saints are going all the way.... to hell.

i have drew brees on my fantasy football team.
you don't.

and for the record -- i don't believe in the Saints.

i know they changed defensive coordinators -- and that explains why they're slightly better on defense. But where is this offense coming from? Are these guys 'coming into their own'? Has sean payton finally 'figured it out'? Is the team of destiny finally ready to claim it's ranks among the NFL elite?

fuck no.

it's god hittin 'em up in reparations for the levee's n shit. just you wait.
The saints will fall. (and I don't even hate them)
























One thing's for sure though.....
i have drew brees.
you don't.

things i want to do by the time i grow up....

all of them.

--Red Button--

there's a darkness in the room. it's deafening.

it presses in from every side, waiting. it leans forward, crowding the little pool of light cast from the desk lamp.

i've been staring at the wood grain in the desk for 5 minutes straight now--not really seeing. i blink a couple times. it's shaped like barbara walters, but less wrinkly.

what the fuck am i going to do for breakfast?

i stare some more at barbara, tracing the darker brown patterns in the desk with my eyes. she stares back with that fake smile of hers. i rub my eyes and groan, leaning back in my chair, breaking the silence for the first time.

the room reacts.

the darkness stirs like smoke, rearranging itself throughout the study. my head, it hurts, and i can't stop rubbing my eyes. the voices begin to whisper on invisible threads and they won't go away. barbara begins chanting something sinister in a language i can't understand. i stare back at the mottled wood pattern, the darkness playing tricks, the soft sensual venom of barbara's lips moving. i'm more annoyed than anything else-

"can you shut the hell up, i'm trying to think for christ's sake!" i tell her.

the darkness is shifting, swirling, stirring to life all around me. something big is about to happen. the voices chatter, the tempo is rising, the lamp's pale light flickers. something big is about to happen. the room is awash in secret sounds and things just out of sight are moving, shifting, reaching because they know--something big is about to happen.

i try and drown it out, but it's growing to a crescendo-- "something big is about to happen..."

"like fuck it is," i say, and i slam my fist down on the red button.

like carbonated soda the room hisses and filters back into calm, vaunted darkness. barbara walters is just a few swirls of wood grain and the curtains are still. a sheen of stillness.

i rub my eyes again and groan. i sit with my eyes closed for a couple minutes in the blissful silence.

"now...what the fuck am i going to do for breakfast," i wonder out loud this time. it's 4 am but i don't have anything else to look forward to until then.

maybe i'll have ostrich. i've never had ostrich.

a small red dot is blinking soft red on a monitor in the corner of the room, affirmative of the launch. tens of thousands will be dead in the next few hours, consumed alive in a fiery ungodly holocaust of flame. entire cities torched alive, burning into the desert night like living effigies--screaming, a crack and a pop, then a constant smoldering stillness.

i leave the office, close the door behind me, lock it, and nod to Jenkins and Robbins. i walk towards the East Wing, the entire White House still asleep in predawn quiet.

the inside voices shuffle and push their way to the front a little with bubbling mirth and vicious laughter. but i tell them to relax. it's Tuesday guys, i got work and shit to do i reason, shaking my head a little. maybe i need some of the pills.

and maybe i'll have pheasant.

it's such a pain in the ass sometimes to be president of the United States.

Glory Suicides -- American Tradition

Just like Harry Houdini to magic, Charlie Kelly in 'The Day Man Cometh' and Evil Knievel in stunting-- you need 'an angle.'

Now I've been around the block. I know a thing or two. And the wave of the future is here. And someone needs to step it up. Ready for it.... it's
Suicide.

But not just any suicide.
American suicide.
Patriotic suicides.

.....
Glory Suicides.
.....


Boom.



Picture it:
Thousands gathered in attendance. The old, the young, men, women and children of all ages gathered around in a hushed awe, holding their breath, a glint of joy in their eyes, as their Hero is attempting a badass, awesome, jawsome, show-stopping suicide.

Pyrotechnics.
Props.
40 Cameras.
Endorsements out the Wazoo.
Celebrities assistants.
T-Shirts.
Movie deals.
Monster venues.
Even zoo animals and circus people.
















All in wide-eyed anticipation of a spine-shattering, fire-breathing, and yes, always wholesome first degree murder in the first person.

Kinda leaves ya breathless, doesn't it?
Now throw in an American flag waving.
God, I just got an erection.

I haven't worked out all the details or exactly how the scoring etc would work but how about a once-a-month tribute to the most brutal, spectacular suicides. And not just any suicide -- a Glory Suicide. Waving an American flag. Jets flying by overhead. Kids going "WoW!!!!!!". It gives me the shivers.

Like I said, I'm still finding the right market saturation approach and collecting the raw data, looking for investors, etc etc (the ever-diligent me) but all I need now is a face and some cashflow.

Here are the top 5 gnarly suicide ideas I've been kicking around for the program:








Oh Chopper My Chopper

Ok, so we rent 2 helicopters and fly them directly over top of one another. Our hero will be in the top chopper sans a parachute (that's fancy for 'without'). Both choppers are holding steady directly over the stage and placed in the center of the stage is a floor-mounted Nickelodeon graduated cylinder that they used in Nickelodeon's Family Double Dare (not like the one they used--the actual one they used). Our Hero jumps out of the top one directly into the whirring blades of the lower one. The audience has to guess if his eviscerated entrails fill above the red line.

Boom.

We got Shishka-[his name].
Bonus: an extra exclusive ($) ticket gets you seats in 'the pit' which is directly under both helicopters. blood shower = happy customers.






Face that Launched a Thousand Rips

This one is more an endurance test that could take hours/days. But I figure people watch Nascar and those guys hardly ever die. Our guys is 100% guaranteed to die. I mean, in what other entertainment medium do you get that? Answer: None.
Well, our Hero will sit and kneel directly in front of the camera and take paper cuts. Oh, and he cuts himself. From industrial fresh-pressed sheets of legal white over and over and over and over in his head and face until he bleeds to death and dies.

Boom.

That. is. metal. It's like a horror movie -- you just can't look away. Only in this case there will be fireworks and a constant barrage of Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" blaring in the background.
Bonus: we will of course make Glory White the official paper supply of the Glory Suicide program. $core.





Barbed Wire Hangover

Our Hero will play in the equivalent of a McDonald's Ball Pit -- of barbed wire. Rolling around in the pit, small individually-cut pieces of wire will be ingested by the hero and right before bleeding to death (both internally and externally), he will get out and take a seat at a dunk tank. A lucky child from the audience will get the chance to 'sink' our hero into a vat of Glory Suicide brand whiskey. He must drink his way out.

Boom.

I'm only assuming he dies. From the cuts or the alcohol. If he doesn't.... well, I don't know.
Bonus: The winning dunk kid gets a lifetime supply of our whiskey.






Chainsaw Chop-Up
Hero grabs a chainsaw. Hero hacks off own limbs one at a time. Will he be able to get all 4? Is it possible?! Can he really even do that?!! How can he--- but that doesn't---
Oh, he'll be able to do it.
Our Glory Hero is a professional.

Boom.

Maybe have some tree-chopping contests going on before and afterward.
Bonus: The look of sheer wonder and joy in those kids eyes is all the bonus we'll need.






Red, White, and Boom

My personal favorite and a 'can't miss' if you have a flair for the dramatic. This Glory Suicide is a marvel of modern technology and human engenuity. It will definitely by the Grand Finale.
Our Hero will start by swallowing enough remote detonated explosives to take out Rosie O'Donnel. And he will do it during a good ole' American Eating Contest. Children from the audience can come up and volunteer to out-eat our Hero (sadly, with FCC and US constrictions, the children will be chowing down on something American, like apple pie, not explosives.) He will then wave goodbye, get in a military class Stealth Bomber and take off to the song "Living on the Edge" by Aerosmith.
Attention will be directed to the center stage where a 15-foot giant remote with a giant red button directly in the center is highlighted by 30 spotlights. This button is the detonator for all the live explosives our brave Hero just ate. The live band will be playing, they'll sell candy and stuff and put up general Glory Suicide Fun Facts! up on the jumbotron for a while.
Then, in a hail of 25 jet engines buzzing by overhead the stealth bomber will release our Hero out the escape hatch and skydive to the ground, hurtling hundreds of miles an hour through the air..... on fire. That's right.
At this point he'll need some sort of slow-down device to get his bearings straight (can't have him missing now, can we? And can't have him taking the wind out of everyone's sails by using a slow, stupid, safe old 'parachute', can we? Probably deploy some sort of MC Hammer parachute pant technology) and position himself hurtling towards the red button.
--and this is my favorite part--
The Hulk Hogan Theme - American Made will start blasting loud enough to kill small animals and oriental women. The pyrotechnics will erupt from every direction, charring and permanently blinding some (small price to pay.) The jumbotron will be going nuts and zooming in on our Hero. Dads and sons will be high-fiving and saying "phuck yea!!!!" (with a 'ph' because it's family oriented). Women in bikinis will come up in pods placed specifically beneath everyone's seats. Shit will be going bonkers. Old people will be shitting themselves. Women will be ripping their clothes off. Everyone who snuck a gun into the event (we don't even pat you down at Glory Suicides -- this is your 2nd ammendment. We encourage it) will start shooting it in every direction. People will be pissing straight into the air without getting wet -- like straight up.
Then everything will stop all of a sudden. No noise. No one moving a muscle. These puny terrorists will appear from everywhere (hired by Glory Suicides of course) and the main terrorist will appear on the jumbtron and say something in some sandy foreign language that no one understands. Then he will grab an American flag and rip it up as everyone is trying to figure out what the phuck this jack-off is doing.

Errra-reerrrrrrrr?!

The music will make that 'record skip' sound and a goofy 'BoiNg!!!' and the terrorists look all surprised and all these old WCW and WWF wrestlers will come out in their full wrestling gear grab the terrorists holding them in arm bars and headlocks. We look on the jumbotron and the main terrorist is looking scared at--
Oh my God!! It's Hulk Hogan!!! He shakes his finger no-no-nooooooo
Everyone starts chanting. And all at once Hogan drops the terrorist and the wrestlers body slam the other puny terrorists onto mini-land mines (they won't really kill the terrorists, it's just to make everyone think they do) all as the music kicks back double loud.
People go ridiculous! Society doesn't even make sense anymore.
Our attention goes back to our hero. He's hurtling closer and closer (while all this is happening) and he's finally seconds away. The audience begins a frenzied rapturous countdown.

9...
8...
7...
6...
5...
4...
--the air itself is on fire with it--
3...
Closer
2...
CLOSERRRR
1...


Boom.




Square on the button, as his body showers the audeince in human chum and they celebrate the greatest gift of life... death.
Bonus: this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkOTfbw6nxk




















Gone'run Wiiild on YOUUU terrorists




So like I said, I've got a pretty solid framework. Some good ideas. Gotta work out some small stuff -- where to get terrorist outfits, edible explosives, industrial strength barbed wire, figure out if one guy does all 5, does he go on a live tour, do you need a special permit to blast music as loud as I need to, who rents helicopters, my, my, my, but I'm rambling.
Like I said though, investors are still needed but you want to act fast--this opportunity just will. not. last.

Hit me up if you think of any ideas or have any questions or know a guy looking for work. And keep an eye out for America's next great pastime--
Glory Suicides

Dessert Island Top 5 Time

Yes, Dessert Island.

A whole Island made of expired candy, delicious soggy graham crackers, and sandy chocolate beaches. Mhhhmmmmmm!!!

You can't really eat alot of it, seeing as how it's been exposed to the elements for thousands of years, but let's say you're stuck there. And let's say you have 5 of your favorite 8-track cassettes! And an 8-track machine that doesn't run on batteries, but instead runs on shitty dessert foods.

Now we're talking!

Well let's assume you can bring any album--regardless of whether it was ever made in 8-track form. What 5 hot tapes would you want?

I thought about mine, and the answer isn't as easy as 'What are my favorite albums?'. On the contrary. You need variety. Imagine if your favorite band was Matchbox 20 and you wanted 2 of their albums (clearly Yourself or Someone Like You and one of the others). Now you pick 2 more 90's-rock-band albums and you throw in your favorite Classic Rock CD to round out your Top 5...

Wrong.

You're on a Dessert Island here, probably forever. Variety is huge. So you think of your favorite albums in various genres, polish up your 8-track tapes and kick back, right?

Eh....

You need to think of timelessness. And growth. Have you ever loved a CD the first 5x through it and every time thereafter it just kinda... got predictable? Kinda just 'eh'? Now think of an album that aged like a fine wine. And just gets better every time you listen to it. Hot musical scores where you hear something new almost every time through. Now that's a keeper.

Just don't forget length, too. You don't want a 35-minute pop-rock album with the same 12 tracks. And it's no good if there's no variety within the album itself. And don't you think it's a good idea to have album choices for different 'moods'? No use packing Alanis Moreissette, Emo I, Emo II, Staind, and Dashboard Confessionals-- I mean, talk about nothing to lay out in the sun in, these albums just scream 'pale', 'sickly', 'sadness' and 'introspective'. Nothing like one of them when you celebrate discovering 'fire' for the first night. Or putting one of them on when you 'get in the mood' to get intimate with some soggy marshmallows because you're Oh-so-lonely.


This is alot of work.
Don't take it lightly. (it's all you'll have forever)
And don't screw it up.



Mine, in no particular order.....


Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin II











My heroes of classic rock, The Zep. I feel this is truly one of the most symbiotic bass-drum relationships ever caught on an album. The pocket and weave between Bonhom and Paul Jones is palpable. To a boner-inducing pitch, even, on The Lemon Song. It's the ultimate chill-out air-bass song. And if you're not into air-bass don't worry, it rocks for the casual air-drummer.
I needed a Zep album and this one is more diverse and refined than Led Zeppelin I in my opinion. This album revolutionized rock and these guys just had such a feel for what they were doing it's outrageous. I've listened to it countless times, and it's something I can actually 'sing along with' if I'm feeling really lonely and I need to perform a Whole Lotta Love on myself. It's timeless. It's old school. It's mostly upbeat. It has jam-essentials mixed with killer Paige riffs. Need I say more?
Also, I'm pretty sure they invented drugs.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9-DNTY8ONw
(The Lemon Song cover - highlighting drum and bass intra-mechanics of funk)





Tool - Lateralus










This album is a collaborative, intertwined, dark piece of sinister work. I wasn't sure about putting a Tool album on my list but there's something about this one that grows into the listener. It's the only CD that I physically went out and bought 3 seperate times (once lost, once scratched) even though I had it on my computer. I can't explain it. It's a brooding inward spiral that captivates and swirls around in my brain in the form of Danny Carey drum madness.
Seriously, drummer Danny Carey and bassist Justin Chancellor deserve an Emmy just for Schism let alone Lateralus or Ticks & Leeches or... frankly, the rest of the album. Just has a great 'flow' to the whole thing with alot of '3/4' and off-beat subterranean rhythms. This is for my nighttime or deep thought kinda moods.
FACT: Sometimes I listen to this whole album just for the drums. Danny Carey, he just 'is', ya know?


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhjG47gtMCo
(Tool - Schism video. These guys do drugs, too. wow.)







Miles Davis - Get Up With It











Miiiiiiles Davis. The jazz-man. This little number isn't your prototypical Miles album either. It's way funkier and at times way more 'out there.' The man was a musical genius and his improv and 'touch' dance in and out of the deep, deliberate tracks laid out by some of jazz's most talented and influential artists. Take your average studio bassist or drummer from a rock band. Now multiply that by 7,000 -- that's an average studio jazz bassist or drummer. Now multiply that by horns, drums, crazy background sounds and 5,000 more and you've got a Miles Davis studio performer. These guys are the pros.
Red China Blues is a funk-splosion of progressive blues. And there's a 32 minute song called He Loved Him Madly which is eerie dark and experimental and contageous and... and I don't even know. Crazy. Then there's Honky Tonk -- all I can say is, you listen to it, and you become black. And the jazziness is enough to break up the verse-chorus-refrain of the repetitive nature of most rock and mostly eating stale chocolate syrup leaves every day.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuKhccJi_GI
(Miles - Red China sounds like we're workin on that ole Chaaaiiiiin gang.)







Opeth - Deliverance











"This next song, is a fucking masta-piece." ~ Mikael Akerfeldt.

Mikael sums it up nicely. Deliverance is one of the top 3 most-listened-to-songs on my ipod -- no small task for a 13:36 long song. It's also one of the most metal albums I've heard in my entire life. The thing with most metal, is it's re-sale value. You hear it, you've got it, it's fast, let's move on. But not Opeth. Opeth uses crazy time signatures, plays with volumes, harmonizes vocals as well as growls, goes into acoustic breakdowns, and shreds out ridiculously tight intellectual music.
Every member of Opeth can play better than you. It's a fact. But I've just never heard a group blend death metal, latin drum beats, and jazzy-blues guitar solo-ing like this. This album in particular, drummer Martin Lopez puts on a metal-latin clinic. The sounds are so much deeper and so much more enjoyable with each listen. I hear something new on this album every time I listen. And 3 tracks on it have been my 'favorite' song on the album already.
Plus, if I'm blasting this, I could kill any small or large animal I find on Dessert Island without even blinking. In front of its parents.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYQwG1deEzo&
(Opeth - Deliverance on drums. play it 3x fast and i'll give you $1)



Stevie Ray Vaughn - Texas Flood











Stevie 'Cocaine Ray' Vaughan is guitar. He is blues. The devil sold his soul to Stevie Ray so Vaughan would play a private concert for his daughter's 7th birthday party. She never made it to 8.
With all of the 'bass' and 'drum' action going on on this island this was a nice change of pace. Blazing fast blues licks mixed with some of the most genuine, soul-spoken, ridiculous solos I've ever heard in my life. You hear new things within the individuals notes of a Ray Vaughan solo every time you listen. I'm trying to find more adjectives to describe this madman on the axe... but I can't. My only regret is that Little Wing isn't on this album. But Lenny, written about his wife, is the projection of a human soul in guitar chords. To quote Stevie Ray: "I never really learned notes or scales, I just sort of played what I felt."
Play Stevie play. Let me tell you them blues about eating shitty desserts everyday...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pF1p8sawWJ0
(Stevie Ray - Lenny this is what cocaine looks like. he's literally not conscious for this whole song. look at the sweat drip off his nose. oh my god, he's channeled his soul and left his body / done drugs and whiskey)











& The 'On-the-Cusps'

It was tough to not let these absolute gems aboard, but sorry fellas, only 5.
These 8-tracks washed ashore somewhere else I guess.....
Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon Medeski, Martin and Wood - End of the World Party (Just in Case) Incubus - SCIENCE Porcupine Tree - In Absentia Phish - Story of the Ghost Metallica - Master of Puppets
Tool - Aenima


What about your top 5?

upon seeing myself outside of myself.

these hands
are so strange
like gloves that don't fit.
the air
is so thick
everything tries to swim
but it can't
it won't
--something's wrong--

i look down at these shoes
all the defects stand out:
the creases,
the scuff marks,
the frayed lace.

i want to feel grief
i want to shed tears
but i can't.
i won't
--something's wrong--

the machine churns us along
we file on in syncopation
until i find myself
before the oak-box apex.

i see myself in this moment
like i've never seen myself before
the hair, the lips, the skin, the cheeks
-especially the cheeks

puffing out, unnatural tallow,
make-up covers the decay.
a scar above the left eye
the only thing
left that's real.

this body is too heavy.
this face is too wide.
these wax eyes are unstaring.
they can't.
they won't.
--something's wrong--

these hands i hold,
creases, marks and grooves i've
never seen--
trace out
stories i've never heard

who am i?
i sort of remember someone else.
i sort of remember
something that's not there.

the cogs of the machine
grind and shift,
the grief must go on,
even without me.
a long, deliberate drole.

we're released
back into daylight.
the darkness
is locked behind slabs of
mortar and stained glass.

the haze starts to clear
i start to remember who i am
i start to believe it.

my hand traces an imaginary scar
above my left eye.
i smile for the first time

because i can.
because i will.
--because everything...is right.--