The Place Where the Clocks Are.

That is all.

Big Mike.

Let's put a shark in formaldehyde and call it art.

Is it odd for a person's demeanor to change just because they're getting older? Maybe it shouldn't even be phrased like that. I doubt I would even call it a change in demeanor. More like the loss of will to keep things pushed deep, deep inside.

For the longest time I was able to put things so far down, that it seemed as if they had vanished. I always thought of myself as strong willed. I guess it had the opposite effect, these hidden feelings. In the wake of my youthful kindness, I just want to punch things until either they or I break into tiny little pieces. It's who I am on the inside, angry, depressed, and confused. I am still kind. Just not very nice, is it is turning out. Perhaps it would be for the best if I stop pretending to be something I'm not. Nice, that is. I joke about serious things. I should just be serious now. A fart just had bad timing.

Speaking of bad timing, why is it that all the best bands around are releasing new albums and touring when I happen to live 8750708957238740570 light years from the nearest tour stop type city? It wouldn't be so bad, however gas prices are already hitting Xavier-wants-to-cut-out-his-own-bones esque levels, and are reportedly going to raise another 40% this summer.

Paragraph 1 + paragraph 2 + me deciding to be as sober as a new born + going on a diet = unhappy camper. It's the fluoride. I blame the fluoride.


End words,

~Xavier R.

p.s. Hash brown time, nyucca

Serious Shit: "Supporting" our Troops

 

Buy here

A:

I hate America.

B:

Me too, sorta: ideally, it is the perfect country, in truth we are turning to shit.

A:

Next person I hear saying "Support Our Troops" is going to get set on fire.

B:

I was about to make a self immolation comment.

A:

You have a sense of Irony, you will go unmolested

B:

I'm sure I will.

A:

It's just the whole concept of wrapping the shit sandwich that is Iraq and Afghanistan in the flag, pepper it with some eagles and dead soldiers and say "OH no! you can't criticize THAT! You're UNAMERICAN!"

B:

That's bullshit. May those fools burn in the same fickle hell that they created.

A:

And what are we supposed to support? The fact that men are gladly signing up to risk their lives so we can have a better foothold in a region of the world with oil and a deep seated (and rightly justified) hatred for us? So we can kill unarmed civilians and take pictures posing next to their corpses?

B:

No kidding. What gets to me more than anything, is that people act as if  all of that is inevitable. It's only inevitable if no one does anything.

Individually, we can handle anything, but together, we panic, we're dumb.

A:

So yeah, next time I hear an army wife talk about how proud she is of her husband in Iraq, I'll just ask her "why?"

B:

Be careful. A lot of people really do ship out with the intention of saving the world.

A:

Call me a Nihilist, but those people are fucking stupid and make the world worse.

 Now, don't get me wrong, I really don't have much against the men fighting... I just think they're misguided, or just looking for a job, to be useful.

But they don't come back all there.

 B:

Yeah, it's sad.

A:

Just a block away from my apartment a Marine came back from a tour in Afghanistan.

He shot his wife, then his toddler, then himself.

B:

Jesus Christ!

A:

Yep, you see we really don't give a shit about our troops.

If we actually gave HALF a fuck, we wouldn't let our troops fight anymore

B:

No kidding.

A:

But you know our economy is predicated on us killing someone. We can't figure out any other way to do things, so as long as there are kids gullible or desperate enough to risk at the very least their mental health, we "support" them.

Video Games

Now you're gay.

But seriously, I don't own a television, let alone any gaming apparatus. My computer is way too slow to do anything besides listen to music, write bullshit and look at porn. I really just needed a pretense to show you this picture.

So yeah... you're totally gay now.

Well, even gayer if you were a Metal Gear fan before we had this little chat.

Big Mike.

Numb Big Toes

Planning his vengeance. 




Be sure to check the header for some cool extra content.


Good day,

~Xavier R.

p.s. The standard of living in the free world has increased to match the optimized rate of adopting babies from third world countries, preferably those with brown hued people, as to let your peers know you're "down."

Jet...Jet...You need more Jet!

Silence the discord. Look into the eyes of sanity. A drug riddled adulterous man who pays little attention to his children and beats his wives (ex) is to be considered a beacon of admiration. Praise this country. Praise this world. Also, he will donate $1 out of every ticket he has sold from his tour to the relief effort in Japan. How splendid. He needs his many, many millions for his lifestyle, after all.


After many hours of bashing pretend people's pretend brains out of their pretend heads with a pretend cane, stacking the corpses into a neat pile then lighting it all ablaze, I decided it was time to put my talents to a better use. However, this Thom Yorke record is just making me hate the government, instead of inspiring to be artistically creative. Off with the Yorke, on with the Mingus.

There we are. Ah wait, now I just want to live a poor, tortured life, die broke, and become famous many years later. Damn my choices. I'll just go from here.

Speaking of Charles Mingus, I had posted on my facebook that I was interested in finding enough money to make a film about his life. Wild, violent, hectic, and above all else, the most brilliant composer of any genre to have ever lived. If you can't take my word for it, give his stuff a listen. I'll even make it easy on you.

I know opinion is objective, but get yourself uh-studying, and you will come to find that I am no liar.

Anyways, only days later, I discovered that they where making a film about the late great, Charles Mingus. So here is another hyperlink, the the hopes that you will learn more. Oh, and you'll need a facebook account. If you don't, then hurry and assimilate, asshole.


Vége

~Xavier R.

p.s. Why is the moon?

Serious Shit: a letter to my mother.

 

Dear Mom,

Obama is not a Socialist or a Nazi. He's not a Marxist, Leninist or a Mouist. He's not even a garden veriety Communist. He's not Kenyan or even the anti-christ. 

He's an asshole. 

But the thing is you don't even know why. You just believe what fox news tells you. 

You know why you lost your job at the police station due to downsizing? Not because of the "Fucking Democrat senator" that go elected in Washington state the other year. It's because the Republican party you so vigorously voted for fucking hates you. You're the lower middle class they exploit because you're stupid, racist and wouldn't know what your best interests were if they crammed them up your ass. All the Republican party wants to do is give tax breaks to the rich and put the deficit on your back. You hate Obama because of all the things he really isn't, the things I mentioned above. I hate Obama to for a completely different reason, because he isn't a Democrat.

3 years in and Guantanamo is still open, we're still in two wars in the middle east, we're still continuing the retarded war on drugs, we're still the only developed nation in the world were you have to pay massive corporations for health care coverage, still giving massively profitable and massively irresponsible oil companies annual multi-billion dollar subsidies, cutting the rich's taxes and we're still unemployed and scared.

So, Mom, I'd appreciate it if you stopped being so white-trashy and turned off fox once in awhile.

Love,
Michael.

Rage: Robert Pattinson

There are very few things that don't piss me off, but there are fewer things that make me angrily scream unceasingly into the void as it takes me in and slowly rips me to pieces to finally digest me. It does so slowly because I taste bitter and filled with a salty rage. You see, I've been been anticipating the void and I know I can't make it stop, so I've dedicated my short and cynical life to making myself taste horrible.

What I'm referring to in a very round-a-bout way is that while everything sucks, nothing quite sucks as bad as watching something you love and doesn't suck turn into something that sucks even harder then everything else.

More succinctly (or SUCKcinctly, amirite?), Hollywood is the great satan and Robert Pattison is it's one true prophet.

And no, I'm not going to just spank it listlessly so you can swallow my hot, bitter load of Twilight hate because, frankly, everyone knows that fucking movie sucks. Why the fuck would I line up to be the billionth guy to tap that dead horse's butthole? No, I've got bigger fish to fry. The Twilight books suck, but the movies suck worse and I'm pretty sure that's because of Pattinson's Monotone acting style.

So why the fuck is he getting involved in a live action remake of Akira? He's been slated to play Tetsuo, the most pivotal of the two main characters. You wanna know how inappropriate that is? That would be like him playing the Joker in Dark Night or Rorschach in Watchmen. He just can't do it, he's too lame.

"I like watching you sleep"

Maybe if they were making a carbon copy remake of the original movie, in which Tetsuo is just a kid with really bad luck (Bike crashes, gets beat up, government experimentation) then maybe, maybe he could scrape by on bullshit and good looks. But this movie is not based on the anime, but two movies based on the six phone book sized comic. I don't really need to spell out that three hundred million pages of source material is going to have just a teensy tiny bit more character development then what ol' Robby is used to (More so than say, that pillowy Twilight series). The original movie covered book one and two, then skipped all the way to the climax of six. What happened in the interim is a sweeping epic in which the ravaged city of Neo-Tokyo split into warring factions. Those following a peaceful holy woman and the anarchic following of a meglomaniacal Tetsuo and the ever silent Akira.

Heres a scene I chopped together from book four. Context: In book four Tetsuo experiments with the psychic drugs stolen from the government, ones designed to keep his insanely painful psychic trauma in check, on normal people.
Note, giving these drugs to normal people 99 percent of the time ends up making their brains come out of their nose and ears. Knowing this, Tetsuo gets three women and... you know what, just read it.

Now, can you, with a straight face tell me that Robert Pattinson would ever be caught dead playing out this scene? Do you even think he could? Pattinson has built his image on being appealing to twelve year old girls, he's not going to blow it all by playing a guy who abuses and kills women for fun. But if he did, then I'd have to give him credit, but I doubt it'll ever happen.

On a side note, there's alot of drug taking in this book. If they were to literally translate the book into two 90 minute movies, there would be 115 minutes of drug taking, 25 of which happen at the very beginning of the movie. Do you think the super conservative hocky-moms of tweens want to see their childrens idol like this?

speaking of junkies, let's talk about Kurt Cobain.

Budum CHING!

TO BE CONTINUED

Big Mike.

Fiddlefuck?

I'm really just testing this app from my phone while playing pirated games and watching weird Japanese porn. Don't tell me that masturbating to a woman shooting gold fish out of her vag is weird. Those are lucky fish.

It's circular

At the beginning the cows are industrious and virtuous. Then they are corrupted and deceived by the pigs, who enslave them. However, the pigs grow too fat for their own good, and the cows stage a revolution, with the cow on the cross as their 'martyr'. But having already been corrupted by power, the leaders of the cow revolution enslave their own. In the end the cows have lost all their morality, having been indoctrinated by those they trust.

A bit of cynicism for you. Enjoy your day.


Ga

~Xavier R.

p.s. It's totally cool though, because I made some glorious ramen earlier.

Night-time Stories Part 3: Women

Why do you, a pretty woman, feel entitled to wear sunglasses at night without ridicule? This shit looks ridiculous on a man, why do you think it all-ova-sudden looks good on you? Is it because you're wearing those knock-off Prada shades that cover all of your delicately maintained eyebrows? Or is it because they cover half of your fake-tan smeared cheeks? What is it? I don't get it.

That duck face you do when you impulsively take pictures of yourself isn't attractive either. In fact it really just makes me want to strangle you. You come to my counter to buy your bitchy little alcohol with your bitchy little friend. Then you have the gall to ask me if I'll get out of my cashier area, walk down to the gum isle, come back to the cashier area and then ring you up a pack of gum? Oh, because I'm a fat guy, you think I'll be you're private gas station chauffeur and man-servant? Anything to make you like me, Miss Pretty Lady?

Think about it. Is it really so surprising I told you that if you didn't get out of my store I was going to stab you?

Big Mike.

It's hard out there for a pimp.

I just found 40 bucks on the ground when I went to work the other night. It was just sitting there, spot lit on the liquor side floor. 2 twenties that weren't mine. I went to work flat broke and before the discovery I was contemplating on weather to eat some shitty ramen for lunch or a dried up, greasy hot dog.

Well trust me, I ate well that night.

Big Mike

Ok god, we get it.

You hate Japan. But really, you can stop now. Because as we all know, if we don't do things, like help our tiny Asian brothers and sisters, who are still suffering and dying, with I dunno, things like all the sites in this hyperlink, then maybe when you decide to hate the rest of us, too (with ground cracking doomy doom) negative karma will prevent us from making it through?

It's loud outside my home with the repairing of boats. I sure hope they enjoy death metal.


Einde


~Xavier R.

p.s. And with the utmost gusto, our hero consumed a sandwich comprised of not just peanut butter, but jelly as well.

Well titillate my tantalizing tittles and call it phenomenology

Perceive how it appears, anything you choose. Play that music loud. Louder. Louder. Louder god damn it! The fuck is wrong with you? Let the many frequencies erode from your hearing spectrum. Elaborate on all aspects. It will go away, and you can hear it doing so. Ass! Fuck cock ass! Shit! Shit out of my ass! Fuck my cock in the ass! Shit!

Well fuck my ass in its ass with an ass, it's time for me to take a walk.


Anglicky

~Xavier R.

p.s. Everything in its right place, everything in its right pl...don't touch it. Don't!

Marionette

I had a dream I cut my own dick of and shoved it down your throat. Turns out those are wet dreams for me and not the one's where you pee but when you cum all over the place. Sperm in the eye while waking up is disturbing. At that point you also start questioning your own sexuality. How many cocks can one fit in his ass? What does wang really taste like? Does what you eat really change the flavor of your spunk? Whats the proper method to receive a mushroom stamp? Marinate on that.

±

Review: The King Of Limbs (Latest Radiohead album)

Firstly, let me just point out that with every effort Radiohead has released since their debut Album, Pablo Honey, the sound tends to change dramatically.  They are constantly evolving as musicians, which can make their creative process seem to involve abandoning what they use to do, as well as their fan base. Which is ironic, because that is pretty much a trademark occurrence  with them, yet people will complain that it "just isn't as good" as the former album. Yet as they experience, as I do, the opinion changes once you let yourself become engrossed in their new and interesting sound. As an old fan, you hate the new album, then love it. As a new fan, you don't understand the new album, then, well...love it. The King Of Limbs is no exception. Let us move on.



Radiohead has never been what you could call "heavy", however all their albums have tended to have some songs that could make you move around in a shoving like manner. Doom and gloom, even if in a mellow, laid out approach with the occasional tension then release. This album goes somewhere else.

All the songs are quite obviously influenced by either Jazz(which is a regular for Radiohead) Electronic, or House (not so much, or at least not this blatantly before.) When giving it a go, one could almost be repulsed by the alien-esque soundscapes that protrude in quite a "Hey Fuckers! Listen to me! Woah, woah, wait. You can't leave. We're just getting started" manner. The timings are odder than ever before, and often more then not, all the instruments or produced sounds seem like gibberish on an acid induced march to the desert to begin a heat stroke. Keep listening, because if you stop now, you'll just come back later, you will.

As advanced as their capabilities have become, Radiohead seem to have become more accessible than ever. You start to push out the feeling of dread that a bunch of arrogant, skinny British hipsters have come together yet again to piss on the average and show off their musical cocks. You feel warm. You feel happy. And you can actually dance around without needing a 4 year in jazz tap.

Their influences show more then ever, yet so does their originality. They have never blended everything so tightly before.  It almost seems like one instrument, though the drumming of Phil Selway is so fluid, groovy, and incredibly flowing that you can't help but feel he shines the most on this album.
\
You will come away feeling that you can dance around to a bizarre but brilliant rock album with a lack of platitudes, feel warm and happy, and not be embarrassed about it. The album is genius. Go buy it. Or steal it. But give it a listen either way.

(Nathan Lane Voice) Location location location

"A rapist with a flame thrower is someone I try to stay the fuck away from."

I just heard that line in one of my vidjyama games, and chose to share it.

As I eat this turkey and goat cheese sandwich, I'm closely considering going on an extremely long walk, now that I've filled my quota of vegging and fat assery. To think, this time last year I was...uh, doing something. I changed my mind already. I like this spot riiiiiiiiiiiiight here.


In an unwarranted direction to thoughts elsewhere, I've been having some deeply painful dreams about how I latch too tightly onto the bitterness I've accrued since childhood. In fact, the most recent had me repeating as if a mantra, "Let go" right as I came out of sleep, without even trying to do so. The dream, consisted of me dealing with a childhood sweetheart/friend that must relish in my misery by her causing, and of the second to last near girlfriend I had some time ago. Uh oh, I suddenly stopped giving make proper words at face thing? What?

 Sometimes I have a clever train of thought that is interrupted by one of three things;

1. Rage
2. Vacancy caused by sounds (hopefully musical ideas, as to deter myself from thinking I'm skitz..I'm skitz...KILL THE NON-BELIEVERS! ALL PRAISE CTHULHU!)
2. A subtle retardation I feel I have.

Let's stop here before I decide to become more indistinguishable from a toddler lush.

End

~Xavier R.

p.s. Been to Red Robin. It aint so GOD DAMN yum.

Recipe: $15 Hour of Power

Results May Vary

You will need:

1 64oz Gas Station Soda Cup or larger

2 16oz Energy Drinks  (Rockstar or Monster is preferred)

1 12oz Black Ice Monster Extra Strength (With or without the Nitrous Technology)

2 2oz Five Hour Energy Extra Strength

2 Excedrin Extra Strength (Powdered)

5 Tums Berry Flavored (Powdered)

Ice

Put ice in cup, then powdered pills, then five hour, then black ice monster then finish off with energy drinks. Should not cost you more then 15 dollars, if it does, steal ingredients.

Side effects might include, but are not necessarily limited to, nervousness, irritability, paranoia, heart palpitations, cardiac arrest, coma, death or thinking you are god.

Night-time Stories pt. 2: Talking Shop

The other night I sold a hooker some Jergens, a pack of "Thyn" Lifestyles and some Napkins. I helped her open the package - It wasn't your standard cardboard casing you see, but a translucent blue plastic that revealed the treats or more over, the necessary tools of the trade inside: Condoms that promised to be "so thin you'll forget you're wearing it". Isn't marketing great? I'm sure in the week we've been carrying them we've sold those things like fuckin' hot cakes. Those and "Kyng" size condoms, which are no magnums but still give the shrimp-dick buying them a sense of superiority. Where was I? Oh, yes, I handed the condoms I'd liberated from their casing and handed them gingerly into her hands. I'm not sure how the conversation started, probably with a

"How's your night going?" ah, a common night clerk pleasentry, not necessary an inappropriate opening for

"My ass hurts, how's yours?" she said, with a dry prostitute's wit. you have to have a sense of humor.

"Living the dream, another day another dollar, a penny saved is a penny earned" something along those lines, not really wanting to engage in butt talk with a prostitute.

"This guy's paying me 30 bucks..." as if I'd have any point of reference "...but y'know, I'm getting some soda and a pack of smokes out of it too..." I guess that's cool, I really want a cigarette "...hey, do you think I'm cute?"

Oh god no "Uh... you're not really my type"

"What, whys that?"

"I'm... uh... I'm gay" Gay for her, that is

"Oh, cool"

Its funny how you can enjoy a conversation as much as you want to run screaming away from it, but you and I know there is always a counter and an empty pack of condoms in the way.

Big Mike.

Review: I am Legend (The Book and One and a Half of it's Film Adaptions)

 Multicolored tag lines make my cry bile and loudly shit myself in terror.

If you liked the Will Smith movie "I am Legend" you're stupid and I will never ever forgive you.
In all fairness I can't blame you whole-black-ice-covered-heartedly: When I told my co-workers I was reading Richard Matheson's novel I am Legend I predictably got a lot of "They made a book?"

Yes, they made a fucking book, and who the hell is "They"? By the inflection of their voice, it sounded as if my co-workers believe "They" are the ones that make books magically appear once a movie comes out to make me look like a snobby elitist. Well fuck you, I won't apologize for reading. Jesus, I don't even read that much. Most of the time my lazy ass will just go to wikipedia and read an anecdotal description of what happens to the book. Knowing people these days, you'll come off just as smart (snobby elitist) as if you had actually read the book.

I am Legend is a book I've actually read and sadly in order to review this book, I have to refer to the movie starring Will Smith. As y'all know, movies are very rarely anything like their source material and there are two types of differences: the paltry, the ones where only cosmetic details are changed. Then there's the abortive, walk out the fucking theater fuck-ups. These things I'll refer to as the "Dragonball Evolution Principle": what happens to the movie when Hollywood producers take to much coke, change the setting, plot, characters, and even the ending to appeal to retards in hopes to rake in that hookers and blow money hand over fist.

The Will Smith flick has both.

First, with the small stuff. Robert Neville wasn't black, wasn't in New York. but you know, being white or being stranded in Compton was isn't necessarily better in any other way besides being the Authors intent. What bugs me more is the fact that Robert Neville wasn't a haematologist, didn't live in a high-tech super fortress nor was he surrounded by high speed silent zombies. He was a machinist, lived in a shack he had to board up every day and the vampires actually talked.

Then the movie goes into full blown Dragonball Evolution territory about half way through. I would tell you how the movie should have ended and why he really was legend. But fuck that, buy the goddamn book (or follow that link above, I won't tell anyone)

If you're thinking I'm recommending a book solely on how bad it's film adaption was I would first have to say "Wow, you fuckwits can read!" then secondly I'd say "Yes, but it's also a pretty awesome book" here, check this out:
I had an English teacher who was getting his PHD in literature (a book doctor!) and he wrote his master's thesis specifically on Vampire fiction. The conclusion he came to was that this was the best vampire book ever written; not Dracula, not Interview, not even that literary masterpiece known as Twilight... but I am Legend. That's got to be worth something, right? He's a goddamn book doctor!

Okay, on to that other half of a film adaption. I am Legend has actually been adapted three times. firstly as the 1964 Vincent Price film The Last Man on Earth, the 1971 Charlton Heston flick The Omega Man, and the latest suck fest I'm sure you've all seen. I've seen a bit of the Vincent Price picture, and it was actually kinda decent. I recommend y'all give them both a try. You might actually like something that doesn't fucking suck.

Big Mike.

Night-time Stories pt. 1: Cigarettes

The unfiltered cigarette I just rolled smokes like shit. 

It burns unevenly at best, and the tobacco always goes into my mouth, down my throat and sometimes, on special occasions, into my lungs.

A girl comes into my work and asks to use the phone, the conversation is unintelligible but that's probably because she's speaking Iñupiaq and is sobbing loudly next to my register. I ask her whats wrong and she tells me her cousin's husband kicked her out of the house because he caught her fucking his wife and it's 3am and her boyfriend won't let her back into his apartment.

Sometimes I figure I'll buy a pack of camels but I realize brand cigarettes will kill you just as fast but they're boring: burning uniformly, tasting uniformly. There's no craft or art to smoking a camel. And even though self-rolled smokes are nasty and ugly, they're cheap, never dull and they have a certain sleazy charm to them.

Big Mike

Fucking in a bathroom

Is like shitting in a bedroom. It's always on top a fat person.

After much tossing and turning whilst being awake and drunk the other day, I came to the conclusion that god hates me. I know what you're going to ask, now. Who is this me I speak of? Well, get ready to have your knowledge receptors anally privileged.

I am Xavier, a young man who fancies himself a connoisseur of music, alcohol, and vidjyama games. I fear nothing but worry about everything (it makes perfect sense), swear at great frequency but fittingly so, and say funny things that hurt feelings. Please never get angry. My fate is to die of cancer whilst on fire, so I am already absolved of all sins.

Speaking of that Queer The Prophet Muhammad and his butt pal Jesus Whatsit, I'm reminded of a joke I once heard, and I shall leave you off with it.

Two women walk into a bar. They can't find their way out because women are stupid.

Fin

~Xavier R.

p.s.

I will enjoy doing this to your eye holes some more in the future. Please enjoy the site.

Let's bust a bottle of wine on this bitch's hide!

 Or a 40oz, whatever the fuck.

I'm pretty god damned excited about this, aren't you? You're going to find fiction, art, reviews, art house snobbery and erotic witticisms galore on this savage beast of a blog. Prepare for the mind molestation.

Big Mike.