For whatever reason though, I've decided to keep this, mostly as an archive, perhaps as a source for new shit, or whatever. Some old shit may disappear as I move it to something else. But for now, I plan on putting up simple homepix again, with a gambleraku, perhaps daily, perhaps not even close to daily. This blog has existed in various forms for a number of years, and it's a good introduction to what I do, although it's deep and thick enough that it's probably hard to actually delve into. I'm not really of the belief that people are actually looking for shit online though. It's more of a distraction. But I'll leave something here because I'm one of you, and will start fucking around online too, and will want somewhere to put dumb shit. So this is that somewhere.
Showing posts with label hiatus returns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hiatus returns. Show all posts
Monday, May 27
an update of sorts
So I've built what was to be my main and only site at ROJONEKKU which has all my various books and zines and art and pictures and haiku spikes and whatever the fuck else I'm trying to get by with. I think the internet is a failed promise at this point, so had anticipated having all my shit just fold into that site, which is exactly what most of my web names (rojonekku.com, workingmanbooks.net, confederatemack.com) all point at.
Thursday, October 18
the 17th rebirth of raven
this site will sort of exist again as daily pics from my homepix
not much in way of writing for robots as trying to right for real bods
though mostly just trying to not die, the dream feels dead mostly
nothing to do but do, fuck the world's eyeballs
Sunday, August 12
Football Metaphysics for Enlightened Degenerates
Friday, July 6
Returning to Myself
The past 18 months have been a trying one for me, and I’m not entirely sure what has caused all this. Seems like after I quit drinking to break some negative familial habits, shit went hoo-ha for me. And it would be easy to suggest – as some friends have – that quitting drinking broke everything. I suffered some health issues that malingered, had a pretty intense high stress situation related to employment which caused anxiety bullshit, and was just, to be honest, a complete wreck. Of course, I have stubborn southern blood – part Viking, part Scot, part back roads America – and that causes one to feel they can plow right through everything, like a mule, a literal manifestation of mule inside man’s body, making things happen even as the man himself is ready to crash and wishing for the long content sleep of death.
For whatever reason, I recognized this and realized I was forcing, and under the heavy advice of professionals, I shut it all down so to speak. Work - where I was struggling to maintain employment (still am), navigating various inter-personal mine fields - was taking most all my energy. Trying to chase creative endeavors afterwards, eating into the night at my usual adult clip, to where I’d get by on 4 to 6 hours of sleep a night, honestly it was probably killing me. The battery was drained. Unfortunately, I am the sole (and soul) provider for a family of five, so cutting out work was not an option. I was not born into that lane, and though sometimes I can get filled with resentment towards the leisure class who can easily accomplish things I lust after (grad school, vacations, two working vehicles at one time), I know that what I was born is what I was born. This is my path, and for whatever fucked up reason, contrary to all pre-existing examples or patterns, my brain was wired to work the way it does, and do it as intensely as possible. To say there is a higher purpose would be misleading because it assumes there is a higher authority of some sort…
Well fuck, I initially was going to start giving a simple weekly update of where I am with writing, to start a dialogue with whoever comes to this site, being my ultimate goal is to move away from this site. The internet has become (or always was) a vast interactive network of commercials, so ultimately whatever I do for no obvious cost is allowing others to profit. And to think the internet is “free” is sort of a mistake anyways, as basically there is an unsigned contract where you give up information about yourself to Google/Facebook/Whatever in exchange for using the services. It’s not free so much as you’ve willingly entered a contract no one laid out for you to officially sign. That info is used to tailor the vast interactive network of commercials back at you. So I am viewing this site as a commercial for my other purpose, which itself is not very clear to me.
A lot of what I’ve been thinking on lately has been that much like our flaw-heavy two-party political system in America, there is a two-party philosophical system in place, where most of us feel our world is comprised of Religion vs. Science. Either you believe in God and everyone else will suffer in your religion’s version of Hell, or you have faith in science and to do otherwise is foolish and will jeopardize the future of humanity (oddly enough, in a global warming fate remarkably similar to Christian Hell).
The problem with this two-philosophy system is very much like the problems with our two-party political system – both have very heavy flaws in their methods and ways, and neither really is able to encompass the entirety of what it means to be a human. Thus, I say above, “To say there is a higher purpose… assumes there is a higher authority.” For religion, this is your God (or Gods or whatever); and for science, this is Science (with its rigid methods for extraction of “facts” from experience). I don’t believe entirely in either, and probably believe partially in both. But neither explains what has happened to me thus far today, much less throughout my entire life. Neither never will.
So what I do is communicate the way my mind wraps itself around and through concepts and stories and ideas like honeysuckle vines and poison ivy, together. I do this through words mostly, because words make the chemicals in my brain tingle as neurotically as the blood in my penis does when I’m looking at my wife naked. I can’t help it. Even during this health-imposed sabbatical, all I’d think about was stories and narratives, and how to switch the angles, and who I ultimately would want to serve in these stories, which often times weren’t even stories at all but something somewhere in between fiction and non-fiction, but not conscious enough to be “creative non-fiction” or “memoir” or fuck man I just don’t know. But it is what I do, and what I am supposed to do, and ultimately me – the man with body and skull full of chemical translations of the world I sense – seems to be nothing more than a vessel for that process.
Thus, I am here inside the vast network of interactive commercials to tell you I am writing. I am not a writer, and never will be. The past 18 months I have entertained that delusion, and the delusion impregnated my dreams with bastard wealths that would never love me or allow me to be myself. I have dabbled with the grad school process, had interactions with literary world figures in that process, tested the marketability of the end results of my purpose with literary agent, and all of it made me less able to do what I was supposed to do than ever.
And the odd thing is everything is so out there now. I can basically make the 2012 equivalent of a zine, spontaneously (as I am now doing) available to anyone who has cyber-network access. And of course, our ability to process longer communications is hindered by that sensory overload.
I would bet of every 10 people who started reading this, maybe one is still with me at this point, and it’s not because of the lack of style to the writing, though maybe the content drives some way; but an inability to care to focus beyond thirty seconds is a large part of it, as while you spend time with this, the computer beams at you with the sexy allure of LIMITLESS POSSIBILITIES THAT YOU MIGHT BE MISSING OUT ON by focusing too deeply on this. Which of course drives home my belief that we don’t actually “know” more now than we did a hundred years ago; we just know very little about a far wider array of things.
Nonetheless, the purpose of this post is to say, Hey you, random reader of my website, I have returned to allowing myself to write. The end results will be ebooks from now on, at whatever rate they come. These will be under various names, most likely, and completely off-topic from each other, often times. I’m gonna try to check in here weekly though (aside from the manifestation sonnet/Rojonekku song of the day thing) and let you know where I’m at with these things. I would hope you would comment and talk with me (or do twitters with me, or mail a post card, or whatever feels right), and we can interact. But here is the project I’m working on, as well as the two on the horizon.
#1: Armchair Linebacker NFL Preview – This is something Neil and I did last year, but I’ve done for six or seven years in a row, either online or in various zines. It’s a good, easy, pop cultural way to ease myself back into the water of my stream of thought, so to speak. I’ve built the framework for it all already, and am a couple thousand words into it. I am expecting this to be done the first week of August, to be available for a few months, into the middle of the NFL season. If you know me or my style, it will be as enjoyable for non-NFL fans as for fans (in fact, maybe more so if you don’t like football), and will be far different from the crap that passes itself for internet sports writing opinions for you, most of which are tired, sober, third-rate imitations of Hunter S. Thompson’s second-rate ESPN columns anyways.
#2: Raven Mack’s First Book – The structure of this will be very similar to old Confederate Mack zines, as I’ve been taking notes on Lessons my daily experiences are teaching me. This has been to notice my real world more closely, but also because I feel everything is a fucking lesson. Every thing. But at this point all I’m doing is taking notes on this, and letting it all ferment in the background of my brain, as I’m very much following Henry Miller’s advice and focusing on only one project at a time from here forward. One of my biggest character flaws to this point has been to allow my energies to flow ten ways at once. The health struggles of the past year have helped me realize my energies are not limitless, even when a back roads Viking Scot redneck ninja like myself. My energies are like stone, and sure throwing giant chunks of quartz at people can be painful if you are lucky to hit somebody just right sometime, but carve that bitch into an arrow point and you will pierce a motherfucker’s heart, for sure, so long as your aim is true.
#3: Recession Proof collection of stories – I’ve actually got the title story in final shape, and three others in complete but unfinished stage, plus around ten to fifteen others completely outlined in basic framework just not fleshed into full. I build stories in composition books, then on notecards, then finally into a robot keyboard when they are ready for flesh. I was working on this late last year as possibly being published by Benjamin Leroy at Tyrus Books, but as I’ve thoroughly explained, my life has been a derailment process. This collection of stories would probably be better for me financially if it was some sort of Frank Bill-esque rural noir vicarious thrill for book buyer types, but I feel like I am a representative of Southside Virginia, like for real its written embodiment, and I don’t want to be a backwoods Uncle Tom show for the leisure class of our “civilization” that still throws down $25 for hardcovers. That might profit me personally far better, but that wouldn’t be real of me. So the stories are more straight up Southside. There’s a lot to it, but I don’t want to get into it all too heavily, as that’s third on the list at this point, so I’ll save that energy for later, hopefully this fall. I do want to thank Ben for his support over the years though. There are two ways to be a successful force in life:
The first, and easiest, is to be born into that lane, as I mentioned before. You are afforded opportunities that many could never hope to get a sniff of, and you should feel thankful for that. This does not make you free of the repercussions, because as I wrote a friend yesterday, there are a large number of men and women who have boots on their throat from birth, by birth, and if you are one who is part of that boot, just because you acknowledge the fact the boot is on the throat of the less fortunate, as opposed to pretending everything is decided by ambition and skill, it does not make the person who is being choked from birth less angry at you for having your boot upon their throat. I mean, it may make you feel better to acknowledge it (or maybe not), but it does not change the fact. Don’t hate yourself though if you are one of these types born into this affluence. The system we have is what it is, and there will be those born choking and those born breathing fully. We do not choose where we are born, so do not feel guilty.
The second, but much harder way to be a successful force in life is to have advocates. Going back to the vast interactive network of commercials, a commercial is basically advocacy on behalf of a product. I am not a product. I have a purpose, and I am thankful to Ben Leroy for being an advocate on my behalf within the system of literary product manufacturing. But I am also thankful to all those who have read my online writings over the years, who perhaps collected Confederate Macks back in the day, or who just get what I do in ways that neither of us understand, because like I said, we are vessels, that science and religion can’t explain completely. This shit happens, because it’s supposed to.
I am very thankful for my wife as well, who has helped nurse me through the past 18 months (and more), and who is a true partner in this. We are the honeysuckle vine and the poison ivy, together, a bit of both of that in both of us, yin and yang, make do and do make (which is my personal yin/yang). We are the Bird Tribe, and we both have our purposes, and for whatever reason we have been thrown together, and that too will serve something larger than simply our two physical manifestations as well. It is exciting to have unfold, and I know how blessed we are to have found that with each other.
So yep, that’s it. I’m cranking back up the old kookery factory. So holler at your boy.
For whatever reason, I recognized this and realized I was forcing, and under the heavy advice of professionals, I shut it all down so to speak. Work - where I was struggling to maintain employment (still am), navigating various inter-personal mine fields - was taking most all my energy. Trying to chase creative endeavors afterwards, eating into the night at my usual adult clip, to where I’d get by on 4 to 6 hours of sleep a night, honestly it was probably killing me. The battery was drained. Unfortunately, I am the sole (and soul) provider for a family of five, so cutting out work was not an option. I was not born into that lane, and though sometimes I can get filled with resentment towards the leisure class who can easily accomplish things I lust after (grad school, vacations, two working vehicles at one time), I know that what I was born is what I was born. This is my path, and for whatever fucked up reason, contrary to all pre-existing examples or patterns, my brain was wired to work the way it does, and do it as intensely as possible. To say there is a higher purpose would be misleading because it assumes there is a higher authority of some sort…
Well fuck, I initially was going to start giving a simple weekly update of where I am with writing, to start a dialogue with whoever comes to this site, being my ultimate goal is to move away from this site. The internet has become (or always was) a vast interactive network of commercials, so ultimately whatever I do for no obvious cost is allowing others to profit. And to think the internet is “free” is sort of a mistake anyways, as basically there is an unsigned contract where you give up information about yourself to Google/Facebook/Whatever in exchange for using the services. It’s not free so much as you’ve willingly entered a contract no one laid out for you to officially sign. That info is used to tailor the vast interactive network of commercials back at you. So I am viewing this site as a commercial for my other purpose, which itself is not very clear to me.
A lot of what I’ve been thinking on lately has been that much like our flaw-heavy two-party political system in America, there is a two-party philosophical system in place, where most of us feel our world is comprised of Religion vs. Science. Either you believe in God and everyone else will suffer in your religion’s version of Hell, or you have faith in science and to do otherwise is foolish and will jeopardize the future of humanity (oddly enough, in a global warming fate remarkably similar to Christian Hell).
The problem with this two-philosophy system is very much like the problems with our two-party political system – both have very heavy flaws in their methods and ways, and neither really is able to encompass the entirety of what it means to be a human. Thus, I say above, “To say there is a higher purpose… assumes there is a higher authority.” For religion, this is your God (or Gods or whatever); and for science, this is Science (with its rigid methods for extraction of “facts” from experience). I don’t believe entirely in either, and probably believe partially in both. But neither explains what has happened to me thus far today, much less throughout my entire life. Neither never will.
So what I do is communicate the way my mind wraps itself around and through concepts and stories and ideas like honeysuckle vines and poison ivy, together. I do this through words mostly, because words make the chemicals in my brain tingle as neurotically as the blood in my penis does when I’m looking at my wife naked. I can’t help it. Even during this health-imposed sabbatical, all I’d think about was stories and narratives, and how to switch the angles, and who I ultimately would want to serve in these stories, which often times weren’t even stories at all but something somewhere in between fiction and non-fiction, but not conscious enough to be “creative non-fiction” or “memoir” or fuck man I just don’t know. But it is what I do, and what I am supposed to do, and ultimately me – the man with body and skull full of chemical translations of the world I sense – seems to be nothing more than a vessel for that process.
Thus, I am here inside the vast network of interactive commercials to tell you I am writing. I am not a writer, and never will be. The past 18 months I have entertained that delusion, and the delusion impregnated my dreams with bastard wealths that would never love me or allow me to be myself. I have dabbled with the grad school process, had interactions with literary world figures in that process, tested the marketability of the end results of my purpose with literary agent, and all of it made me less able to do what I was supposed to do than ever.
And the odd thing is everything is so out there now. I can basically make the 2012 equivalent of a zine, spontaneously (as I am now doing) available to anyone who has cyber-network access. And of course, our ability to process longer communications is hindered by that sensory overload.
I would bet of every 10 people who started reading this, maybe one is still with me at this point, and it’s not because of the lack of style to the writing, though maybe the content drives some way; but an inability to care to focus beyond thirty seconds is a large part of it, as while you spend time with this, the computer beams at you with the sexy allure of LIMITLESS POSSIBILITIES THAT YOU MIGHT BE MISSING OUT ON by focusing too deeply on this. Which of course drives home my belief that we don’t actually “know” more now than we did a hundred years ago; we just know very little about a far wider array of things.
Nonetheless, the purpose of this post is to say, Hey you, random reader of my website, I have returned to allowing myself to write. The end results will be ebooks from now on, at whatever rate they come. These will be under various names, most likely, and completely off-topic from each other, often times. I’m gonna try to check in here weekly though (aside from the manifestation sonnet/Rojonekku song of the day thing) and let you know where I’m at with these things. I would hope you would comment and talk with me (or do twitters with me, or mail a post card, or whatever feels right), and we can interact. But here is the project I’m working on, as well as the two on the horizon.
#1: Armchair Linebacker NFL Preview – This is something Neil and I did last year, but I’ve done for six or seven years in a row, either online or in various zines. It’s a good, easy, pop cultural way to ease myself back into the water of my stream of thought, so to speak. I’ve built the framework for it all already, and am a couple thousand words into it. I am expecting this to be done the first week of August, to be available for a few months, into the middle of the NFL season. If you know me or my style, it will be as enjoyable for non-NFL fans as for fans (in fact, maybe more so if you don’t like football), and will be far different from the crap that passes itself for internet sports writing opinions for you, most of which are tired, sober, third-rate imitations of Hunter S. Thompson’s second-rate ESPN columns anyways.
#2: Raven Mack’s First Book – The structure of this will be very similar to old Confederate Mack zines, as I’ve been taking notes on Lessons my daily experiences are teaching me. This has been to notice my real world more closely, but also because I feel everything is a fucking lesson. Every thing. But at this point all I’m doing is taking notes on this, and letting it all ferment in the background of my brain, as I’m very much following Henry Miller’s advice and focusing on only one project at a time from here forward. One of my biggest character flaws to this point has been to allow my energies to flow ten ways at once. The health struggles of the past year have helped me realize my energies are not limitless, even when a back roads Viking Scot redneck ninja like myself. My energies are like stone, and sure throwing giant chunks of quartz at people can be painful if you are lucky to hit somebody just right sometime, but carve that bitch into an arrow point and you will pierce a motherfucker’s heart, for sure, so long as your aim is true.
#3: Recession Proof collection of stories – I’ve actually got the title story in final shape, and three others in complete but unfinished stage, plus around ten to fifteen others completely outlined in basic framework just not fleshed into full. I build stories in composition books, then on notecards, then finally into a robot keyboard when they are ready for flesh. I was working on this late last year as possibly being published by Benjamin Leroy at Tyrus Books, but as I’ve thoroughly explained, my life has been a derailment process. This collection of stories would probably be better for me financially if it was some sort of Frank Bill-esque rural noir vicarious thrill for book buyer types, but I feel like I am a representative of Southside Virginia, like for real its written embodiment, and I don’t want to be a backwoods Uncle Tom show for the leisure class of our “civilization” that still throws down $25 for hardcovers. That might profit me personally far better, but that wouldn’t be real of me. So the stories are more straight up Southside. There’s a lot to it, but I don’t want to get into it all too heavily, as that’s third on the list at this point, so I’ll save that energy for later, hopefully this fall. I do want to thank Ben for his support over the years though. There are two ways to be a successful force in life:
The first, and easiest, is to be born into that lane, as I mentioned before. You are afforded opportunities that many could never hope to get a sniff of, and you should feel thankful for that. This does not make you free of the repercussions, because as I wrote a friend yesterday, there are a large number of men and women who have boots on their throat from birth, by birth, and if you are one who is part of that boot, just because you acknowledge the fact the boot is on the throat of the less fortunate, as opposed to pretending everything is decided by ambition and skill, it does not make the person who is being choked from birth less angry at you for having your boot upon their throat. I mean, it may make you feel better to acknowledge it (or maybe not), but it does not change the fact. Don’t hate yourself though if you are one of these types born into this affluence. The system we have is what it is, and there will be those born choking and those born breathing fully. We do not choose where we are born, so do not feel guilty.
The second, but much harder way to be a successful force in life is to have advocates. Going back to the vast interactive network of commercials, a commercial is basically advocacy on behalf of a product. I am not a product. I have a purpose, and I am thankful to Ben Leroy for being an advocate on my behalf within the system of literary product manufacturing. But I am also thankful to all those who have read my online writings over the years, who perhaps collected Confederate Macks back in the day, or who just get what I do in ways that neither of us understand, because like I said, we are vessels, that science and religion can’t explain completely. This shit happens, because it’s supposed to.
I am very thankful for my wife as well, who has helped nurse me through the past 18 months (and more), and who is a true partner in this. We are the honeysuckle vine and the poison ivy, together, a bit of both of that in both of us, yin and yang, make do and do make (which is my personal yin/yang). We are the Bird Tribe, and we both have our purposes, and for whatever reason we have been thrown together, and that too will serve something larger than simply our two physical manifestations as well. It is exciting to have unfold, and I know how blessed we are to have found that with each other.
So yep, that’s it. I’m cranking back up the old kookery factory. So holler at your boy.
Monday, June 6
J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - April '11 #1: "Be Thankful For What You've Got" by William DeVaughn
2011 has been an interesting experience almost halfway through, full of a variety of personal obstacles. Honestly, I'm not quite sure how to describe the whole affair, because it hasn't necessarily been bad, although if I make a list of what's been going on, it certainly seems that way. I tend to be used to the whole lemons/making lemonade mantra, or at least good at it, or something, so shit gets done and I tend to find the positive brightness in the dark. I guess the best description would be this year has been hard, but even that connotes a frustration and exhaustion that's not really there. It is what it is, and you either deal with it or wallow in the misery. It's emotional survival, so to speak, where you either adapt and thrive or you fucking struggle and die, except with emotions your death is slow and internal and not a physical death but you instead become a creepy shriveled shell of your full potential.
Now before I get too far off into some sort of bullshit interwebz self-help peak-realization tangent complete with powerpoint presentations, let me just bring it back to earth. I have realized over the course of the past few months that a lot of the support structure I felt was in place was not hurricane-proof. It could hold up so long as there was nothing to test it, or for as far as it was convenient or beneficial to that support system to be down with me, but when shit got real a few times this year, there were a handful of situations where someone I had been counting on could not deliver that key block or wasn't able to deliver on a promise when I finally wanted them to deliver. But no sweat, that's human nature, and sometimes we should all realize we are surrounded by fatty relationships and not necessarily getting the interpersonal nutrition that we need to thrive, both in our every day life as well as physically (balled up bellies full of stress tend to keep the body from being upright) and yes, creatively, which is probably a contributing reason why there's been so little done on this site lately outside of haiku/pictures (as well as why the ezine launch has been pushed back). Also, the fact I have not had time to really do anything outside of process all the bullshit going on, then sleep for five hours, then get up and sail through the shit storm again the next day has contributed to my lack of long-form creative productivity.
And at the same time, even saying something like "creative productivity" is annoying, and a huge part of the problem. Fuck attachment to the fruits of your actions, especially if those fruits are the false shine of material wealth. I have been very struck by how fucked this world can be in certain circles, but more striking to me is how there's whole worlds of people whose lives are off the interweb radar - people who are hopeless and reckless and shiftless and aimless and trapped. I have a step-brother (not legally anymore as my pops passed on years ago) who is exactly that, excited to join the fucking army because he's tired of sitting around in Shithole Southside, Virginia, unemployed, struggling to figure out how to translate an EBT food stamp card into a bag of dirtweed. Excited to get into the army, at like age 27. And I find myself surrounded at work in normal work-to-home/home-to-work travels by people who are caught up in the most superficial nonsense, accumulating a lot of what will be nothing in five years, and expecting others to respect that. It seems like we are disconnected from the realities of our worlds a lot more now than I think ever before, although I am the first to admit there's always that problem of getting older and hitting that "today sucks compared to yesterday because I am older and things used to be better" stride of our more advanced in days lives.
Nonetheless, I've recently instituted Boogie Jam '11, where I meditated by the pig pen under the new moon last week, and cast my intentions to trample this world with soulful righteousness. This is not meant in a Jack Johnson song sort of way either (hence the William DeVaughn track accompanying this diatribe, because "Be Thankful for What You've Got" is my Sunday morning church service the past couple months, and the ol' lady's too; we've played this song a zillion times since April Fool's holiday), because a major fault in left-leaning thinking is that man is somehow evil and separate from nature, that we are the cancer of the earth. This is the extreme pendulum over-response to man having dominion over the earth. We are neither this world's Lord Incarnate nor it's Terminal Cancer; we're just people. And under that new moon last week, I cast the intention to be more aware of my place in the physical world, which hopefully will strengthen my e-aura back to proper levels, and will also affect tangible life with tangible good times. In the past week I've hiked a hobo trail to an abandoned power plant and soaked in the goodness of industrial wastelands covered in graffiti murals, crushed beer cans, with the meditative backdrop of the tinkling river nearby. I've tromped along railroad ties to a sidetrack rail yard hardly used but only quiet on a Sunday afternoon, and felt the immensity of what we've done as a mankind - not bad, but just immense. No shit, you know how people claim to hug trees to feel the soul of the plant (which is something I believe in, but don't practice because of the types who tend to talk publicly about such endeavors - I am still working on my judgmental decisions blocking myself to opportunity)? I did that with old freight cars, leaning against the edge, feeling the decades of shaped metal, covered in shine then grime then paint then acid to etch off the paint then rust then whatever else. It's beautiful that strange rust/paint patina of an old boxcar that has been stripped and painted and overused and neglected and vandalized and stripped and on and on. That's us. I think we tend to still, even when we are godless environment-lovers, to still think we have dominion over the earth, separate from it all, as a cancer, and we are ultimately doomed.
We are not. We are people, wandering around doing shit. Things changes and get hectic as fuck and we will fight it and die or accept it and thrive. My air conditioning is broke on my truck and it's been almost 100 degrees already in early June multiple days, but that's fine. I can't be riding around in creature comfort all day long to hustle into creature comfort work and creature comfort homes, all the air conditioned to a cool perfection all the time. I've got to sit in the fucking heat and feel it and let my body adjust. So that's what I'm doing, wandering some new paths, jumping into some new circles, realizing that a lot of my old support systems that held me in certain places were not able to withstand the turbulence of 2011, so why bother to continue counting on them? I don't have as much as I thought I did at the beginning of this year - in the way of family, in the way of friends, in the way of future - but I'm thankful for what I do got, and I'm gonna keep moving, keep sipping on my life's lemonade, and keep adapting and thriving.
STEAL "Be Thankful For What You've Got"
NEXT MONTH: Is last month!
Friday, November 19
J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown – October ’10 Intro
Starting to feel my natural swagger again, had it all buried underneath the poisons that had become my day-to-day. Quit drinking a few weeks ago, not permanently, but I figured a good philosophy from now on is quit the poisons, write a book, then drink during an off-period, repeat as necessary. This way I figure I can have 2 or 3 National Write a Novel Months every year. Also quit sodas, shit food for lunch, etc. Gotta say, from the research papers I’ve seen in the works being I am inside the Belly of the Great Beast right now, the corn syrups seem more destructive to our innards than the alcohol. Still though, I could feel the haze cobra clutching my brain in the mornings, and I wanna be free, you dig?
But all this occurred last month, realizing I was wandering the same tired dead end circles I’d been wandering for ten years. It is odd how such a paradigm shift will affect your immediate surroundings, but I have felt the ripple of “what the fuck”ness from those I am involved with on the regular. That’s what happens. I have to be honest though, fuck the world. I gotta do me, and me is whatever it happens to be, so long as nothing roadblocks my ultimate goals, and I feel like I was spinning my wheels in muddy ruts there for a while. Shit, I ain’t even gotten good traction to escape that yet, but I can see I’m getting it all in place.
So the music on this October J.J. Krupert was the first list to come off the new Itunes set-up on my new (to me) home computer, so it was a rebirth so to speak, which is interesting considering all of that hooha I just talked up above. Seems that being reborn is all around. And I want to make one thing absolutely goddamned clear – there is no false piety in this talk I talk. I do not give a fuck what anyone else does, nor do I think you should do what I do or not do what I do. I encourage you to do drugs, have sex, wander wild circles, break laws, do things of which you can never tell anyone, and survive. You will be the better person for it in the long run. I am very sick of two types of people that unfortunately have populated my world more than any others lately – the falsely pious who feel they know what is right for the world and best for everyone else and if you disagree than it is sad the ignorance you have to not see the obvious truth they see; or the overwhelmingly ironic where nothing can be serious or sacred and it is all just things you lololol about or pretend you like in the off-chance someone seriously thinks that’s stupid you are not married to it. That’s it.
Fuck all that. I am a soldier of righteousness, yet my righteousness cannot be held in place since it changes daily. What I deem good today may be evil tomorrow, and that is fine. That is natural. I am also, I am proud to say, just as much of a degenerate sober as I was as a drunkard. I think too often the excuse of losing control of one’s self due to other substances is used, when really that’s just the vehicle we choose to carry our naturally chaotic mind. I am natural chaos, with an underlying chill that sees the world as one, yet recognizes the perversions of our alleged progresses. Perversions and degeneracy are two entirely different things. Perversions are steps in an unnatural direction, while degeneracy just tears shit back down to its more feral state. I am a proud degenerate, without a perverted thought in my mind. Motherfucker.
So these are the first batch of songs from a new computer set-up, rebirth of play counts, rebirth of subtracting skip counts, rebirth of me as a hollow-point bullet of my old standard shell self. And as usual, all of this could change before you read this. I refuse to be shackled to a single word I’ve ever written.
FIRST UP: Fraggle rock!
Wednesday, October 20
Spring Chicken Ale II
AFFORDABILITY: Spring Chicken Ale number one was done in 2009, and called such a thing because I bought the ingredients and me and the ol' lady cooked it up right around the same time I bought our first pullets for our laying flock, that has thrived and dwindled. First things I bought were three reds and two leghorns from a dude who lived in a trailer near my grandpa's house. That dude reached into the tubs in his shed and pulled me out five gonna-be-hens, 100% correct. Ever since then, nothing has been able to give me 100% hendom, and shit, I do better by holding them up and feeling them soulfully than some of these fuckers who have sold me little chickens do for figuring the sex. Leghorns, though a commercial layer that is often disrespected by new agey backyard farmer types hellbent on do it yourselfing, are the greatest breed of chickens I have ever had thus far. They are small, personable, and lay big ol' fat eggs on the regular. We lost our second leghorn over the weekend, first one mauled by the dogs, second one nipped by them but enough blood was showing for the other chickens to peck her intestines out. We also made this second Spring Chicken Ale, which honestly has sat in the hall closet, undrank, because it's too lemony. Much like my chicken flock, this second Spring Chicken beer had too much of this and not enough of that, and isn't as good as 2009. I bought the ingredients for it the same time I bought the ones for my Freya's Magic Stick beer, and the new redneck dude who owned it kept pushing buttons on his cash register in between telling his kids to stop this or that or settle down, and when it was done being added up, red flags came out the top that said, "Raven, you are one dumb motherfucker." 1 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: Homebrews always are an unprotected drunken piledriver into a concrete sidewalk in the part of a medium-sized city where the outer layer is starting to be etched away by the chemical rains of the past decade, as opposed to the sports entertainmentery double chicken wing fall down together shit you see on TV wrestling nowadays. 5 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: We just printed out white labels using the same Jokewood font we used last year for the first batch, and I probably used the same comedically timed bad grammar that I did then as well ("lemonpeels" is one of the ingredients), so whatever. It comes off when it sweats and you rub your thumb over it too much, but maybe you should be drinking faster anyways. 3 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: When I talked about our last homebrew, I said nothing was my corporate master, but I lied. The government is my corporate master. Government is the worst corporation of all, because they can use the same trickery and propaganda and try to turn a devilish profit, but if things break down and they lose money, they just take the profit from you anyways. Or from somebody. I work for the government now, state government, in a research position funded by federal government. I got all types of shackles around my ankles, and the steady work for steady pay makes me think I'm straight pimpin' compared to the hodgepodge self-unemployed construction worker of last year, but damn. Sometimes I don't know. Even shit like paying for insurance for my family. We don't use it, so is it worth it? I mean if somebody got a broken AIDSbone or something, then yeah, I guess it'd be worth it. But right now, it feels like a slot machine I'm losing money to. And if I have to get my money's worth by having something ill happen to me, that's one demented slot machine. 1 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: You know I forgot to not only drink this homebrew but to finish writing these stupid beer reviews, and even quit drinking briefly, or at least cut back, but now am back. But I should let you know I drank a few of these Spring Chicken Ales months after I wrote the rest of this review, and somehow they were way better. That is the nature of the homebrew – a mysterious changeling of alcohol content that will invigorate your world because you’ll be like, “Oh snap! I made this dumb shit! And now my brain is wonky!” 4 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 2 & 4/5 STARS!
DESTROYABILITY: Homebrews always are an unprotected drunken piledriver into a concrete sidewalk in the part of a medium-sized city where the outer layer is starting to be etched away by the chemical rains of the past decade, as opposed to the sports entertainmentery double chicken wing fall down together shit you see on TV wrestling nowadays. 5 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: We just printed out white labels using the same Jokewood font we used last year for the first batch, and I probably used the same comedically timed bad grammar that I did then as well ("lemonpeels" is one of the ingredients), so whatever. It comes off when it sweats and you rub your thumb over it too much, but maybe you should be drinking faster anyways. 3 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: When I talked about our last homebrew, I said nothing was my corporate master, but I lied. The government is my corporate master. Government is the worst corporation of all, because they can use the same trickery and propaganda and try to turn a devilish profit, but if things break down and they lose money, they just take the profit from you anyways. Or from somebody. I work for the government now, state government, in a research position funded by federal government. I got all types of shackles around my ankles, and the steady work for steady pay makes me think I'm straight pimpin' compared to the hodgepodge self-unemployed construction worker of last year, but damn. Sometimes I don't know. Even shit like paying for insurance for my family. We don't use it, so is it worth it? I mean if somebody got a broken AIDSbone or something, then yeah, I guess it'd be worth it. But right now, it feels like a slot machine I'm losing money to. And if I have to get my money's worth by having something ill happen to me, that's one demented slot machine. 1 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: You know I forgot to not only drink this homebrew but to finish writing these stupid beer reviews, and even quit drinking briefly, or at least cut back, but now am back. But I should let you know I drank a few of these Spring Chicken Ales months after I wrote the rest of this review, and somehow they were way better. That is the nature of the homebrew – a mysterious changeling of alcohol content that will invigorate your world because you’ll be like, “Oh snap! I made this dumb shit! And now my brain is wonky!” 4 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 2 & 4/5 STARS!
100 VINYLZ: #53 - Volume 4 LP by Black Sabbath
(1972, Vertigo Records)
Black Sabbath to me is all about uncles. For both sides of the family. First the Moms, because it doesn’t conclude as good as the other side does. I remember very clearly going to my grandma and grandpa’s house for some holiday bullshit, and my mom had two half-brothers, older than her, one was a fuck-up and one was a godboy. Fuck-up was awesome to me as a kid, a giant mountain of a man with a swastika tattoo on his forearm and he either hung out with bikers or was a Pagan MC and he either hung out with heroin or was a junkie, and now he’s old yet won’t die like a cockroach even though he’s had multiple serious afflictions, not to mention a decade back or so when some sort of squabble led to Dude A breaking back into a house he lived at, using a shotgun to shoot dead Dude B, and then shooting Dude C as he ran out the front room in the hip to where his hand was gunshot blasted into his hip and he lost five fingers but they transplanted a big toe onto his hand, so now he has a hand with 5 fingers, one with 2 fingers (or a finger and toe if you want to nitpick), and a foot with five toes, and one with four toes. Dude C is my uncle Littlejohn. Good dude. But anyways, at this holiday thing, godboy uncle (a Mennonite uncle or whatever that semi-Amish semi-Mormon group is that has 39 kids but only one wife) and crazy uncle and ma dukes and grandma were playing canasta and godboy uncle was talking about “this band named Black Sabbath, I mean what does that mean, and kids are listening to this every day” and crazy uncle just sat there quietly, concentrating on canasta, probably thinking in his head, “goddamn, fuck this shit, never again,” which I was way too young to understand BUT SOON ENOUGH! Funny thing is, I was the second oldest grandkid until godboy uncle adopted a foster child who was also older, and she was… uh… interesting in a slurpy way. Her and my aunt did a dance to “Hurts So Good” and looking back, that’s pretty funny for godboy uncle to have to watch. They adopted that girl and I became third oldest grandkid, but then that girl ended up being delinquent (SHOCKING DEVELOPMENT!) and she had a kid and somehow she was not their kid anymore but her kid was their kid. I don’t know. That’s how half-Amish/half-Mormon people end up with 39 kids usually.
On the other side of the family, it’s very simple. I was given a record player for Christmas one year, and I “borrowed” a few records from my uncles, five to be specific. There was Ozzy’s Blizzard of Ozz, Kiss’s Double Platinum, and a Black Sabbath War Pigs album that the second sleeve of the gatefold had been ripped open and a copy of Volume 4 stuffed inside. It was all awesome. But I honestly did not even know what the cover of Volume 4 looked like until like 3 years ago, although I’ve listened to it constantly. But the greatest thing about my copy of Volume 4 is somehow, “Supernaut” has a skip in the song that is exactly on beat, without a skip sound whatsoever. So I can play side A of that album and it seriously would play forever. This led me to write a thing for this hip hop whiteboyz thing that I used to do called Xpert Whiteboyz (that is starting up again maybe if I edit the shit) where I pretended I used an Xacto knife and magnifying glass to carve old records to make perfectly timed loops on them. Really, this would be an incredibly impossible thing to do, although if it happened by chance to my Black Sabbath album (by way of my uncles), then I guess it could be done. Unless of course the devil made my Black Sabbath album do that on purpose to delude me as I heavy-stepped my way towards oblivion.
By the way, this was a list I started a long time ago, planning on finishing in 2008 and to revisit every ten years, but yeah, look what happened. Fuck it though. I got no shadow.
Friday, July 9
blah blah blah
When I was planning on leaving the blog mostly unattended, my original attention had been to dedicate my time to this book that had exploded into my mind all at once. But life has been a big fat piece of hectic shit lately, so mostly I just try to figure out ways to con money out of people so that I can pay just under two-thirds of my bills. I have done nothing except mind outlining thus far on the book, which means I'm like every piece of sad sack shit out there in this world who thinks they have the great american novel in they brain if only they had the free time to put it into a keypad.
I am starting to realize a few things that are probably obvious to those around me. First off, I will never amount to shit. Something is not wired right in my brain, or I wasn't born with that fresh-dipped moonlight on my third eye, or something is wrong. I'm not sure what it is. If I knew, I probably wouldn't be so goddamned doom every three out of four weeks of my life. Nonetheless, it is what it is, which is what common ass people like me tend to say when they realize they are hopelessly fucked, in the moment or the grand scheme of things. It is what it is.
Secondly, I am a creature of retarded habit. Thus it is probably better I write some retarded nonsense every now and then rather than write nothing at all. If I hit a spell like I have lately where I haven't written shit in like ten days and I'm sitting around watching some dumbass fucking movie on the tv at night and I realize I'll go to sleep and wake up when an electronic device yelps at me and go back to a job that does nothing for me other than pay just under two-thirds of my bills, it makes me want to steal a schoolbus, do angel dust, and wreck it off a cliff like a 1978 after school special.
So there will be a thing, that I think will be semi-daily nonsense with a song download in memory of my biological father J.J. Krupert, who died with a gun in his hand. That is all I really feel like sharing with you in this fake ass world right now. (Actually, that sounds more melodramatic than I meant it to be; I just don't want to overload myself with doing dumb shit for nothing because I be broke plus the beard goes white and I feel like I should be dedicating my small windows of free time towards making something up that might get stitched into a book form and then my grandkids can one day be embarrassed to have come from my branch of their family tree.)
I am starting to realize a few things that are probably obvious to those around me. First off, I will never amount to shit. Something is not wired right in my brain, or I wasn't born with that fresh-dipped moonlight on my third eye, or something is wrong. I'm not sure what it is. If I knew, I probably wouldn't be so goddamned doom every three out of four weeks of my life. Nonetheless, it is what it is, which is what common ass people like me tend to say when they realize they are hopelessly fucked, in the moment or the grand scheme of things. It is what it is.
Secondly, I am a creature of retarded habit. Thus it is probably better I write some retarded nonsense every now and then rather than write nothing at all. If I hit a spell like I have lately where I haven't written shit in like ten days and I'm sitting around watching some dumbass fucking movie on the tv at night and I realize I'll go to sleep and wake up when an electronic device yelps at me and go back to a job that does nothing for me other than pay just under two-thirds of my bills, it makes me want to steal a schoolbus, do angel dust, and wreck it off a cliff like a 1978 after school special.
So there will be a thing, that I think will be semi-daily nonsense with a song download in memory of my biological father J.J. Krupert, who died with a gun in his hand. That is all I really feel like sharing with you in this fake ass world right now. (Actually, that sounds more melodramatic than I meant it to be; I just don't want to overload myself with doing dumb shit for nothing because I be broke plus the beard goes white and I feel like I should be dedicating my small windows of free time towards making something up that might get stitched into a book form and then my grandkids can one day be embarrassed to have come from my branch of their family tree.)
Saturday, November 21
NFL WEEK 11: NFC North & East teams
Hey, let's talk about football again. I have not been doing bloggish things because life is full of realish things, but I have been watching football, and keeping up my nonsense mathematical calculation of team power codes, so let us get back to listifications and opinionizing like nothing ever skipped a beat. So here are the teams of the National Football League National Football Conference North Division and East Division, in full detail...
#1: MINNESOTA VIKINGS (8-1, 4th overall) - Man, I can't even take Brett Favre games seriously as they have Favre cams and analysts actually say "love of the game" and "gunslinger" and it's like a Mr. Show skit and I laugh and laugh and laugh and suck on my big balloon full of nitrous oxide I stole out the dentist's office because he doesn't lock his back door and only has the one ADT wire in the front part of his Main Street spot.
#2: DALLAS COWBOYS (6-3, 6th overall) - It's amazing how many games the Cowboys have won this year with Ralph Wiggum being allowed another year of "coaching" this team by Heath Ledger's last performance as owner. I will say this though, there are lots of players who get lots of hype that I don't like much for really no real good reason at all, and I will say derogatory things about them. But in my short lifetime of experiences, I have ran wide circles with many varying crowds, and you learn to not necessarily judge people but prepare yourself for them by the look in their eyes. It is the window to the soul. When I look into Tony Romo's eyeballs, even on the television, you see a man who is denying his true self and is a dishonest and probably self-abusive individual. He is the most obvious closeted, even to himself, gay man the NFL currently has, which is why T.O., a more flamboyant version of the same, had such a problem with Romo and Jason Witten being such "boys" and almost killing himself. Man, Dallas left behind the Jimmy Johnson era of drug addicted sodomites, but it seems their sodomite influence is as strong as ever. Has there ever been a professional sports franchise with such a rich and long history of sexual perversion?
#3: NEW YORK GIANTS (5-4, 13th overall) - As a Redskins fan, the Giants are like third-place rival, behind the obvious Cowboys and the Eagles (with their retard fans), so when the Giants do good, ehh whatever. And when they do bad, it is also like whatever. Really, this is a boring fucking football team. Eli Manning is like the most Phil Simms vanilla ass bitch you could probably still find in post hip hop America in the year 2009, and really, is there even a remotely interesting personality on this team left this year (other than obviously Osi Umenyiora, since there really aren't that many people who are stoked to piss on others for sexual gratification anymore)?
#4: PHILADELPHIA EAGLES (5-4, 15th overall) - Look, I will be serious for a second here... Bryan Westbrook has been one of those solid dudes who even though they play for a division rival or your favorite team, they do it without ego and without bullshit swagger yet they fucking kick ass, including your favorite team's one, on the regular. But it's hard not to like that type of guy. This multiple concussion shit is something that even five years ago no one would've thought twice about, and shit man, honestly, I've had four or five concussions in my life, including a couple of really good ones that knocked me goofy for a few days. Usually, alcohol was involved, so you can blame the concussion effects on detoxing after a heavy drunk, but the last one I got there was no alcohol involved, so I felt the full effect of being knocked stupid because my brain had gotten swolled up inside its shell. It's some crazy shit, mostly because we study our brains as humans with our brains, so everything we "discover" has to be taken with a grain of salt. Still, you hate to see a dude like Westbrook be done because of rattled brains. But at the same time, maybe a solid dude would get out while he's still solid, ala Barry Sanders, instead of perpetuating the bullshit machismo football player stereotype and playing until they forcibly remove him from the league.
#5: CHICAGO BEARS (4-5, 18th overall) - Oh man, Jay Cutler is hilarious, with a natural born poutface tossing mad interceptions like he's your 8-year-old cousin playing you in Madden. I would have to assume somewhere along the way there was some sort of curse that has doomed Bears QBs to be retarded even when quite possibly good. This means two things... Firstly, no new QB will ever be good enough, especially after Bears fans were lining up to fellate Jay Cutler when he got traded there. And secondly, if you factor in the Bears Curse quotient, in actuality, Jim McMahon must've been better than Joe Montana, and would've won four Super Bowls, but he got stuck in Chicago inside their QB curse. Odd how they would always have awesome middle linebackers and terrible quarterbacks, like their heritage is full of pride for not losing too badly.
#6: GREEN BAY PACKERS (5-4, 19th overall) - The Packers one week will be the best team in the NFC, and the next week they lose to the Browns or some shit like that. There is no identity, which I guess, sad as I am to make this statement, that's what made Brett Favre great. He might fuck up, or he might not, but you knew what was gonna happen every week. You don't really know what you're getting with this Packers team week in week out. Granted, their O-line is decimated to fuck, so the fact Aaron Rodgers can even do what he's done makes him a thousand times better than say a David Carr or Patrick Ramsey, and honestly, Brett Favre probably would've been crippled by now anyways and Rodgers would be their QB anyways.
#7: WASHINGTON REDSKINS (3-6, 26th overall) - I am a Redskins fan, and I know there are lots of politically correct websites like buyoutsnyder.com or snydersucks or whatever about Dan Snyder not owning this team anymore. But I am a realistic man, and also not ashamed at all to just outright say, I hope Dan Snyder dies. I am a conscious man, so hopefully it's natural and mostly pain-free, but still, die Dan Snyder die. I'm sure this would be shocking to many, but really, if I can't wish death upon those that infringe upon a perfect Sunday for myself, then can I really call myself American? Am I truly free if I have to stifle these feelings of hatred for a little-dicked miniature man who has ran my one emotionally-important sports team into the worst years of my life? And I don't really want him to die, if he sells the team. But if he still owns them, then yes, I want him to die.
#8: DETROIT LIONS (1-8, 32nd overall) - Man, they were ranked last according to my methods last year, obviously, and somehow they've slipped back down to the last overall spot again this year. It makes me feel bad for Lions fans. Hell, they just sold the Silverdome for like half a million, which was the big sports talk radio bit of the day, but really, that's crazy as fuck. Like, where I live, the economy sucks, but the local redneck family who made a fortune building logging equipment, half a million is something they could pull together easily. They could've bought the Silverdome for a private members only mud bog club, except the Silverdome is in Michigan, where I guess people are way more fucked than here. Which I guess is also how I should look at my Redskins - we are a long way's from being the Lions. In fact, even if we sucked every year from here till my death, it still wouldn't be as bad as being a Lions fan.
#1: MINNESOTA VIKINGS (8-1, 4th overall) - Man, I can't even take Brett Favre games seriously as they have Favre cams and analysts actually say "love of the game" and "gunslinger" and it's like a Mr. Show skit and I laugh and laugh and laugh and suck on my big balloon full of nitrous oxide I stole out the dentist's office because he doesn't lock his back door and only has the one ADT wire in the front part of his Main Street spot.
#2: DALLAS COWBOYS (6-3, 6th overall) - It's amazing how many games the Cowboys have won this year with Ralph Wiggum being allowed another year of "coaching" this team by Heath Ledger's last performance as owner. I will say this though, there are lots of players who get lots of hype that I don't like much for really no real good reason at all, and I will say derogatory things about them. But in my short lifetime of experiences, I have ran wide circles with many varying crowds, and you learn to not necessarily judge people but prepare yourself for them by the look in their eyes. It is the window to the soul. When I look into Tony Romo's eyeballs, even on the television, you see a man who is denying his true self and is a dishonest and probably self-abusive individual. He is the most obvious closeted, even to himself, gay man the NFL currently has, which is why T.O., a more flamboyant version of the same, had such a problem with Romo and Jason Witten being such "boys" and almost killing himself. Man, Dallas left behind the Jimmy Johnson era of drug addicted sodomites, but it seems their sodomite influence is as strong as ever. Has there ever been a professional sports franchise with such a rich and long history of sexual perversion?
#3: NEW YORK GIANTS (5-4, 13th overall) - As a Redskins fan, the Giants are like third-place rival, behind the obvious Cowboys and the Eagles (with their retard fans), so when the Giants do good, ehh whatever. And when they do bad, it is also like whatever. Really, this is a boring fucking football team. Eli Manning is like the most Phil Simms vanilla ass bitch you could probably still find in post hip hop America in the year 2009, and really, is there even a remotely interesting personality on this team left this year (other than obviously Osi Umenyiora, since there really aren't that many people who are stoked to piss on others for sexual gratification anymore)?
#4: PHILADELPHIA EAGLES (5-4, 15th overall) - Look, I will be serious for a second here... Bryan Westbrook has been one of those solid dudes who even though they play for a division rival or your favorite team, they do it without ego and without bullshit swagger yet they fucking kick ass, including your favorite team's one, on the regular. But it's hard not to like that type of guy. This multiple concussion shit is something that even five years ago no one would've thought twice about, and shit man, honestly, I've had four or five concussions in my life, including a couple of really good ones that knocked me goofy for a few days. Usually, alcohol was involved, so you can blame the concussion effects on detoxing after a heavy drunk, but the last one I got there was no alcohol involved, so I felt the full effect of being knocked stupid because my brain had gotten swolled up inside its shell. It's some crazy shit, mostly because we study our brains as humans with our brains, so everything we "discover" has to be taken with a grain of salt. Still, you hate to see a dude like Westbrook be done because of rattled brains. But at the same time, maybe a solid dude would get out while he's still solid, ala Barry Sanders, instead of perpetuating the bullshit machismo football player stereotype and playing until they forcibly remove him from the league.
#5: CHICAGO BEARS (4-5, 18th overall) - Oh man, Jay Cutler is hilarious, with a natural born poutface tossing mad interceptions like he's your 8-year-old cousin playing you in Madden. I would have to assume somewhere along the way there was some sort of curse that has doomed Bears QBs to be retarded even when quite possibly good. This means two things... Firstly, no new QB will ever be good enough, especially after Bears fans were lining up to fellate Jay Cutler when he got traded there. And secondly, if you factor in the Bears Curse quotient, in actuality, Jim McMahon must've been better than Joe Montana, and would've won four Super Bowls, but he got stuck in Chicago inside their QB curse. Odd how they would always have awesome middle linebackers and terrible quarterbacks, like their heritage is full of pride for not losing too badly.
#6: GREEN BAY PACKERS (5-4, 19th overall) - The Packers one week will be the best team in the NFC, and the next week they lose to the Browns or some shit like that. There is no identity, which I guess, sad as I am to make this statement, that's what made Brett Favre great. He might fuck up, or he might not, but you knew what was gonna happen every week. You don't really know what you're getting with this Packers team week in week out. Granted, their O-line is decimated to fuck, so the fact Aaron Rodgers can even do what he's done makes him a thousand times better than say a David Carr or Patrick Ramsey, and honestly, Brett Favre probably would've been crippled by now anyways and Rodgers would be their QB anyways.
#7: WASHINGTON REDSKINS (3-6, 26th overall) - I am a Redskins fan, and I know there are lots of politically correct websites like buyoutsnyder.com or snydersucks or whatever about Dan Snyder not owning this team anymore. But I am a realistic man, and also not ashamed at all to just outright say, I hope Dan Snyder dies. I am a conscious man, so hopefully it's natural and mostly pain-free, but still, die Dan Snyder die. I'm sure this would be shocking to many, but really, if I can't wish death upon those that infringe upon a perfect Sunday for myself, then can I really call myself American? Am I truly free if I have to stifle these feelings of hatred for a little-dicked miniature man who has ran my one emotionally-important sports team into the worst years of my life? And I don't really want him to die, if he sells the team. But if he still owns them, then yes, I want him to die.
#8: DETROIT LIONS (1-8, 32nd overall) - Man, they were ranked last according to my methods last year, obviously, and somehow they've slipped back down to the last overall spot again this year. It makes me feel bad for Lions fans. Hell, they just sold the Silverdome for like half a million, which was the big sports talk radio bit of the day, but really, that's crazy as fuck. Like, where I live, the economy sucks, but the local redneck family who made a fortune building logging equipment, half a million is something they could pull together easily. They could've bought the Silverdome for a private members only mud bog club, except the Silverdome is in Michigan, where I guess people are way more fucked than here. Which I guess is also how I should look at my Redskins - we are a long way's from being the Lions. In fact, even if we sucked every year from here till my death, it still wouldn't be as bad as being a Lions fan.
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