Thursday, September 20, 2007

Tuesday Squirmen On Thursday

Verily, I feel it now. The Lard has been talking to me people, but I haven't been listening. Oh no.

Everyone cue up Slow Train Coming and get into the feeling.

"Big-time negotiators, false healers and woman haters
Masters of the bluff and masters of the proposition
But the enemy I see wears a cloak of decency
All non-believers and men stealers talking in the name of religion
And there's slow, there's slow train coming up around the bend."

So some of you might be wondering, Gospel Bob, why do you refer to that supreme-ephemeral-creme-filled-universal-goodness as Lard? Well I'm glad you asked. Now I cannot deny that the auditory similarity to a Southern pronunciation of Lord has a lot of appeal. But my reasons do not stop there. Nay.

First a digression. You see, I have a very fundamental problem with the Christian model. I like the symbols and the strange stories. And I really like the whole Jesus, turn the other cheek thingy. But what is the deal with only having a male god? This doesn't make any kind of sense at all. When is the last time you saw a man make a baby by himself? Even the Christian story used a womb. So where is the woman god? Or, at the very least, an androgynous god? Where is the cosmic nooky? A sexless cosmos? Boo.

I simply cannot fathom why we would give the "essence of everything" a dick. This goes way beyond the Mona Lisa's moustache. I love dada as much as anybody, but come on! So the gender specific term "Lord" is no good. Why is Lard better? Well, I'll tell you.

At its heart, Lard still represents sacrifice. This is not simply a synthetic and delightful water based lube for your frolicking pleasure. Nay. This is animal grease. Like the Christian lamb whose blood brought salvation, the pig laid down its life for our lubrication and tasty beans.

Further, Lard has no gender. Lard is not human. Lard is beyond us and comes from the natural world at the same time. It symbolizes something more than we can fathom. It eases us on the path of the ineffable. Without a dick. A dickless symbol.

Lard is not the end point, it is the slippery path!

Plus I really just like the play on words I mentioned before.

So you see, I mean no disrespect when I praise the Lard. Nay nay nay! I heart the ineffable. I want the Lard to get me there. And I really like bacon.

Praise the Lard! Till next week flock. Be good to each other.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Casting Call For Movie Quotes

Hey dudes. So L.B. and I were yapping the other day about more frivolous-but-entertaining-to-us bullshit and the topic of movie quoting came up. The conversation probably started from one of us quoting from a movie to punctuate a point in the earlier frivolous but entertaining verbal pong match. Which got me thinking, what movie lines do my friends quote all the time? And what are the usual contexts for said quotes?

I will offer a few examples of lines that seem to get frequent air play in the radio station of my mouth. Please respond in kind if you think of any!

"That is certainly YOU Harold." Harold's Mom from Harold and Maude. I really don't know why this one gets used a lot. Perhaps it is the opportunity to speak in a haughty rich falsetto.

"Your mother sucks cocks in hell." Little possessed (by Pazuzu) girl (Regan) to priest (father Karras) from The Exorcist. This one is great for getting out of conversations. Plus you get to use that demon voice.

"They're miserable because their mothers take it up their fucking ass. " Joey LaMotta from Raging Bull. I'm starting to sense a theme here. This one is classic for making light of someone's bad mood and for slaughtering a New York accent.

"Cinderella story. Outta nowhere. A former greenskeeper, now, about to become the Masters champion." Carl Spackler (Bill Murray) while destroying flowers with a 2 iron, from Caddy Shack. This one has so many uses. Anytime something goes right that shouldn't, it just pops out! (*No double entendre meant here....but come to think of it, I've THOUGHT this quote at certain romantic moments stories!)

There are so many more! Please share.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Thank You Silver Spur

Tarnished hearts and blood stained gutters
Slack jawed sails and spinning rutters
This shit's got to change he mutters
Right before the engine sputters.

None of you understand me moans
Harmonizing with barstool groans
Chorus slapping its soil and bones
Jukebox slaughtering old Tom Jones

But AC/DC brings them together
The dour moods, the shitty weather
Wrap it all in a shroud of leather
Six feet down forever and ever.

Yet this is where I met my true love
A red haired angel dropped from above
Less like a push and more like a shove
Carried to earth by a dozen rock doves.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Late Sermon

Hello flock. Sorry for the lateness of the sermon. Today's tuesday landed on 9/11 and I was too riveted by re-runs of Fox news to post. That and the mood just wasn't there to preach. Go figure.

So some of you might be asking by now, Gospel Bob, do ALL your sermons have to do with Stupid Fuckers? Nay flock, they do not! Nonetheless, today's sermon, by pure happenstance, does center upon more Stupid Fuckers.

What is the deal with Stupid Fuckers Who Take Amateur Sports Wayyyyy Too Seriously? I realize this rather awkwardly clunks into SFWTASWTS. Hey, not everyone can have a catchy call letter acronym thingy. Perhaps we can approximate their pronunciation a bit.....into Sweaty Ass Twats? I know it isn't exact, but the Lard is forgiving. Even if we aren't.

So Sweaty Ass Twats. What is the deal? You know the type. You sign up to have some lighthearted fun with friends after work and on the weekend, and what do you get? Frustrated frat boys. Where did they come from? You look at them during the day and they appear, even to the dissecting eye, as laid back peace loving nearly hippy type dudes who snort derisively when you say the words "frat house." They generally don't do drugs or drink much anymore. You assume they are mellow. You mistakenly have your eyes on the guy that drinks like a preacher of yore and likes to indulge in cocaine before every match. You are watching the wrong stupid fucker.

The match starts, and all of sudden the need to win overcomes every ounce of the Sweaty Ass Twat's being. Their faces turn red. Their eyes narrow. Spittle flecks from their lips. They become POSSESSED.

The sad thing about the Sweaty Ass Twat, is that they are never the best player on the team. Far from it....they inevitably break down under pressure and make some bonehead mistake that causes them to implode with self-loathing. But that only happens about 5% of the time. The other 95% of the time they are analyzing and critiquing the play of everyone else on their team. They are a drag. Boo them.

Now flock, I have to admit that I am not free from the frat boy urges. I too take games and amateur sports waaaaay too seriously. I have felt the frat boy demon tugging at soul during these moments. It is possible that I am a Sweaty Ass Twat, and the very object of my sermon. Lard forgive me. Lard forgive me.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

So many friends

Jeez, goddamn, hallelujah. How can it be that I have met so many kick ass people across this country? I don't mean your garden variety good folks, oh no. These are hydroponic knock-you-on-your-ass-with-sticky-goodness people. You know who you are! Yes, I AM thinking of YOU.

The most recent reminder came over this last weekend. With our new lives looming before us (in the form of a September 21 move in date for our new apartment in new-city), we decided to get the hell out of the parents/grand-parents house for the weekend. Not that their hospitablity isn't appreciated, but they do kinda drive me crazy. For real. See dolls.

Where was I? Oh yes, the people. So last week we throw out an email to a few friends from the City by the Bay. The very same city that collects hearts and inspires Journey songs. On very little notice, 18 freakin' friends came out to the bar! It was a classicly good time, full of Tecate and catching up. The bartender, as she always does at our little get togethers, bought us all a shot (thats how we know it was 18). Classy group all around. Funny little pointless non-stereotypical anecdote: the gay boys have all paired up like little happy nesters, while almost all the gay girls have been burning through relationships and one night stands.

So anyway, I'm thinking about all you friends of mine. This minute I'm thinking about people in: California, Arizona, Washington, Oregon, Tennessee, North Carolina, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Florida, Nevada, Texas and Pennsylvania. (*Note, this list was started by my brain visual of the map, not any order of hierarchy.) Makes all this moving around seem alright.

Friday, September 07, 2007


Even if the clouds dropped thorns for twelve thousand years

Even if my eyes fell from my face and rolled around your feet like cats in the morning

Even if it really was just luck

Even if.

Love Is the Drug - Roxy Music (#30)

The moon just sat there
While the world was torn apart.

So much for money back guarantees
So much for 1975.

I'll give you double or nothing
That the gun was never even loaded

But the moon didn't respond.

I don't know if it even heard me.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Tired beatnik seeks bongo for LTR and TLC

Fire licks like a thirsty dog at my pant cuffs
And the voice of Jimmy Stewart loops somewhere behind me
"It all just seems so useless, don't you think so Mary?"

Well this time the joke is on the fates
Cause the deja vu is lame
And the tired ghosts folded their crappy hands long ago.

So hand over the cash and don't make any sudden movements
I'm not afraid to use this thing you know
Do I look like a rookie? Does this look like my first rodeo?

a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f g-g

Back in my parents house again, my friends
My wife despairing, for lack of writing
Two wheels on the road, and two off the bend
Two tons of steel nearly alighting.

Have I mentioned our debt, three hundred grand
Not an albatross more like an anvil.
Is this firmament or just more quicksand?
I better not forget to take my pills.

But I wonder, later, when I look back
Will this be one of the good times or bad?
When the anvil becomes fat money sacks
And more time is the thing I wish I had

Duh. Awesome friends, great cats and perfect wife
This is the best day of my whole damn life.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Tuesday's Squirmen

Good Tuesday fine flock! Yea, the Lard's day is back upon us. I have been wondering what this week's squirmen will be about, and after much contemplation I was still undecided. That is, until I just read sister Lucy's new blog. Sister Lucy has a pair of passive aggressive neighbors that are pushing her compassion to the bursting point. So that brings us to today's subject: Stupid Fuckers Who Just Take Take Take (SFWJTTT). (Pronounced sfidgets.)

What is a good Lard loving person to do when confronted with a sfidget? Here I think we have an intersection of parables and a contradiction of commandments. On the one hand, we have the cheek turning doctrine, i.e. when someone smacks you in the face, give them a fresh new pile of face flesh to pound. This path probably is the best for the soul, but it pretty much sucks ass for the body and society.

Realistically, if there isn't some greater pressure or force to make the Sfidgets stop, then they will keep on hitting/taking/putting you on the back of the bus/ dragging you behind trucks and tying you to barbed wire/ invading Czechoslovakia and committing genocide. Which brings us to the contradiction. The Lard helps them that helps themselves, right? Laying down (see the French circa WWII) and hoping things won't be that bad is just not going to cut it with a sfidget. Nope, Sfidgets must be smacked, verbally or physically.

But do we abandon the compassion? Nay I say. Practice compassion with everyone and never pre-assume they are a sfidget! But keep your eyes open flock. Look for telltale sfidget signs. And remember, once you've spotted a sfidget, never trust them again. But what if you think YOU are a sfidget? Ah, well, that is a squirmen for another day.

Till next week my sweets! Keep the Lard in your hearts.

Monday, September 03, 2007

I Love Westerns

Without irony, I love Westerns. I love the heroes and the anti-heroes. The dissociative psycho-freaks who observe danger with a disinterested calm and a steady hand. Sometimes they mingle their psychosis with morality, sometimes not. But I'm always riveted. This is probably because my personal reaction to danger, when it suddenly springs up, is to run. Or fall. Literally.

Ask L.B. If I get suddenly startled by a movie, my feet come to life. If I am sitting or lying down this is pretty comical to those around me, because they just start going. Only the feet mind you, not the legs. Sometimes they go for up to five seconds. But as I mentioned, it isn't like my whole body springs into a flight response. That would be kind of cool in an inherently cowardly way. But, it is only the feet. Thus, if I happen to be startled while standing, I end up Flat. On. My. Back. Again, this is probably comical to those around me. Sadly, it is another one of my instinctual responses which are counterproductive (like my getting dizzy around did my ancestors survive?) So when I see the dissociative cowboy standing calm while bullets are flying, I can't help but stare.

Off the top of my head, here are a few of my favorite Westerns in case anyone is interested. Please let me know if you have any particular favorites that I should see!

The Gunfighter (Gregory Peck....I love him in everything.....this movie was mentioned prominently in Bob Dylan's "Brownsville Girl"....both the song and movie are incredible.)

Django (Franco Nero.....spaghetti has never tasted so good.....the Italians saved the genre after the 50's tried to strangle it....the soundtrack echoes the on screen action) (*also see Keoma)

Dead Man (Johnny Depp in a Jarmusch film? Too cool!)

Terror in a Texas Town (Greatest ending duel of all time...and it doesn't involve a gun.)

Wild Bunch (IMHO Sam Peckinpah single handedly stole back U.S. bragging rights for the Western. Anti-heroes were never better.)

All the Sergio Leone classics (The Good the Bad and the Ugly.....etc.....I love Lee Van Cleef and Clint Eastwood....combined with the direction and the music?.....OMG!)

Zillions more....

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Healthy Hate?

An interesting-to-me thing came up last night in conversation with L.B. Trix and G.Love. Oddly, it had nothing to do with L.B.'s birthday, which was fabulous BTW. No, it was about Disneyland.

They love it. I hate it. Have I been there? No. Did I want to go? No.

Confronted, I was forced to re-evaluate my lifelong hatred for Disney. This isn't a hatred that had anything to do with Eisner or megacorp megasquishing. I like Starbucks for fuck's sake. No, this went back to being a kid. Maybe I just wanted to be a bad ass/different back then. Anyway, I realized with dismay that another one of my quirky dislikes was about to tumble before the face of reason. (This was only the latest in a long line of begrudgingly-admitted things I used to despise that are actually kinda, um, cool I guess. *Coughelviscostello.) Damnit.

But don't we need enemies in life (*he said desperately), especially when they are for all intents and purposes theoretical? Here I think, is a healthy outlet! Rather than hating my actual neighbor I choose to hate Disney, karyoke and musicals. Isn't it better to hate the Yankees than New Yorkers? Honestly, when will I encounter Alex Rodriguez in real life? Never! Healthly hate outlets. But I know it is no use. It just isn't a reasonable hatred.

So fine, I guess I wont call Mickey Mouse the oversized devil rat anymore. I will go to the magic kingdom and have a good time without cynacism. I will I will I will.