of the social ills and problems with poverty, race and crime that run rampet in the city. Six to one, half dozen to another.

Either way - it will be dramtic.

And while it might not hack up people every hour on the hour, like it did with my siblings, it will be gross to watch. But I dont think people will care enough to watch. The public has already lost interest with news from new orleans.

Jsut another bum dying in the streets.

Joe, I raised a glass to you at the stroke of midnight on 2006 and I will do it again here several thousand miles away. No one will care whether you win or lose, but Its good to know someone, somewhere is fighting the good fight - or atleast putting up a fight regardless of what side your on.

2007 might be your time to vomit.

You already know that this will end.

"What you may not realize is how much I truly loved her, if that's the word for wanting so much to bury your head and weep upon the coppery tufts of a woman's sex while reciting "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death," you can hardly sit on the sofa with her."
- Sam Lypste, Home Land

Dear friend,

I can only say that I wept for hours after reading this one simple chapter from this heroic book.

I did not do it becasue I felt sad for the man in the pages. I did it becasue every morning I wake up I see this man shaving and combing his hair in the mirror as I prepare for another blood-letting at the ole' paragraph factory.

Only on this factoy floor there is not the fear of losing an eye or a hand - no, that would be far to interesting - the only thing we lose here is our soul and will to live. Bit by, ever loving bit, the gears wear on us and grind out our exsistance before us. Like pulverized meat on a brown paper sack, we wait for the hammer to fall.


Another day down the drain.

There is no glimmer of hope from this man and I think that is what makes him go. Hope is for sucekrs and underacheivers. Well, sir, I was never accused of being an under acheiver - unless you consider that Vegas whore who needed to be slapped; and bathed.

It lookes like an opportunity has opened up for you in your region. Managing Editor? If you don't take it, maybe I'll throw my hat into the ring. That would confuse the ever loving piss out of everyone. And that is what we strive for here, piss loving - or something like that.

Keep your head up old boy,
it will help when the noose finally comes down and snaps your neck.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

New Orleans...New Years

To make New Years in New Orleans you will need:

10 mid-sized Burbon and Cokes
1 frozen White Russian (preferably 32 oz.)
14 Miller Light beers
1 Shot of Soco and lime
1 shot of goldschlager
1 shot of Bacardi 151
1 shot of jeagermiester
1 shot of mystery substance
1 shot of pink liquid purchased by talking bottle of liquor
1 shot of...well it really did not matter after this.

Directions: Mix vigrously within the human body and shake well while listenging to Debbie and the Deacons - a band fronted by Skeletor. The LSU fight song blasting from the back of a small wagon will also do.

Allow concotion to set while having a philosohical discussion about the American dream with talking bottle of liquor.

Once mixture is well saturated, procede to balcony of Burbon Street bar to prove to everyone, including the talking bottle of liquor, that you work for Spin Magazine. End scharade when real editor of Playboy confronts you.

Then, ask random girls to dance with you - simply becasue you are (a) drunk, (b) sharing the spirit of the times, or (c) a writer for Spin Magainze.

To finish, punch random emo kid for garnish. punching a volvo will also substitute.

Prep time: 12 hours
Serves: 5 fools on a search for what 2007 means
Hangover: Catagory 5