Fireflies... The Rebuttal

I just heard the worst song that was ever written. It was not the melody nor the beat that brought my creative spirit to its knees. It was the lyrics. Oh sweet baby Jesus these were horrible lyrics. I understand the idea behind writing a song for a target audience of females. I get that. But fuck me man, at the very least it should make sense. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

"Fireflies" by Owl City. A rebuttal from the entire male population that does not choose salad over steak.

You would not believe your eyes 

If 10 million fireflies

Lit up the world as I fell asleep

I promise that I would absolutely believe you. As would any one who lives on the east coast. They have fireflies there like we have Taco stands.

'Cause the'd fill up the open air

And leave teardrops everywhere

You'd think me rude

But I would just stop and stare

As opposed to how I would feel if I watched you talking to them? What the fuck else can you do aside from staring? And why are they leaving tear drops? You can't just put that in there because the word "tear drop" works well in songs for women. So unless you want to admit to filling your song with crap we have to assume that you mean the fireflies are peeing everywhere.

I'd like to make myself believe

That planet Earth turns slowly

It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep

'Cause everything is never as it seems

The Earth DOES spin slowly. Idiot. And way to earn your title, captain obvious. I too have a hard time speaking while asleep. And by the way that is normal. Nothing strange or deceiving about that. So it is, in the end, exactly as it seems.

'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs

From 10 thousand lightening bugs

As they tried to teach me how to dance

Your math, it is horrible. Also, ladies, next time I run up and give you a big ol' hug I'm not feeling you up... I'm teaching you how to dance. 

A foxtrot above my head

A sock hop beneath my bed

A disco ball is hanging by a thread

Alright, now you are just saying random shit that rhymes. That is literally what you have done here. Explain to me what this has to do with anything... ever. Forget the song, what would possess you to say something like this? When I hear this my mind immediately jumps to "meth head."

(Craptastic chorus)

(Some more crappy lyrics that I don't have time to figure out)

To 10 million fireflies

I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes

I got misty eyes as they said farewell

Alright so this part is not that bad. I would not have opened with you speaking to the fireflies as you just moments ago told us you were simply staring at them. Now you are a shitty writer AND a liar. And while we are on the topic of stuff, the name of your band is possibly the dumbest thing I have ever heard. Ever. Fucking Ever. Not a joke.

But I'll know where several are

If my dreams get real bizarre

'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar

I know where they are too. East coast. Billions of em. Also, keeping them in a jar is a good way to kill them. I'm just sayin.

(More repeating of the stupid ass chorus)

In closing, the rest of us human males would like you to stop putting this shit on the radio. Thanks.

15 Reasons I Am Worth Dating!

Alright. I have snippets of stuff I want to say, most of it pretty damn funny, but none of it constitutes a full post. So here we have the 15 reasons I am worth dating in a really big font to fill up space.


1. I don't have the AIDS!


2. I'm in pretty good shape, so I can keep up when we're running from the cops!


3. I'm not your ex-boyfriend! What a crazy bastard that guy turned out to be.


4. I know every word to every song in the movie Aladdin!


5. If I don't "get" you, I will pretend really hard!


6. In 8th and 9th grade I got elected for student council!


7. I have great taste in music So you don't have to waste time making me mix CDs of "great" bands you want me to hear!


8. I totally put out on the first date!


9. I get bored of things that don't stimulate me intellectually so when you don't feel like talking I'll probably just wander off!


10. I can be pretty flaky, so you wont have to sacrifice any of your alone time for me!


11. I'm pretty hardcore. I once spent 3 days in jail for $5700 in traffic tickets!


12. I no longer race for pink slips on the freeways! (See reason 11)


13. Four words: Master Of Computer Solitaire.


14. I have no idea how to cook so anything you make will be received with exuberance and probably diamonds!


15. 

The Dating Timeline Prequel!

Hello ladies. My name is Muden and I am looking for a lasting relationship that will allow us both to grow together as we enjoy just being together. That being said, meeting someone who stimulates me both intellectually and sexually has been a thorny experience at best. This is a genuine conundrum, as I am positive I have mastered "the approach." However, I am always open to ways to improve my already flawless method so I give you now "The Hamburgler Approach" to meeting women.

First: I pull up to the valet in the Lexus IS350 before stepping out in a lavish display of shiny black shoes and 300 dollar shirts. Much like a peacock. A man peacock... or mancock if you will. I could have brought the Jag but that would require me putting gas into it and I have to save all my money for tomorrow when I am regretting the amount I spent on drinks. I hand the valet my keys, deliberately making eye contact (to show that I am a nice guy) and then I walk into the club. I do not wait in line. Muden never waits in line. This is because I do not know how to look cool standing in a line so I get there early.

Second: As I cross the threshold between humid Houston and shrink your nipples cold I scan the place dramatically as I check the time on one of my super fancy, see-through watches that always match the shirt I am wearing. I step up to the bar and contemplate, very seriously, about flirting with the bartender all night. Instead I go with a vodka tonic, but I know I will revisit "plan B" next week.

Third: The club fills up and I scan the crowd for a beautiful woman wearing something classy. I am not a big fan of the super mini skirt women who flirt with any guys who smiles at them, although in retrospect that would probably be my best bet. I approach said woman and the conversation goes something like this:

Hey.
Hi.
My name is Muden.
Mudding?
No. Muden.
Mud den?
Moo den.
Modem?
No. Fuck it. Yes. My name is Modem.

At this point you will ask if I would like to dance and I will say yes, I would like to dance. Lucky for me I have already had 5 vodka tonics and all inhibition has gone right the hell out the window. You pull me close and move your body in a very seductive manner. Meanwhile, on my side of the tracks, I tell my brain that I would like to move like Usher. My brain relays this message to my limbs and each of them violently interprets it differently. It is a tragic truth, but one I am equipped to deal with. Luckily I thought ahead of time and brought the car with more gas so that I can buy you more drinks so that you forget the horrific seizure like movements that you were just exposed to.

Fourth: We have a conversation about something that only you will remember. Two years from now you will ask if I remember the first thing we discussed and I will only remember that I spent that entire time trying to remember your name. You tell me what you do and list your hobbies and skills before asking me the same questions. At this point I show you my very unique skill of saying nothing at all but making it sound like I am telling you everything. This is because nobody knows what I do and my greatest talent is my ability of not-getting-arrested-ness.

Fifth: I am now 5 vodka tonics and 4 vodka redbulls in. I am trying, so amazingly hard, not to stumble around as you continue speaking about... stuff. Also, I have to pee like you wont believe. This makes it very hard to be the attentive man that I was an hour ago, so I stuff more drinks down your throat before we kiss for the first time in a drunken stupor. I walk you to your car, and that is the end.

Sixth: I get to my car and scroll through the numbers to find yours. I cannot find anything new aside from where T9 threw up and the result was "Jenoiafsr." If the final 30 minutes of our night seemed rushed, I apologize. But do not worry Jenoiafsr, Modem will call you on Monday.

If anyone sees any place for improvement in my already awesome method, please feel free to let me know. Also, if you never see the car again it is in the shop. Always. If you would like to know how the rest of our relationship will be, please refer to the original dating timeline from July.

Word. Versus Everyone Else

I cannot stand browsing other peoples blogs. When asked, "Hey did you check out my blog?" my automatic response is always, "Yeah, it was cool." The truth is you never really discover just how superficial, typical, fake, shallow, boring, RETARDED, etc. someone is until you read their words. Or as is often the case, you look at random pictures they feel should be shared with the world. These pictures usually involve their feet and windows. When I come across someone with multiple blogs, a Twitter account and a Youtube account I know, right then and there, that someone is going to have to be stabbed before the conversation is over.

The point is not that I am irritated by people who are so full of themselves that they think the rest of us give half a damn, although I very much am. The point is that after spending 5 minutes browsing the "Blogs of Note" here on Blogspot I am FUCKING CONVINCED that I am either a master entertainer or really really really out there. How, pray tell, does a Blog devoted to making arts and crafts out of some sort of glitter glue shit make it to the top? What does that say about us a people that we will take time out of our day to make shit out of glitter glue. Fuck. There is no end to that thought. I am simply left wondering who the HELL makes things out of glitter glue?!

I browse other blogs every now and then. If I come across one on Facebook I'll open it in a new tab and give it a quick look over. I would like to now take this opportunity to inform the rest of the would be writers that updating us on what your idiot dog is doing is kind of boring as a Facebook update... and completely boring as a Blog entry. And yet you still have 200 something followers? It makes me sad inside.

Where the hell is everyone who likes to read something that means something? I made that last phrase as basic as I possibly could for those who can't read so goods. 

So taking a step back from my rant, I noted 4 major differences between my blog and the "Blogs of Note"
1. Need moar pictures.
2. Need to post about things inbred goat babies can relate to. (i.e. arts & crafts, my feet on windows, etc.)
3. ?????
4. Fuck grammar.

That being said... here is where I go for the gold!!!!!!!!!! I expect my blog to be on the homepage tomorrow???? THEYRE THEIR THERE!!!!!??>>>....>!!

The Eulogy

It has been 2 months since my last post. That time was spent rethinking where I want to take my talents with the written word. I suppose I still do not know what, if anything, I want to say. But I did finally decide that I want to share this with whomever would read it. 


2 months ago I sat in a sea of black suits and dresses fighting with my self to accept reality for what it is. And as we all sat in silence, listening to the eloquent eulogy, I came to understand it was not silence that had washed over us all. It was a uniform understanding that we are all undeniably mortal. That we have all grown since we were last together. Started our lives, our families, our careers... our stories. And that is what we all suddenly understood. This young woman, this bright star who had chosen to follow her dream of singing, had chosen how her story would be written and it was indeed a beautiful fairy tale... and then it ended and it was, no matter how she may have wished it to be recorded, now in stone.

I worked my coat under the unbearable heat and took a moment to finally allow myself to search the faces around me. Old friends, acquaintances, past lovers and even those with whom I was less than cordial. We all sat there now, together one more time, and not a word was spoken between us. For years we were the great Titans that shaped our generation and now life had washed over us all and what once was, was no more. What would be, is. And what will be, has yet to be decided. Beside me sat an ex lover with whom I at one time was so certain I would spend my life with that the idea of it coming to end seemed unfeasible. And yet she had followed her path to Paris where she would become a model for some designer or another and I stayed here and built my empire. But there she was now, looking right back at me, and her eyes did nothing to betray the shared curiosity between us. 

What would our story have been? Were we wrong to record the words "The End" all those years ago or was that tale still to be written? She placed a delicate hand over mine and let her head fall to my shoulder, and I could only close my eyes and accept that what we do is already recorded in stone. There is absolutely no chance of making amends for what we have done. There is absolutely no way to go back and offer a hand instead of simply walking by. I do not think many of us like to think that we can change the past, or even have the desire to. I certainly do not. But I do believe that somewhere inside of us all is the belief that what have done or said does not define us now any more than the thoughts and emotions that never see light.

And yet it does. Or it will. We are all absolutely mortal, and what we did and do now is all that will be remembered. No one will know that this young woman wanted to be an actor, only that she was a vocalist. No one will know that she wanted nothing more than to tell her ex fiance that she still loved him, only that she left him.

And then it was my turn to speak, as I so often do at funerals for friends and loved ones. And while I am always able to grant myself some measure of impartiality, some measure of a wall between myself and my emotions, I was not allowed such luxuries this day as the afternoon began to fall into evening. I gently pushed her head from my shoulders, squeezed her hand and moved for the podium. I had written words to address the somber air that had fallen over the family, but I left them in my coat pocket as I stood and simply watched the people before me for a moment. I pushed the red button on my recorder and the words came before my mind was able to edit them. They were what I felt, and for the first time in a long time, they were not tailored to fit any certain crowd or event. They danced through my mind and fell from my tongue.

"I am a man who expresses intricate design and emotion through words daily, if not hourly. Certainly, finding the right words for the right moment is not something I often struggle with and yet, here... now.... I have none. There is nothing I can say that will be perceived as anything but hollow and cliche to you, her family and friends. Someone you loved, we loved, is gone and they are not coming back. We will miss them. Dearly. Painfully. But we are alive, and we will always remember her story. We will remember the profound emotion she could instill with the humming of a few bars. The beautiful smile that was nothing if not contagious. The fierce loyalty she gave to those she loved... whether she would express it or not. 

I was granted the honor of hearing voice trace the melodies of the music she loved most and I know that now it does not feel as if you will ever know anything but pain... but I cannot believe that something so beautiful, so pure, could be anything but loved by God. She is with him now. She is where you, her family, want her to be. And though this is far from my most eloquent or imbued address... it is my most honest. There has been no time in my life that I have been more aware of those around me. gave me that gift. And as I look out over your faces I see tears, and hurt, and pain... but I also see that gift as you look to those beside you and nod softly. will be with you always in the gift that she has given us all. Almost as if even a simple breeze shared with a loved one is a whispered reminder to never... for as long as you live... forget the ones you love.

Had I the strength to give you all the peace you are searching for I would offer it freely. But I do not. And so I can only hope that you know is where her voice belongs. With the Angels. And she will not be forgotten."  

Sexy Biscuits

I read a blog the other day. A rare feat in itself and so worth mentioning by itself. The point is, I walked away with this.

Honey butter chicken biscuits are sexy.

You know what else is sexy? Women who can make me laugh. This is a rare treasure but sadly, they all live in different cities and I might need a hug from time to time.

Check out the original blog here. This girl receives the Muden stamp of approval: http://a-musingz.tumblr.com/

UPDATE: I was disappointed to discover that there is not a special sauce on the tasty biscuit. It is in fact a creepy old lady in the back squeezing a packet of honey onto the biscuit. I did however think of Beyonce as I was eating it.

Roaches Were Just The Beginning.

I am not afraid of bugs. I do not curl up into the fetal position on top of a bar stool every time I see a spider. I can deal with ants and beetles. Roaches however are fucking disgusting and I will absolutely cry if one touches me.

Then we come to bees and wasps. I am not afraid of bees and wasps. I am however an intelligent human being and I fail to find the manliness in getting stung.

That being said, there are a few bugs that will elicit in me emotions so strong I will turn around and haul ass leaving who ever I am with behind. I DON'T HAVE TO BE FASTER THEN THE BUG, I JUST HAVE TO BE FASTER THAN YOU. Read about the evil little bastards below and tell me you wouldn't share my lack of enthusiasm.

JAPANESE GIANT HORNET

Japan (obviously)

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: This fucker is the size of your thumb and sprays flesh melting acid death poison out of its ass. I wish I was making that up, seriously, because how shitty would a 4 inch long acid shooting wasp be... y'know? And it aims for your eyes! Bastards. Oh and the acid death poison has a pheromone that will signal every other hornet in the hive to come and do the same to you until you are dead. Awesome. Not only are they nasty bastards, you can't outrun these hornets as they can easily fly 50 miles a day. At this point it would be nice to say that they are rare and only live in remote places. But no no, these fuckers are goddam everywhere. All over Japan.

BULLET ANT

Nicaragua & Paraguay

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: It's an inch long. An ant. That is an inch long. As if that's not enough, they live and trees and so can and WILL fall on you to scare you away from their hives... the one you didn't know was there because it's in a fucking tree. Before it does all that, it shrieks at you. It shrieks at you. It's called a bullet any because it's "unusually severe" sting feels like getting shot. On the Schimdt Sting Index, Bullet Ants rate as THE NUMBER ONE MOST TRY NOT TO SHIT OUT YOUR SPINE PAINFUL in the entire world of animals. You are walking through the forest and all of the sudden you are surrounded by shrieks and screams as hundreds of these ants shower over

you and proceed to bite the holy shit out of you.

Again... they shriek at you.

AFRICANIZED HONEY BEE

Every-fucking-where

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: Know how to tell the difference between a regular back yard bee and one of these? YOU CAN'T. The difference is in their behavior. Regular bees will give you about 9 seconds of being close to their hive before they decide you are a threat and attacking you. Pretty easy to walk past them with no dying. That's not how the African bees roll. They give you no more than literally half a second before they decide it is time to completely fuck your shit up. The entire hive. All of em. The result is you running away flailing your arms screaming "HOLY SHIT IM COVERED IN DEATH BEES!" for over half a mile. Africanized bees can live in almost any climate and will have come to every state in the US by 2010. I soooo wish I was making that up.

ARMY ANT

Amazon Basin, Asia & Africa

WHY YOU MUST FEAR IT: They fucking eat people. Alive. Healthy people. FUCK THAT.

EAT PEOPLE.

Q&A

Every now and then (when I run out of stuff to bullshit my way through) I sort through the comments and messages in my inbox and I pick 20 of them to bullshit my way through. Ironically, these posts usually get the most hits. That being said, here now is the "Q & A" of Muden's mind.

I do not edit grammar or spelling. This is 100% real and it makes me sad.

1) Do you have read other blogs on a regular basis?

I don't know if you were trying to sound intelligent or you tried to edit your question and failed but holy shit dude. To answer your question, no. Hell no. Have you read some of the crap out there? Blogging is like Youtube except it's not limited by who does and does not have a camera. You get these people posting random pictures better left to Facebook or some other social site and thinking that it is going to entertain other people. It's horrible. Check out these examples. The first one is so full of win I actually saved it to my favorites.

The Wasp: "It's natural, darling, it's from the earth!"
Batman: "Yeah, well, so is uranium."
The Wasp: "Oh, I would never smoke uranium, they use it to make bombs."

http://www.yogabeans.com/

The issue of health care is one close to my heart for a variety of reasons. I have gone without insurance at times after layoffs, unable to afford a $600+ per month COBRA payment. Friends of mine have children and family members with...

http://kdsthinkingoutloud.blogspot.com/

For example, last night I enjoyed driving to dinner because there was a light breeze and the trees in my town look perfect in the wind. I got to have dinner with a new friend and had a delicious dessert.

http://www.ohmishka.blogspot.com/

2) Wut school did u go2 for writting? I think I could keep a funny blog 2.

Clearly.

3) You talk alot about dating and relationships, but you never talk about your own love life. Is there a reason for that?

I always talk about my love life, sadly the funniest posts I have ever made were my adventures in dating. What I refuse to discuss no matter how many times it is requested is what happens in the bedroom. When I stop discussing my love life you will know I found someone I care for and our relationship will always be private.

4) Your observations about relationship and how to treat woman are usually spot on. Ever think about giving dating advice?

This question would be a huge compliment if you didn't suck at grammar. I do not give dating advice. I am not here to help break some girls heart.

Actually, I just don't want the competition.

5) What's up with the random angry posts?

Remember that I am still the guy who grew up with goverment cheese sammiches and Attack Force shoes. I might say some real shit from time to time. Some people get mad and drive fast or beat their wives... I write. I assume you are thinking about me calling people out on a public forum. If you are grown enough to wrong somebody you should be grown enough to make it right. If you choose not to do that then obviously you are ok with what you did and you should have no problem with other people knowing.

6) Why do you delete old posts?

I have no idea.

7) Did that one girl really show up dressed like a hooker?

Yup. It was classy. More so because a group of people I know were there watching me entertain what they thought was a hooker. Word spread like wild fire and to this day I get dirty looks from my elders. Everything I write is true. It makes for good reading, not so much for my love life.

8) Where do you get your inspiration?

The first time I wrote a post (who else remembers Xanga?), I was told my style is sexy. I still don't understand what that means when I get it now. Lately I have fallen away from my style to please you ungrateful bastards, but I suppose that has been my muse. Knowing that I am able to create emotion and provoke thoughts that would otherwise be lost in the daily grind of your lives.

9) You said that you get paid too write. How can I do that???

First: Don't suck at grammar.

Second: Don't suck at punctuation.

Third: Figure out what your readers want to read.

Fourth: ????

Fifth: Profit.

10) Whatever happened to your "Adventures with Online Dating?"

I am so amazingly bad at online dating that it is almost pathetic. I started it after some people at work told me I would enjoy it and I have been coasting along ever since. I have met some nice women on there and I have come across some women I would like to meet but I have no idea what to write when I message people so I usually don't. I get alot of funny ideas from reading profiles though.

11) You used to have a point to make in your posts, what happened?

I still have things I want to say, but I try to stay away from voicing only my opinions. That makes for dry reading. However, I will express a few points pretty soon. I want to get back to my style.

12) Have you been to jail?

How the hell did you come to that question? Yes. I have been to jail. Nothing hardcore but it is a story worth posting. I'll get on it.

13) Why are you so against dating Desi girls?

It's not that I am against dating Desi women. I have been madly in love once in my life and it was with a Desi woman. I am sure there are Desi women out there I could get along with, I simply refuse to put on the "good boy" hat for anybody and that is generally the act they are looking for.

14) When you write about your dating experiences it seems like you are happy dating around, but when you get serious it is clear you want more.

I do want more. I am a romantic sap at heart. But I don't have "more" yet and I'm not going to dwell on it. The thing that makes me happiest in this world is a backscratch before bed from my lady.

15) I read your blog for a long time before actually meeting you and you don't come across the way I thought you would.

I'm not sure what that means, but if I am understanding you right it is because writing does not define me. I am who I am. I work on my car and watch Southpark before sitting down with a flowing thought and expressing it. Am I sheepish about telling people I write? No. Does that make me fake? No. It makes me... me. This is not something I went to school for, it is just what I am "good" at.

Also, when we met we were at Blue Label and I was having a hard time standing straight. Don't judge me.

16) How long does it take you to write a post?

Not long, I don't edit. The way it comes out is what you get. Yes, I do think the way I type.

17) You have touched on almost every subject but racism and sex. Why?

Stereotypes are funny. I can say that because I am a super minority. However, they are cliche so I venture down that path sparingly. As for sex, I am old fashioned. I don't talk about my sex life with anyone. Not even my closest friend knows what happens in my bedroom. When someone sees my other half I want them to see a strong woman, not the girl I am banging. It's a respect thing.

18) You did an article a long time ago about breaking up and what comes after. Do you still believe everything you said?

Yes and no. I still believe, with all of my heart, that you have to fight for love. However, I have learned that there is a difference between loving a person and loving the idea of a person. What I am saying is that after we break up we often see in that person only good things... the things we wanted them to be. Knowing the difference is the hard part.

19) Do you still have the first thing you ever wrote?

No. But I can tell you what it was. My Sociology professor wanted me to give a presentation about the "Disneyization of Society" and I thought it was complete bullshit. So when I took the stage I proceeded to express how remedial I thought she was and I challenged her to step into the real world where people die violently and marriages end more often than not. I have never failed so hard in my life.

20) You seem very serious sometimes.

I can be yeah. I suppose it depends on when you catch me. I am right this moment anyway. Isn't that normal?

The Dating Timeline

My name is Muden. I am looking for a nice woman to start a beautiful long term relationship with. To prove to you that I am ready for such an endeavor and not new to the game I have included a timeline of how our trip into bliss will most likely pan out.

First: We meet someplace trendy for a first date. Maybe an upscale sushi joint or a hole in the wall piano bar. We will discuss our likes and dislikes, careful not to admit to anything of either category that could in anyway be meaningful or revealing. For example, I confess to my hatred of "bad people" and leave my burning hatred of Saturn drivers at home. I don't go on my rant questioning how someone actually makes a decision to buy a Saturn. I do not express how dent proof doors are infact nice... or you could just not throw shit at your doors. You will ask if I like outdoorsy events like camping, hiking, boating, etc. and I will say I do even though the closest thing I have ever done to camping is when I ate of bunch of acid and then buried myself in the bushes in my backyard so I could "sort things out."

Second: Luckily, we find eachother attractive enough to exchange phone numbers. From there you will go home to study or to work and I will say that I am off to do something noble like donating blood. This is to impress you. Ofcourse, by "blood" I mean "pee" and by "donating" I mean "giving it to them wether they want it or not" and by "them" I mean "my boss's dog."

Third: We will go on a few more dates and you will meet my friends and I will meet your friends. One of your friends will say I look familiar and I will insist she is mistaken even though I know for a fact that we met a few months ago as I was running down the street after stealing a haircut from Sport Clips.

Fourth: We begin having sex on a regular basis. It will be remarkable due in large to the fact that we are both passionate, sexy people. But then I will try to incorporate some sort of strange foreplay involving either your ass or beads... or both. When you call me out on it, I will insist that I was joking even though I was not and truth be told I am thinking about putting stuff in your ass for the better part of my day.

Fifth: Our comfort level is now to the point where we each have a key to the others apartment. You will come home early one day and be shocked to find me on your couch masturbating to "The Golden Girls." I will apologize and tell you that I had been masturbating to the show before this and by the time the new show started I was already "in the zone." later you will look at the TV Guide and realize the show that is on before "The Golden Girls" is "Unsolved Mysteries."

Sixth: You will eventually grow tired of how emotionally distant I have become and I will grow tired of how you never do the things you said you love to do. Sure, we never went hiking together, but you swore you liked to cook and were a very clean person. If I, the couch yank cranker, have cleaner habits than you... we have a problem. You will begin to attack me with petty insulting comments under your breath and tell me that my pillows are disgusting. "They look like you let a homeless man pee on them." To which I will be thinking, "Only your pillow sweetie... only yours." Despite knowing that no matter how much you get under my skin you always sleep in bum pee, I will be more wrapped in wondering how you knew it was bum pee.

Seventh: We will finally break up after a loud shouting match that will eventually end in a scenario where I am standing inside of my apartment, minus the couches, staring down at you through the window, clad in your bathrobe and sipping coffee with a strange sense of calm as you destroy my hooptie with a 9-Iron.


If this sounds like the kind of real relationship you are interested in, please shoot me an email! Just let me know what time I should pick you up. Also, the hooptie is a rental while my Mercedes is in the shop so don't be alarmed.

- Muden

Striper Skank and Kathleen

For my 22nd birthday a couple of friends thought it would be fun to take me Downtown (back then the party was on Main Street) and surround me with strippers before presenting me with a blow up doll and a cake in the shape of boobies. For those in the club not in our group I can only assume it looked like a bachelor party and in all honesty, if I have a bachelor party, I hope to god it does not involve skanky strippers (as opposed to decent ones?), boobie cakes and blow up dolls.

Now I was faced with a prediciment. What do I do with said blow up doll (I named her Kathleen) and how do you escape the skank of stripper grinding? While I have yet to resolve the ever elusive issue of washing off stripper skank, I did eventually rid myself of the blow up doll.

Kathleen rode in my trunk for a good year and half. This was not for ease of mobility, I assure you. Rather, it was becuase where the hell do you dispose of a blow up doll? Certainly not at home. Trashmen can be very judgmental. At work? "Yeah I saw the pet shop guy dumping a body in the dumpster last night." That would be a no. My only sensible option was to leave her in the trunk until I found a suitable place to bury her.

I would like to interject that this may or may not have been the result of the Sicilian in me bubbling to the surface when it heard the words "get rid of the body."

And so Kathleen became my body in the trunk after a night of strippers and vodka.

A year down the road I am picking up a date from her apartment for dinner and a play. We are dressed up for the theatre and of course as we arrive she wants to leave her purse in the car but downtown is not the best place to do so, so she asks me to pop the trunk.

Awesome.

I pop the trunk, having forgotten all about Kathleen, and BLAMMO she starts yelling "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" At this point I still dont know what the hell is going but I am rushing to the back of the car like she is getting mugged and low and behold, Kathleen is half covered under the clutter of recent trip to galveston to collect marine specimens and bioturf.

For those of you not educated in marine biology, it was basically a shovel, sand and tarps.

Tell me what you think she was thinking.

Yeah, I know. Fuck.

I proceed to explain everything, she laughs nervously, and we go on with the night. I never heard from her again.

The next day I decide it is time to finally be rid of Kathleen the cock blocker. I have no idea where to take her but I do know that it has to be done. This comes to me as I am standing in an Autozone parking lot staring into my trunk thinking, "Should I stab her to deflate her?"

And so I tried to stab her with the only thing I had. My keys. I failed. I did however manage to grab the attention of everyone in the parking lot. After trying to stab the goddam doll I said fuck it and looked around for the nearest trashcan. I figured if I moved fast enough I would minimize the number of people who saw me.

So the trashcan was full and I spent another 5 minutes trying to stuff this now burned, stabbed and disfigured blow up doll into the 6 inch opening of a trashcan. Inconspicuous I was not.

The end product was me getting it half way in and saying "fuck it good enough" only to walk away from two legs sticking out of a trashcan out side of Autozone. I had to move through a gathered crowd of employees and customers, my audience, to get back to my car.

Akward.

Per Madre

As a writer I have long been convinced of the inadquacies of the written language in regards to the description of feeling and emotions. However, there are times when you simply must say something when the creation of art is neither convenient nor practical. So, it is with a heavy heart that I am forced to express the feelings that I bury inside becuase I know that these feelings are poorly served by the simple words I am forced to employ. It is not enough for me to say I love her. I have used this same word to describe my relationship with milk, hot wings and past girlfriends, who in the end, I know I never truly loved. So to use the word "love" to describe the immense feelings and emotions that she elicits in me seems somehow... wrong. However, becuase I am a writer I am aware of the power simplicity can convey so long as the audience understands the context. Generally this is achieved through the use of flowing adjectives and writing "between the lines" to bring you, the audience, to the conclusion I want you to arrive at. Here, however, I will be direct so as not to allow the perception of anything other than what I want you to walk away understanding. The word love is but a whisper of the shadow of the feelings I have for this woman. No matter how beautiful or poetic it may be, it is still only a shadow. The feeling itself, that which casts the shadow, is ever more brilliant and colorful than I could ever hope to express on paper. With that said I suppose I should continue in the language you wrote all of my birthday cards in.

I love you ma.

Per sempre. Sempre. Eterna.

Non abbiamo parlato troppo a lungo, ma non ho mai smesso di essere tuo figlio. I miss you caro e desidero più di ogni altra cosa che potrebbe tornare indietro il tempo di passare la mia gioventù con voi ancora una volta. Non riuscivo mai a dimenticare quello che è successo tra di noi, ma vi prometto che ti ho perdonato. Forse vedremo presto, e forse sarà un'altra vita tempo prima che io sento il calore della madre di nuovo. In entrambi i casi, sarà accolto a braccia aperte.

La tua risata è caro perdere ,
- Mohammed Kaleemuden Siddiqui

F**K Roaches

Let's talk about a serious problem plaguing Houston. It is a vile disease that leaves our streets unsafe and our children in the constant line of fire.

It's not Gora's in rice burners who own all the Fast and Furious movies.

It's roaches.

Evil sadistic carnivorous bastards.

First let's clear the air of a few myths. 1) Roaches do not eat people. This is false. Roaches have huge fucking teeth and once they take flight in that nasty goddam way nasty creepy fuckers... they fly AT you. THEY ARE GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE. 2) Roaches help the ecosystem by eating carrion and other trash that would otherwise decompose into nastiness. This is also false. Roaches are born from everything evil. They are little carwling spawns of death and when 30 of them combine their powers they form Satan. 3) Roaches are easily killed with Raid roach spray. Could not be anymore false. Anyone who believes this has clearly not encountered Houston's lovely 10" long tree roaches of death. Those little bastards take half a can and then they still wanna run at you to exact revenge. I once sprayed one non stop for 10 seconds and the little fucker still made it up my shoe before I kicked him off and screamed like a gir... man. I screamed like a manly man. It was a lumberjack scream. More of a yell really.

Now that you know the real agenda of roaches we can discuss how they go about fulfilling their little missions from Hell. When it rains, roaches come out to play. When its hot, roaches come out to play. When there is fucking oxygen in the air, roaches come out to spread their evil. If you live in Houston you have encountered death and no doubt you bare the scars to prove it. I once knew a guy who lived in a houston so infested with roaches I once woke up with one crawling on my leg.

HE WAS GOING TO EAT ME.

FUCK.

THAT.

I no longer speak with this individual. I was violated that night and I do not think I can ever be his friend again.

The constant presence of roaches in undeniable and something of a "part of life" here in Houston. So what then, Kaleem, inspired you to let the world know just how evil these little bastards are? I'll tell you what happened.

I will share with you this thorn from my lap of memories and with the blood it draws from my thumb I hope to illustrate the importance of KILLING THEM ALL.

I went on a mini vacation to Paris not long ago. Obviously, I flew there. On a side note, air planes are one of the few bastions we have left in the battle against roaches. Another place being my home. You can bet your ass I am roach proof to the extreme. I exterminate once every two months without fail. So help me god if I ever had a roach encounter in my own home I would break down and die.

Back to the point, I parked my car in a buddies garage, windows down, and had him drive me to the airport.

Almost, what, 4 months later? I am at work today and we decide, "Arbys!" (until the 16th you buy a drink and get a free sammich!) and so I pull my car around and in hop 3 co workers. I do not look at my back seats. Ever. Much less lift up the floor mats back there. One guy gets in and knocks the mat out of place and BLAMMO! there is a dead spawn of satan staring at me.

HOLY SHIT FUCK ME DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED HAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD TOUCHED ME WHILE I WAS DRIVING?

His mission was to kill me. I am positive. He left behind a little note with my description on it. He knew his mark!

I did not eat lunch today. I am still tramuatized by my brush with death. Seriously holy shit what if that thing started crawling around when I was driving. Ohhhhhhhhhhh my god I would have taken out a few cars in my frantic attempt to pull over in the middle of 59 going 80.

I called my "buddy" on the way back to work and told him we couldn't be friends anymore and that he should move.