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The Phantasmagorical Scorpion Tank

2002-05-15 - 3:02 p.m.

Ok. Back. Damn time tunnel. Hump Day (no Jimbo, it's not FRIDAY). I wish I had some papers to write. No I don't. I was lying just then. I would rather not write anymore papers. But I need to, and I will. Just not right now. Not when I have to write about stuff that's flitting around my dinosaur brain accompanied by oversized brain busting pictures! Ok, water's boiling, so it looks like a good time to start. . .

In honor of a special someone's big 5-0 yesterday:

"Soy el cambio, soy / Siempre he sido así

Soy continuidad / Estoy detrás de mi"

Happy 50th Birthday!!!

(He's a big fan of this here ol' journal, so I gots to make it worth his while ya see?)

Do I get any extra points for the title of one of yesterday's papers that I wrote being: "Little Johnny is a White Supremacist"? I think I should. One of my all time favorite title's that I've ever used is "Joyce Carol Oates' Adventures Through the Looking Glass". I hate Joyce Carol Oates as a HUMAN you see, but as a phantasmagorical writer she is top notch. And by top-notch I mean to say she makes me wretch. Joyce Carol Oates only brought three things to my life. #1 - Instructions on how to shave with urine, blood, and soap (opposed to with shaving cream of course). #2 - The information that there are people in the world that freeze ovaries and then later boil them and eat them. #3 - The word "phantasmagorical".

And people wonder why I have it in for her . . .

Two things that can really get my goat like no other: Changing the channel after the final bids are put in for the Showcase Showdown and then forgetting to go back in time to see who wins the Jet Skis and a Lifetime Supply of Board Games, AND - in the same vein, forgetting to turn it back in time to catch the "sardonically irreverent" Post Date Wrap-Up of Roger Lodge and Co. Seriously. They both get my Gabby Goat like no other. Oh Gabby. . .

So I'm following the Celts/Pistons game last night from the computer at work, and when we close Boston is down by 1 at the Half. The ride home was TORTURE (excluding the pick-up of Spider-Man cereal at Wal-Mart) since I didn't know what was going on. I get home and my mere presence apparently curses the Celtics into letting the Pistons tie it up. But then, with cheerleaders-at-large Walker and Pierce on the sidelines (due to 85% of the team having between 4 and 5 fouls, which contrasted greatly with the, like, 2 total team fouls on Detroit) and the sportacular Kenny Anderson and Rodney Rogers wrecking shit up (against Jon "God, why am I so ugly?" Barry and Ben "Only my hairdresser knows for sure" Wallace), the Celtics won and I was a very very happy boy. And poor little Vitaly Potapenko was on the sideline saying "Me like win too. Me Vitaly. Please ask me for my autograph." Thanks Vitaly, but when I already have Alaa Abdulnaby's autograph, well, it'd be kinda redundant, no offense.

PP: "Jerry, I think we should take our relationship to the next level . . ."

JS: *gasp* "Really?"

PP: "Nope - yoink!"

JS: "You men - you're all the same!"

Meanwhile, back at the rendering plant. . .

People, go see Insomnia next weekend, forget about "Star Wars: Attack of the Not Quite As Cool as Spider-Man". As if Pacino and Williams weren't enough, the devilishly delightful Maura Tierney is in it. Did I already mention this in a previous entry? I don't remember. Spoony made it so all I think about is Maura and making soup. "Huh? Wha-? Spoony, what are you doing here Spoony?!" Wait. So where was I? Oh yes, Lisa, I mean Maura. No wait, I mean Lisa. On the NewsRadio I watched today, it was the one where Max tricks Lisa into getting her Boston accent back. It made me laugh and cry and bleed with happiness. Plus, Lisa is the only one that says "Concord" right on the other episode, (like "Cahn-kid"), unlike Matthew who keeps saying "Con-cord". And the Concord, NH episode is also the David Byrne episode. (*&-0-==d-9w9d . . . circuits overloading. . . . . bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . . .*pop*

Ok. I'm back. Close one. Meanwhile, back at 29 Palms, CA . . .we find wee little Tim McLaughlin defending our country's right to make fish chowder, build lego jets, and kick dogs right in their stupid dog skulls. We asked McLaughlin to describe a typical day on base in 29 Palms: "Well, yesterday I was leading a line of tanks through a course in the middle of the night. I didn't see this big pit and I drove into it and flipped the tank over. I was also in a tank that caught on fire. I didn't catch on fire though. I did get stung by a scorpion. That fuckin' killed. I stomped on the scorpion with my big boots. I stomped him dead. . . . . .do you have ears?" Thank you for your time Tim. . .

"I could destory a shitload of Em and Kate's Barbies with this baby."

I want to go see Robbie Krieger in June. He's playing in Boston again this summer, and if Tim Curtis is to be believed, and in this case I think he is, he puts on one romper-stomper of a show. Ben and I will definitely be joining Mr. Curtis (Tim, not Bob) at this show. Peter would come I bet, but he'll be at his West Palm Beach sabbatical by then I am sure. (Just waiting for Ben and I to come down and cash in on our steaks. . .)

So it's only a month away. You know. That monster of monsters - Bike Weekend/Week/2Weeks or whatever. It gets longer and longer every year. But why has it got less fun the older I get? Why was it more fun when I COULDN'T legally drink and had to snake about in between Corey Joyal barking out "sausage" to everyone and Rick Demark searching in vain for Molly Molly Quite Contrary? Ahhh, those were the days -with Ben and Jimbo and I hiding out in the "perfect spot" with a bottle of vodka as our only guide. Or a guy getting thrown through the window at Lisa's Lakeside and Mad Dog just working around it. Or Ben and I getting trapped at the Gulbicki's all by ourselves (huh?!). Or walking from TIM's MOM's house in Lakeport to WBWS and just telling Jimbo and his Bates boys that we'll "meet them up there". Poor Monique, I recall Ben and I crashing Friendlys on that Saturday and we were already WELL on our way. Or what about getting getting rescued by Julie and Gigi at 3 AM on the strip because your other friends all got arrested? Man, that's the stuff. Now our biggest thrill is either having Jeff Morgan slip us free beer, or getting Shannon and Brooke loaded enough to jump on stage (not that that isn't amusing). I'm not sure if the weekend long par-tay at Ben's is an option this year. Every year he SAYS that it's the last, but I never believe him. We've weathered Jeff falling off the roof, sketchy "Beirut Round-Robin" plans, and random babies running to and fro, so I think we can withstand anything. As long as Monique restrains Brett this year from starting any brawls we should be fine.

Between now and Bike Week I will be sharing photos that should convince people that the Weirs is where they need to be June 14th-16th. The inaugural photo is quite the winner and I have absolutely no idea the identities of the two people in the picture. But that's probably for the best. . .

-Corncob Pipe, Overalls, Goggles, Aviator Cap, Holographic Eagle Sunglasses, Zebra Suit . . . baby, it don't get no better than this!

It's been real,

Endicott Rock

ps - "Say Goodbye 'Brak: Man-About-Town' and Hello 'Brak: The Heartless Clam-Slayer'!"

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