Monday, August 27, 2007
As yours truly returns to mid-season form I thought the time would be appropriate to roast a few friends. Buckle up…
Duditz…what can we say about Duditz…bitch is ugly. He looks like the spawn of Gollum and Rosie O’Donnell. He’s the only Buddhist gnome in history. Now I’m not calling him short but traveling with him would be a breeze as he fits in most overhead compartments. Then there’s his many beer binges…he walks around aimlessly when he’s drunk, it’s like watching a windup Hellen Keller doll. Duditz is so mellow I saw his boss walk up and kick him in the balls…he fell asleep. When you die you’re gonna be reincarnated as a sloth. Then there’s his pasty complexion and newly shorn head…I guess the Holocaust survivor motif is alive and well.
Speaking of ugly and bald, hello PB. Dude looks like a young Jason Voorhees on a BAD hair day. Hey PB, comb your scalp over, it’ll look fuller. Last time he got sex was the Clinton administration. Call him Moses because when he shows up the girls part like the Red Sea. PB is a bit of a nerd…he masturbates to a picture of William Shatner. He thinks clip-on sunglasses are cool.
JAP, you freakin’ bastard. The guy has bigger boobs than Pamela Anderson, he makes her look like Paris Hilton. I saw JAP run once and had an uncontrollable urge to iron all the clothes in my closet, last time I saw skin bounce like that was the opening credits of Bay Watch.
Swanny, do you own a clock? Swanny was always a tender lover though, he always spat on his pecker before insertion. He was also conscientious enough to walk through the field and tag the sheep that kick. You should have seen the look in his eye when I got him those gloves with the Velcro palms. Once when we went to a Wyoming sheep ranch the owner was showing us around…we came upon a dewey little sheep with its head stuck in the fence bleeting pitifully, “Bah, bah.” The rancher pulled out his love rod and stuck it in the sheep’s mouth. Swanny said, “Can I get some?” “Sure” the rancher replied. Swanny then walked around stuck his head in the fence and went, “Bah, bah.”
Ekim, where you at. Oh there, I can hear your shirt. This guy’s wardrobe is so loud it comes with its own generator. But it matches his voice…Ekim’s voice is so loud when he speaks a herd of elk by Grand Junction say, “Dear Christ, what the fuck was that?” Ekim is a staunch liberal, he has a picture of Al Gore and Howard Dean in his wallet. He thinks Ted Kennedy makes sense. His secret fantasy is to cover Hillary Clinton in honey and lick it off.
Roberto’s here. He was the first Hispanic I ever knew who was gainfully employed. But Roberto is a heckuva nice guy, he shaves PB’s back twice a week. Roberto is hairy too, like Cheech hooked up with Jamie Farr.
Emi, you little tart. First thing I noticed about Emi were her enormous tits, I couldn’t help it, they entered the room five minutes before she did. When she lays on her back they pierce the troposphere. Last time her husband climbed those things he needed a Sherpa. They’re so big you’d need a gondola to reach the peak. Rumor has it she has an insatiable sexual appetite…her husband has a protein deficiency…they’ve been married two weeks. Then there’s her Catholic faith…the only organized religion where Michael Jackson is eligible for canonization as a saint. What’s it like to enter the confessional booth and say, “You first?”
I’m not saying I’m anything but pathetic…I’m a quadriplegic double amputee with an abnormally small penis who remains single and lives with his mother. My life’s a fucking festival. Last time I had sex was papa Bush’s administration and mullets were still ok. Last time I saw my own dick Britney Spears still wore underwear. Last time I had a date Kirk Cobain still had a face. I failed the bar exam more times than JFK Jr.
Truly though, you guys are the best. You’ve been a constant in my life for half a decade. I kid because I love. Take care guys.
*raises his glass to the sky*
Posted by Shrubbery at 9:05 PM
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
I've seen several publications do these lists, so I thought I'd throw in my two cents on the movies that make us proud to be part of the collective known as man kind...
The Usual Suspects, The Godfather II, Casino, Goodfellas, Se7en, Snatch, Scarface
Blade, Die Hard, Road Warrior, Heat, 300, all three Bourne movies
Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, All Quiet on the Western Front (1933), Glory
Schindler’s List, Das Boot, Crash, Say Anything, Gladiator, Stand By Me, Philadelphia, Finding Neverland
Aliens, original Star Wars Trilogy, Alien 3, Stargate
The Exorcist, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, 28 Days Later, Wrong Turn, The Shining
Pale Rider, Tombstone, The Unforgiven
Zatoichi, Brotherhood of the Wolf, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Hero, Heaven and Earth, Yellow River
Young Frankenstein, History of the World, The Holy Grail, Kingpin
All of these movies represent those few moments when the stars and planets align to usher in something truly great. I've been witness to very few instances where perfection was achieved and these movies constitute the bulk of those experiences.
Here's the Stupidly Forgotten list, movies I should have NEVER ommitted...
All three Lord of the Rings movies (thanks Waterboy), The Killing Fields, Fandango, The Departed, Clerks, A Clockwork Orange
Posted by Shrubbery at 7:08 PM
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Yes, yours truly, your Shrubalicious host, has been writing feverishly in a vain attempt to pen my literary opus, my contribution to the fantasy genre. Here's a lil' snippet of my teeny tiney lil' story/book. Please, critique at will, the comment link is there for a reason.
At last the Exile reached the citadel of Tair, the last resting place of the ancient Grundian kings. Legend said the Aquafer of Iya, the water that breathed life into this world was protected by The Citadel. It was here that the kings of yore were entombed in the hopes that the cistern would resurrect the beloved founders and stewards of earliest Grundig. And it was here the Exile brought the body of his brother Barabas.
The Exile had explored the Citadel on numerous occasions in his youth for it was his father who had been entrusted the guardianship of this hallowed place. So revered was Tair’s Citadel none dared live within its walls and few ventured through the imposing iron gates. A sect of ancient priests was charged with guarding this holy sepulcher to which they built Cadus a Iya, Castle of Iya. The fortress was built at the summit of Mount Tair, the mountain that overlooked the Citadel from the east. The castle could only be reached by a narrow stair, dubbed Iada i Iena, the Walk to Heaven. Climbing this ancient stair was for many a deeply religious experience. The priests would make the trek down then back up the Iada to symbolize the journey from mortality to the afterlife. As a child the Exile and his family had lived in the castle and these stairs were a place of wonder and a place to frolic for the boys. Even Barabas had bounded up and down the stair with youthful exuberance and it was in this valley and the Citadel that he told his twin brother he wanted to be buried.
And the Exile meant to abide by his brother’s wish. Even after Barabas had ravaged his former native land, after the damage and pain he had inflicted upon the Exile and all of Grundig, even after his malevolence had wreaked untold devastation on all who crossed his path, the Exile still meant to bury him in his boyhood playground. When the twins were children they often explored the Citadel, admiring the tombs of the ancients, running through darkened hallways, and forever using this sacred place as an endless playground. Oft times the priests would chase them, informing them that the kings’ resting place was not to be disturbed. But the priests also knew these two had indomitable wills, and truth be told, they suspected the kings rather enjoyed the magical laughter of the two.
The Exile’s wagon stopped at the gate. No one had opened the Citadel in over a thousand years and the gates were rusty with disrepair. The Exile used his medallion, the one he had inherited from his father, to unlock the massive mechanism at the gate’s center. With a loud metallic snap the gate unlocked itself, shuttered and groaned, and finally raised up into the rampart that surrounded it. Dust and dirt billowed from the open gateway washing the Exile in granulated muck. This cloud was greeted by fits of coughing from the Exile and the fervent attempt to shoo away the dust. To no avail as sediment settled in the Exile’s eyes, mouth, and nose.
After the cloud cleared the Exile, with great attentiveness, cleared the dust and dirt from Barabas’ face and clothes. This gesture finally drove the Exile mad with grief. There before him lay the last of his family of old. The site of the brother who, even in his wickedness, had exuded strength and vitality now lying utterly void of life deeply disturbed the normally reserved elven warrior and filled his heart with sadness. And it was in this moment, when Barabas’ face was not contorted with anger and hatred, that his beauty shown through. And it was this face on which the tears of the Exile now fell. Even the death of his parents and beloved wife had not affected him so; even his daughters’ weddings did not elicit such naked emotion. These were things he took with legendary stoicism. The Exile’s hand drifted unconsciously to his sword hilt. How easy it would be to cut the head from this monster and destroy him once and for all. His body would burst into flame as his mortal coil would eviscerate. But he purged this thought from his head, how he did so love his brother.
After the Exile collected his emotions he grabbed the reigns of the draft horse and led it and the wagon through the gate.
Across a huge courtyard the Exile led his burden, across to the outer cloister of the Citadel. The outer door opened with a groan and blackness assaulted the senses. This blackness had not been disturbed in millennia and did not suffer daylight easily. Sunlight illuminated barely three feet of the cold stone floor and the darkness was seemingly impenetrable. The Exile removed his sword from its sheath. Green flame would have to guide the way. Dagotai glowed green for a brief moment, then intense flames licked the blade, illuminating almost the entire entry. Even this pitch black could not withstand magic.
Posted by Shrubbery at 6:11 PM