| first post to livejournal in like a few years |
[Dec. 20th, 2007|08:56 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | indescribable | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Hariot Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava | ] |
Just in time to tell you about the band I'm in now! We're called The Functional Equation and we use this: ƒ for our logo. Our music sounds like Tool but it's also kind of "Func-y!" We just put out our first EP (most of our songs are over 8 minutes long) called Calford Green, which is basically like our tribute to the bands like the St. Giles's Circus.
The first song, Tyrfing, has a lot of that Viking/Fantasy imagery that our drummer Huásabas can't shut up about, but it still rocks and it leads in to the song Lars Høgh really well because they both have that kind of Scandinavian Mysticism thing going on. Which is kind of like what the ballad Skoda-El Mir theorem is about, except it's much slower and longer. The shortest song on the record has the longest title, Hariot Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava which is about a girl. My favorite song on the CD is List of Items in JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, a song I wrote when I was really into Japanimation. The final song is called Sambal Ibaba and it's got these cool kind of Polynesian Tribal rhythms layered over our trademark Equation sound.
I'm so proud of how the CD came out. The songs all sort of grew out of this really, like, organic interest in using this sound effects CD that Lily, our bass player, got for her birthday as kind of something that would be playing throughout the whole album. And the cover looks CRAZY under a blacklight. |
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| Limited Liability |
[Aug. 14th, 2005|08:51 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blank | ] |
| [ | music |
| | ground hogs | ] |
( story ) |
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| Detective Scotch Poster in: The Paste of Thieves |
[Apr. 11th, 2004|12:42 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  anxious | ] |
( Part One ) |
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| Detective Scotch Poster in: The Yuletide Palimpsest |
[Dec. 25th, 2003|01:34 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  naughty or nice | ] |
( Merry Christmas! ) |
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| Christmas Story Contest! |
[Dec. 19th, 2003|08:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | determined | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Soundtrack to The Yuletide Palimpsest | ] |
Mandatory! Everyone has to post a Christmas story on Christmas Day! Mine is called Detective Scotch Poster in: The Yuletide Palimpsest. Yours can be called anything! If you want to have any chance at beating me, you better get started NOW!
I want to link to all the different stories, so if you write a story, leave me a comment and tell me where I can find it.
Good luck! |
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| peep my new interests |
[Nov. 25th, 2003|04:14 am] |
Your soul is bound to the Burning Rose: The
Rapture.
"I go where my heart beckons me, and I go
with my head high. But sometimes, I get a need
until I bleed so my heart swims above my
head."
The Burning Rose is associated with passion,
intensity, and desire. It is governed by the
god Eros and its sign is The Flame, or Physical
Love.
As a Burning Rose, you can get lost in the moment
if you let yourself. You are a very physical
person, be it in relationships, work, or play.
You may be driven by your hormones sometimes,
but you know it's because you have to follow
your instinct.
What Rose Is Your Soul Bound To?
brought to you by Quizilla
eat your heart out, conor o. |
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| The Defenstration of Bill Gates |
[Nov. 18th, 2003|11:00 pm] |
Thrasher Jackson was spending his two week vacation with his college buddy Bill Gates. The two had not seen each other since Thrasher had moved to St. Louis over 12 years ago. The occasional letter or phone call, but never an actual visit in a dozen years. Few friendships can weather such distance, most fade. Bill and Thrasher, however, were kindred spirits. Two souls bonded through common interests and senses of humor.
"Man, what was the name of that girl at that 30's-theme party?"
"The one who was dressed like the Lindbergh Baby? That was Cathy...something. I forget her last name."
"Cathy! Man she was hot! I was so jealous of you that night."
"I don't get it. Why were you jealous?"
"I thought you two hooked up or something. Maybe we're talking about a different person."
"Oh shit! You're talking about Rosalyn! Dude I thought she was going to defragment my pants for sure!"
"Ha Ha hahahah! Dude, you hadn't invented the computer yet, you didn't think she was going to 'defragment' shit."
"Touche. Let's play Beer Pong."
"I'm totally there."
They were drifting along the Buckshot River in Southern Nevada in Bill's new three-story houseboat. Thrasher had let out a somber whistle when he'd first seen it.
"whistle! That is some house boat, dude. What kind of system you got in there?"
"It's a 2.7 gig with USZ switchable and B-level wireless nanoids."
"No, dumbass! I meant SOUND system."
"That's what I'm talking about. It's totally state of the art. Shit's bumpin'."
"Oh. I thought you were talking about a computer."
"You can't put a computer on a boat, dude."
They laughed as only life-long friends know how. Without shame or cool.
Eight days into the trip everything changed. Thrasher was tiring of Bill's constant references to Microsoft Corporation as "Bill-Co" and "Microshiz." The tension broke one night over a game of Speed.
"Man, you really suck at this game. Ha! Got you again, bitch!"
"Whatever, dude. I haven't played this game since college. I'm rusty that's all."
"Really?! Dude, I play this game everyDAY! Believe that!"
"Yeah, well not all of us invented a bunch of computer shit and can just sit around playing card games all day."
"HA! I knew it! You're jealous of how serious I'm bankin' these days."
"No, I'm not. I'm just sick of your egotistical head trip. You used to be totally cool, man."
"Screw you! Get off my houseboat!"
"After you, nerdhole!"
Thrasher lifted Bill over his head and walked to the window. Wielding the richest man in the universe like a squirmy plaid javelin, he heaved Bill Gates through the glass and into the still river beneath. As the man sputtered and splashed in the water, Thrasher leaned out of the window to deliver a line he'd been thinking about for the past three days.
"The system is down, bitch! Better restart your ass!"
The End |
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| Episode MCXII: Cap'n Caption steps on rake (version 4.2) |
[Nov. 9th, 2003|11:17 pm] |
Hey Everybody! It's Captain Caption and Subtitle Terry the Sabre-toothed Tiger!
Scene 1
"'Jackie knew what was in the french fries, but that was part of the charm.'"
"Ha Ha Ha! Terry you nailed that one! How about, '"Play...Doh!"' Ha Ha Ha!"
"I don't get it. 'Ummm...Do you have fake food for the Atkin's Diet? Something Soy-ish, perhaps?'"
"...'Soy-ish,' Terry?"
"Watch your tone, Cap'n."
(Terry turns to glare at Capt. Caption, Cap'n averts his eyes)
Scene 2
"Hey Cap'n Caption?"
"Yes Terry?"
"I didn't know you could play the sax!"
"That guy does not even look like me."
"You're right, you look more like a fat Don Knotts."
"F*** you, Terry."
"Hey hey hey, kid's show, baby, kid's show."
"No, seriously f*** you. You wouldn't even have a show if I didn't have my hand up your... (Capt. Caption steps on rake) OW! This SUCKS!"
"'Support old people playing music. Together we can keep these idiots from stepping on rakes.'"
Scene 3
"Hey Cap'n?"
"Leave me alone, you pre-historic a-hole."
"C'mon, man. Don't be like that."
"I hope you choke on your felt fangs." |
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| Camp Indian Mask; or, the Day After Halloween 1996, 1997, 1999 and 2003 |
[Nov. 1st, 2003|09:14 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  jubilant | ] |
10:48pm, October 31st, 1996
Eight out of a flat of thirty eggs stolen from Steak n' Shake land in the yard of the Husqvarna home. Some shatter on the front window, rousing Gus Husqvarna from the bed that he and his wife Virginia share. The two children, W. Virginia (age 7) and Gus Jr. (age 5) are fitfully sleeping through the post-trick/treat DT's. Gus Jr. dreamed of egg carton full of ancient Indian masks chasing him down a Pixie Stick beach.
10:52pm
"You f***ing punks!" Gus Sr. howled to the night as he turned on the hose to wash the egg off of his window. "I'm going to take my family to a nice cabin out in the woods next year so they won't be exposed to this chicken-s**t tom-foolery."
7:36pm, October 31st, 1997
An empty bag of hotdog buns catches a breeze and sails away from Cabin Seven, Camp Indian Mask Acres State Park. Chasing after it is young Gus Husqvarna Junior, now age 6. When finally caught, the bag has traveled a 6-year-old-serious 76 yards into a cave. Darkened by evening, soon to be black, always spooky and seldom a good place for 6-year-olds, the cave. Feeling his way back out and into the dusk, Gus touches something unusual in the hand not holding the bun bag. An ancient Indian mask, mounted to the wall of the cave with pine tar, underneath an illegible inscription. had it been written in English the inscription would have read: Don't Touch or Caution! Haunted Mask! Gus Jr. pulled the mask free and ran back to the cabin.
7:38pm
W. Virginia, now age 8, was arranging checkers into letters on the floor of the cabin. B-O-A-R-D. "Gross! What is that ugly face? Did you make that? If you made it it's stupid."
"I didn't make it. I don't know what it is, it was in a cave. You can't have it."
"I don't want it. I hate you and your ugly face. Also, I hate that ugly face."
"It's a mask, not a face. you put it on your face, like this..." Gus Jr. pressed his face inside the tar-sticky mask.
7:39pm
"At last! A hundred years did I spend in that cave! Who do I have to thank for restoring me to a be-bodied state?" The voice coming from the mask spoke a Mid-Western accent in a loud register. The voice was only heard by young Gus, and only before he ripped the mask from his face and hurled it into his sister's checker arangement.
"You jerk! Keep that gross thing away from me!"
"It talked to me! It said was 'be-bodied' after a hundred years!"
"No it didn't, I would have heard it. You're making stuff up and I'm telling Mom."
The voice returned, in a lower, more cautious tone.
"Who are you? Put me back on so I can have my body again. My work was interrupted over a hundred years ago and I've been itching to get back to it. I must have a body!"
"I'm Gus. What do you need a body for?"
"You're a dork. You need a body to walk around and play outside. I'm telling Mom you're being a weird dork."
"Who is that? Can I have her body?"
"That's my sister, and I..."
"Kids! We're home! Great buckets of s**t! What's all over your face?!"
"Mom! Dad! Gus is talking crazy and he.."
"Kids, take your filthy toys outside and get cleaned up for bed. Don't upset your father."
5:07pm, October 27th, 1998
"...with six wins on the season this very hungry MSU team is poised to move up in the polls." "Thank you Todd. Ummm... Frank, can we get like an abridged weather thing? They're signaling me for time..." "Okaaaay...sports ran way long..." "Just pretend to see the future and let's all go hit happy hour." "Meteorology is a legit science, it's not just...I mean, I know how to work all this equipment...it's expensive and it really does..." "Frank!?" "Okay okay! It's not looking like very good weather for Halloween this year. Forecast calls for some pretty heavy stuff. Probably shouldn't go outside. Todd, you owe me."
"Well kids, I guess we aren't going to the cabin this year."
"Good! I hate the cabin!"
5:07pm, October 31st, 1999
Gus Jr. shrunk low in his seat as the car pulled off of Highway Five and into Jimmy Injun's Krazy Kamp (formerly Camp Indian Mask Acres State Park). It had been two years since his discovery of the haunted Indian Mask, and his dreams had never been the same since. His sister still didn't believe the mask had spoken to him, and he was hoping she was right. Even if it meant he had to go to the 'booby hatch,' where his sister assured him he was heading.
7:18pm
"So, Gus-breath? Where's your imaginary friend? Aren't you two going to catch up on old times?"
"Leave me alone. I don't know where the mask is and I don't want to."
"Oh! I think I remember where it is! I put it under the cabin so I could prove to everyone that you're crazy and have to get locked up in the booby hatch! Let's see...here it is!" W. Virginia pulled the mask from under the cabin.
"Please! Keep it away from me!"
"Kid!? Kid?! Is that you? Where have you been?!?! At least you could have put me back in the cave before you left. And how come your sister won't listen to me? You bring me a body?"
"No! She can't hear you! I can't hear you either, I'm imagining you!"
"Listen to dorky ol' Gus Face! what are you gonna do now, Gus Face? You gonna cry?"
"Gus Face? What kind of a name is that? Listen, kill her and give me her body. In fact, tell you what. Just give me one of her arms and I'll kill her! How does that sound, Mr. Face?"
"No! You're not real! Leave me and my sister alone!"
"Fine! I'll take a foot. Gimme a foot so I can get going on my work."
"No! No feet, no legs, no anything!"
"Okay, now you're scaring me, Gus. What feet?"
"The mask want's your feet so he can finish his work."
"Okay, nevermind. That's stupid. What is he, a soccer player? You're a retard."
"I'm a meteorologist. I make weather and it's been getting out of control over the past hundred years. I have to have a body (or at least a foot or something) to do the ancient weather dances."
"Oh. I thought you were a monster or something."
"Who's a monster? Are you still talking to the stupid mask? I'm bored, here, take the ugly thing, dork face."
W. Virginia went inside to play with her new Coast Guard Barbie.
"So what now, Mr. Gus Face?"
"Husqvarna."
"What?"
"My name is Gus Husqvarna, Jr."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, listen. do you have to have a person's foot? I could make you a foot out of paper or sticks or Legos if that would work."
"Hmmm...what's a Lego? Paper is a big no-go, and I've tried the sticks. They break during the jumping part of the cycle."
Gus had an idea.
7:56pm
"Mom! My Barbie's gone!"
"Oh Honey, I'm sorry. We'll get you a new one when we get home."
"I hate this stupid cabin."
November 1st, 2003
Dear Gus Husqvarna Jr, Esq,
I am writing to thank you for the fancy body and life vest. Without your kind help The weather would still be out of sync and possibly really bad. Let me know if you ever need a day off school!
BFF,
Haunted Indian Mask
P.S. Does your sister have the new Galleria Playset? |
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| my sandwich at favori's |
[Aug. 30th, 2003|03:10 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  thirsty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | erik's addition to tallahassle, fla | ] |
wrinkle /\saus
in / \ a
the bread| \ g
/\| / e
/ /
onion/ /lettuce
/ /o
\ / n
\ / i
g\/ o
r n
a
v
y
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| are you in the mafia? |
[Aug. 14th, 2003|03:07 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  curious | ] |
I'm not in the mafia.
Glasses ON, Emily:
1)Are you in the mafia? Tell us what it's like.
2)Your skill at analyzing and critiquing art is unrivaled. Often you have turned this critical eye upon television shows (buffy, skaep niwt, the simpsons, etc.) what about this medium attracts/merits your attention? (cite sources)
3)Re-tell the following story using only onomatopoeia:
a heavyset man walks through a conifer forest. above, flying insects are constructing beats for the latest ODB album. suddenly, a tree falls! the man is startled. a family of beavers pull up in a Hummer and tow the tree to their dam. thankful to be alive, the man resumes walking, pauses to vomit, then hails a taxi.
4)Okay, when I was talking to you just now, you were doing some sort of shuffle step dance and eating chips. You've been doing this dance a lot. "What's this dance called?"
5)What question do you most fear answering, and what historical figure (living or dead) would ask you this question over dinner? |
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| interviews from dr. googs |
[Aug. 13th, 2003|04:41 pm] |
"i'd like to give a shout out to...um...myself"
Erik:
1) How was your recent trip to Tallahassle? What, if anything, would you have done differently?
2) It's been a while now since your long-time partner in crime Mr. Dave Taylor fled the nest. Reflect on the years you two spent as flatmates.
3) You've been romantically linked with pop icon Brittney Spears. So are you totally crushing or what?
4) We collaborated musically for years in seminal rock band Crescent Fresh. Anything you feel you McDid especially well? What was your most frustrating musical moment spent on Lipona Dr.? (feel free to tell some story about me being an ass)
5) Why are you thumping sign posts and trees throughout the NOLA-Metro area?
Mattman and Emily, your questions are on the way. |
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| the end of P.R.E.S. |
[Jul. 27th, 2003|04:28 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | accomplished | ] |
(P.R.E.S. Part Four - The Official Ironman Robot Song
Tampa, Florida was so hot that day that nobody noticed when Dr. Googliata Washington blew up a college radio station tower. To harness it's power points.
"Perfect timing! All the power I'll need to launch P.R.E.S!"
"Man, that robot system is gonna burn us like either a blank cd in a dorm room or an oven pizza in a dorm room."
"Hott!"
Attn: #Int'gl Rbt Club
CC: >happylarry@hotmail.com; 13KuhSnact@hotmail.com; yahoo@serious.com; deadpopStR@msn.com; president@whitehouse.gov>
Re: Death of high-ranking person
Lower Your Interest Rates! One pill a month will make your interest rates Lower! txghfr she'll be happy!
Alexander Battle died today. He hadn't noticed that the light had changed. It was all "Safe! No Bad Robots!" one minute, then it changed and was all "Snap! Glasses ON! Robots EVERYWHERE!" but Alex was way to far up in the frame by then. Totally died. Oh Boy.
On a lighter note, there are like 6 hours until the crazy Dr. Googs switches the Plasmagraphic Robotic Executive System on. So there is still a chance that either the REAL President or Detective Hinson could solve the mystery! We just have to hope that Sarah and Sarah-Anne (the Presidents reckless and ever-so-slightly sexy daughters) will find the letter I sent the President where I was all "blah blah anti-plasmagraph! hurry!"
-Todd
"Blah blah blah," Sarah and Sarah-Anne sang along to the mix cd that Sarah's boyfriend, Jake had made. Jake was a senior at the Robotic Idle Adventure Academy. He was also in a secret copyright violation club called the Skulls. They got the name from a Ukrainian dance band popular in the early 70's. The lead-off track from 1974's Rhythmic System, "Blah Love," was a minor hit.
"I hope Jake gets into politics." said Sarah-Anne.
"Huh! How could you say that? You know I hate politics!"
"Whatev!"
"I do!"
"What. Ever!"
"I do what I want!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes! That's my flavor!"
Sarah's sister was wasting her flavor.
The Chief was f**king up Detective Hinson's game. Star-crossed lovers.
"Hinson! That was Tampa on the blue phone! No! Did I say 'Tampa?!' I meant Grampa! He's down there, right?! Wait! I'm wrong! Get your butt in here! Some old guy from Tampa says his radio blew up! Maybe I'm confused. Get a move on! Book 'em!"
Detective Hinson hated Tampa. "I always knew I had some unfinished business by the Bay. I'm going to need the unique item that forever links me to my dark past."
Meanwhile, the President's speech was almost over. Then, right after he said "...we have to do it, no matter what the naysayers nay! Good Night!" it was over and he ran out the security exit through the gift shop with his bodyguards making sure he was safe. The bodyguards were prepared to take a bullet for Fred Clooney. That's who they thought the President was. Really, the President didn't have a name. It was all a twist of big surprise. He was a fake person! IN 3-D!
Dr. Washington was ready to push the wrong button when he had a vision of his grandfather telling him he was pushing the wrong button. "No, Googliata. Push the red button, not 'Select!'" "Thanks, Grampa," mumbled the Doctor, "I was about to foil my own crazy plot."
"Man! Is the Doctor talking to himself, or are the voices in his head talking to him? He is CRAZY"
"Out there!"
"Oh, he's 'out there' alright. He's so 'out there' he's 'back here' already. He's so 'out there' they don't even like him out there!"
"Too far gone!"
"Man! WAY to far gone. If you thought he was 'out there' before, you should see how far he's gone since then! Crazy bastard is gone like the wind, lord willing and the creek don't rise!"
"Check!"
Later...
P.R.E.S. was shut down with seconds to go, but Dr. Googliata Washington escaped. Detective Hinson sacrificed his life for that of Sarah Clooney. It was appropriate, since he always had a really "devil may care" type martyr attitude and they were supposed to be star-crossed lovers, anyway. Now we're kind of left thinking that Sarah will never forget this weekend, and that she's going to resolve to make some changes.
The End (Glasses OFF!) |
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| P.R.E.S> Part THREE! |
[Jul. 27th, 2003|01:30 am] |
(Part Three - Portrait of the President as a Young Robot)
August 27th, 2013, Detroit, MI
Andy Nobody's birth certificate hit the can with a huge 'Whack-a-ma!' 'Kuh-Snact!' 'Jughud-ANK!!'
"Fake. You can tell by the ink differential." Wack-Corp CEO Judge McDraft was a straight-shooter and a well-tailored man in his mid to late-somethingy's. He could and would make fake documents in his secret clubhouse sometimes. If he liked what the money had to say. "Run it again."
This time the ink differential was on point. They just had to change the name.
Present Day
"Distinguished guests! Please put your hands together for The President of the United States Mr. Fred Clooney!"
The distinguished guests at the Annual President Award Fancy were picked at random every year. Except that year. First Come- First Served. "I don't make the rules..." the President began.
"you heard me? I. Do. What, Iwant!"
"Snap!"
"So just like that," Detective Hinson sounded his fingers together like 'Kuh-Snact!' and paused for effect, "a top-ranking scientist at the Intergalactic Robot Club up and downloads himself to the ground floor. Of a permanent sidewalk."
"Just like that. Well, way more gross." Letter-writer Todd Johnson was still freaked out about finding a dead body. IN 3-D!
"Promptly! Did you acquire the robot part?"
Gordon and Smith threw the robot part on the tropical workbench.
"Man, finding that part was like finding a hair-do in a haystack."
"Fine!" |
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| P.R.E.S. |
[Jul. 26th, 2003|08:48 pm] |
(Part Two- Illegaly Blonde 2: Red, White and Robotic)
Dear President Clooney of the United States of America,
Your country is probably in grave danger. There's this crazy scientist named Dr. Googliata who is all crazy and has some robot that's...man...it is a wicked robot, let me tell you. The thing has, like, as many arms as it needs at anytime (sometimes odd numbers, sometimes even numbers of arms). It's legs are made out of...did you remember hearing about that 'Segway' thing from back in the day? Well, it's legs are like that so IT CAN'T FALL OVER! Write me back and I'll tell you how to stop the robot.
Your Pal,
Professor Todd Johnson
P.S. Basically you neen an anti-Plasmagraphic device of some sort. I have one you can borrow if you want. Or whatever, let me know! AIM: SxyRoBott53
Detective Mark Hinson was no stranger to mad-scientists. His Ex-girlfriend's previous boyfriend's stepfather was a mad scientist. So it was more than a job. It was personal. This time would be different, though. Because this time there were robots instead of nerve-gas, like the other time.
"Ever since that crazy nerve-gas killed my partner's landlord's canary, I've been hell-bent on revenge."
"Hinson! My office! Now! Wait! Hold on! Let me pour some whiskey out of the flask hidden in my old gun-holster! Okay! Ready! Shit, spilled some! Bring me a paper towel, Hinson! Move! Nevermind! I have a napkin left over from lunch! No! It's gone! Damn your eyes, whoever took it! Maybe it was me! I still need that paper towel! Like wo!" It was the Chief.
"Sounds like the old man's lost his napkin marbles."
"Marbles! Curses!" Dr. Washington exclaimed. "It looks as if that robot-part is going to be harder to acquire than the last four-thousand seventy-four and no/100's. No matter! Smith! Gordon! I have a mission for you..."
"Man, I need a mission from Dr. Washington like I need a sewer cruise!"
"Gross!"
"You two! Go to the sewer! Find me a robot part that looks like this except round!"
"Man, I called that like it was Late For Dinner."
"So gross!"
"Yo, Sarah!" Sarah-Anne called out across the White House indoor health club.
"Yo!"
"Yo, did you read that shit in Teen People about how my 'approval rating' was down?"
(Sarah responded in the special language that only the two of them could understand.)
"For real! I do what I want! Teen People needs to get out my frame! Yo, they all up in my Kool-Aid, don't even know the flavor!"
Meanwhile, in the White House underground bowling alley, the President received an urgent message from the Intergalactic Robot Club and threw it away because it sounded fake.
Coming Soon! Part Three! |
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| P.R.E.S. |
[Jul. 26th, 2003|07:52 pm] |
(Part One: Mr. Washington goes to Robot)
3:57 pm; 2053; one week before erik's story
President Clooney walked strolled the rose garden everyday around this time.
"The roses are so beautiful!" said The President, unaware of the plot a cookin' in a Tampa, FL laboratory.
"Man! Dr. Washington sure puts the 'labor' in 'laboratory!'"
"True!"
Gordon and Smith spent the last half of every workday complaining about their boss, Dr. Googliata Washington.
"Man! Dr. Washington is such a crazy scientist, he doesn't 'tie his shoes,' he 'plots to subjugate his laces!'"
"For real!"
The Doctor had already subjugated his laces that day, and now he was building a robot that would do pretty much the same thing to the world.
Meanwhile, the President was having a hard enough time with his rebellious daughters, Sarah and Sarah-Anne. Nevermind the rest of the World!
"F*** that!" Sarah-Anne screamed, "I do what I want!"
"True!"
The President's daughters didn't know it then, but they weren't going out to the club that night. Or ever again, unless it was a robot club.
"At last! My letter from the Intergalactic Robot Club!" Dr. Washington didn't bother controlling his enthusiasm. He was crazy. "Finally! Project P.R.E.S. will have the funding necessary to keep it from going haywire and enslaving humanity a la-the Terminator movies!"
"Man! Dr. Washington is so excited, his ex was cited as saying 'look at how crazy that guy is!'"
"ch-Yeah!"
"But Sarah-Anne, you're so beautiful!"
"ch-Yeah!"
"Why do you insist on wearing so much eye make-up? Your mother and I are afraid your drop in approval ratings has lowered your self-image! It was Teen People, Sarah-Anne! Don't listen to them!"
"I do what I want!"
Dear Dr. Googliata "Googs" Washington,
On behalf of the Intergalactic Robot Club, you are way to crazy to be trusted with something like Project Plasmagraphic Robotic Executive System (P.R.E.S.). I hereby demand that you turn yourself in to the police!
Your dues are totally late, too.
-Professor Todd Johnson, chief-letter-writer, I.R.C.
"Never! I do what I want!"
"Man, if Dr. Washington was a reptile, he'd be some kind of crazy snake!"
"You right!"
Stay Tuned.... |
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| searching for my long lost taken with a grain of salt |
[Jul. 15th, 2003|12:48 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | impressed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | #1 summer jam | ] |
So my girlfriend Elizabeth, it turns out, has an eye for spotting people. Like real-life Waldo's. She recognized Samir from Office Space in Vice Versa on Friday night, and yesterday made contact w/ Mr. Cheeseburger in Paradise himself, Jimmy Buffett!
It's a well known fact that Mr. Buffett has a house on (name of road omitted)Rd here in Tallahassee. A large touring-style bus can often be seen parked in the driveway. I was mentioning this to Elizabeth as we drove past the Buffett Estate, when she exclaimed, "Hey! it's him!" "Yeah right," I replied, "how can you tell from this far away?" Elizabeth insisted that I turn around to confront the figure in cargo shorts and fishing hat standing in the yard of the house. Ready to prove her wrong (she had been insufferable since the Samir sighting), I pulled into the driveway. After turning around with a rather quizzical look on his face, the pen behind Son of a Son of a Sailor smiled and waved to us. As I sat star-struck in the driver's seat, Elizabeth leaped from shotgun to shake hands with Jimmy. "I knew it was you!" She said, then, indicating me, "He didn't believe me."
So we spent about two minutes in Jimmy Buffett's driveway talking about Florida, songs of his that we liked, the big tour bus and my floral print shorts. Mr. Buffett is funny and personable, and my girlfriend is still gloating.
But I know, it's nobody's fault. |
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| the origin of 'otherjerry' |
[Jul. 13th, 2003|01:31 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | chipper | ] |
Since this is my first post my newest webpage, I thought it would be fun to reveal to people how I came up w/ my nickname! I was right!
It all started when i couldn't think of a fake name to sign on my driver's license
My friend Clifton (not pictured) had signed his "Icy Mike" after a Poison Clan lyric. At the time I was listening to a lot of the band Casual Gods. There is a lyric Jerry Harrison sings about his days w/ the Talking Heads where he says "there has to be some more to this/ I forgot my other alias," and it hit me! Other Jerry! so that's what it said on my old license, and that's what all my internet friends call me when I meet them out and about! |
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