May 31, 2004
May 14, 2004
Dark Star Crashing
Various results on the internet regarding Wilson Social Studies Department head Andy "Survivor" Sonnabend
Number one hit on google searching Andrew Sonnabend
"you know...stuff "
May 08, 2004
Just May Be the Best Tasting Water on Earth
Everyone wants their love tragedy to be the LOVE SUPREME. Every word out of a lonely drunk is supposed to be the ETERNAL TRUTH, the intoxiticated ET, so to speak. Every frame in my brain of her was a chance to fuck this world and take true love? and run, forgo'ing the cries of streetside quarters and daytime TV bullshit. Walk along the curb alone at night to beats cast in the fust only visible in steetlights at night. Solitary cool-fucking-ness. Cute stranger = play it cool. Friends who give me condoms and a slap on the back, "Gp get her". If my hair was shampoo'd by a PRO-FESSIONAL, if my shorts rode better, maybe then she'd press her hands against me. Easy to sing like Sam Cooke because she SENDS ME, and its all about trying - "You can get it if you really want, but you must try, try and try"
Try & I. Out of my head and its better this way. Every night should be like this night. This night shouldn't end. If I vomit, I'll blame it on the Thai food. See man I'm just trying to keep the FUNK alive.
Where are my emergency Mentos? What if I have to answer the phone? I'm the man. BEAN BAG! DID YOU STEAL MY MENTOS? You know those are for emergency(s)?!? Congradulations, you've won me. I'm spectacular and I'm waiting to take you away. I'm hoping to. I'm dancing in the bathroom, ignoring the mirror, hoping to take you away. Doing the twist (La la!). An invitation. My fanfare awaits, hoping to take you away. Dying! Dying to take you away.
- "Yr a button-down jeans kind of guy, right?"
+ "Nope."
+ "all zipper!"
- "What, so no buttons?"
+ "well, one at the top I guess"
- "Touche, boyo."
Daniel from Black Eyes came in to the store today. I was black-stickering singles (45's) that we picked up for free. I'm not as skinny as him, I'm not skinny at all. I'm more on par with a FORTY YEAR OLD BLACK WOMAN who's down with the Whispers, the JB's, and sick fucking Hall & Oates, but still got that ass. I'm going commando in my button down Levis I got from the Salvation Army at that de facto Carribean Corner. You want some ACKI, it's like a saltine only made out of fish. Let's make a wish backwards. Fuck her first, wish for it later. I'm asleep. Out of my head and its better. The spoon it wetter (not a heroin reference there, Heroin Jimmy)
Remember the love scene in Ghostbusts. Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranish at Central Park West, turning in to shitdogs of war. The Beatles were geniuses, I pee with my weenis. I meant to say "I wee wee with my penis." <<<<< There's a "period" when girls cry a lot. I think this girl in the store today was in that period, but with friends like hers I'd be crying too; one athletic, likable blonde grrrl, the other an ugly sllut. Two deadsluts one good fuck caused some controversy with Katy Otto (Del Cielo/Exotic Fever Records/Tree Swing House). I told her that her house was a punk rock sanctuary. "Well be a SKATE-EDGE, man!" My Pg.99 essay didn't get me in to NYU. College has no room for screaming youth. I think she was high when she asked me to prom. Gotta do what I gotta do to get in the zooooone. I mean ZONE, there's nothing 'zoo' about it. I used a fork to stir my beverage and I remembered I don't want to remeber. I found my EMERGENCY mentoes and forgot where I put 'em. I need to turn to side 2 or choose a new record. I should go commando more of the time. You say yes, Go!, Go!, Go! Go! = the most brilliant carpe diem you fuckers. Spirit of '88. Connecticut youth crew takes over NYC. X's and positive outlook. when this baby hits 88 mph, YR GONNA SEE SOME SERIOUS SHIT. We need some REVOLUTION SUMMER. We gotta get out of our heads and on the lawn of the White House banging pots and pans. Meese IS a pig. We gotta not be scared and bang that chick. Free Love '67, Death Valley '69, SoHo '77, Reagan Youth '84, fucking Orchid at the Wilson Center with Virginia Black Lung and fucking FROM ASHES RISE. Let me take you down. Forever and ever and ever. This white boy can shake his ass, and the drink fizzes when you stir it with a fork. The Chamber Brothers sure can do a fakeout ending and so can the proverbial "her". Time has come today, I don't care what others say. Thanks for coming, she said. How much weight will I put on college. Doesn't matter they tell me, wasn't much to look at anyway. I wasted high school. I should have given in to the bullshit. Given my self migraines and gotten in to Yale, then FSU'd. WE CAN ALL Can you give me one of them "Beatlemania" haircuts? No, won't work on a big fella? How bout on of them ya'know Locust-cuts? No spock-rock for JRussell. Well what look can ya give me? The ecstasy of St. Theresa is different that the ecstasy of the Burke (liberal private school) chick I want to bang. All pomp and circumstance provided . . . there is NOTHING you can do that can't be done. There's meter in epic AFRIKAN percussion. There's rhythm in holding hands. Joe Cocker does it better then the Beatles. THE king of Soul says that everybody needs somebody. No you CUNT. James Brown is the GODFATHER of fucking soul, whiteboy. The crown-wearing KING OF MOTHERFUCKIN' SOUL is Solomon Burke. And that mo'fucka said that everybody needs somebody. And if that shit isn't enough cred for you, you dumb Urban Outfitters motherfucker - the fucking stones covered it and the fucking BLUES BROTHERS covered it, so its gotta be true. Message in a bottle! I hope someone gets this message in a bottle. Hope is overplayed. Johhny Cash and TuPac duke it out. Who wins? Mento is like Jamaican blues. Speed it up, throw in some 1950's American R&B, and you've got Ska! Get high on chawala and slow it down, there you have reggae! Carve out the clay nozzle of an este model rocket engine until you get black rather than gray and you've got Black Powder! Yeah, BLACK POWER, I mean Powder. Let me roll down this hill. Yup, black powder. Firearm propellant for over five centuries. For when friends just can't be found. Concentrate that creative explosion and you've got propulsion. Pack a parachute properly and you'll fall gracefully. If yr skinny like Daniel from Black Eyes you'll land find you micrco MAX bastards. If you're more like Chris Farley or John Belushi you better shape up or you'll cato. Cato = short for catostrophe. Catostrophe = a long word for a short life. Not to end on a depressing note, because I really feel that this has been a good time, so I'd like to thank those who read the whole thing, there will be a ticker tape parade, an overhead acid projection rave and pizza from fucking Vace!. Yeah. Is Richmond ready?
"Don't spill yr beer while saying that"
REST ASSURED
THAT
RACHEL BUTLER WILL
FUCK SHIT UP
at
YALE.
STEVE MILLER???
wow.
before or after he was fat and lame?
Before??!?! Fucking A.
Circle pit!
. . . made for me!
Teenage enthusiasm!
Kid Dynamite!
Hope is emo.
Hope is youth large t-shjirts and Sauconies.
Hope is carabiners and nalgenes.
Is message in a bottle about liquor. I mean Don't Stand So Close to Me is about a chick wanting to fuck her teacher, right? Fuck this ego-maniac shit, CRUCIAL THRASH. If I vomit, its the thai food, the thai food. Tofu's consistency is like a scrambled egg. I hope that someone gets this message in a bottle. Fuck records. Tapes are where its at. Tapes are where its at.
No.
I checked a .pdf of the Hipster Handbook. Records are still hip. So are youth large t-shirts, nalgenes, and DFA records put out before a year ago. I'm sending an SOS. Swing yr arms. Do the mashed potato. The whirlwind is in the thorn tree. Swing yr arms. Swing low, sweet chariot. Sing it in rounds, ye college-bound white youth. Santa Klaus doesn't find it amusing. But Santa Klaus is becoming a stoner. Santa Klaus went to Towson to buy a pipe and it broke anyway. Serves him right.
May 05, 2004
JRussell BlueNote!!!?!?
Here lies my attempt at that bitchin Blue Note jazz style album covers. I was orginally going entitle it JRussell's Orgy of Rhythm and Psycho Journalism, but I thought it would be a scar of shame on that Art Blakely legacy. They really do have good artwork. DCo1's family has a coffee table book of Blue Note art on their coffee table where the almond Hershey Kisses are (or were).
May 01, 2004
fuck title #1 or probably 1 (it's limited edition, collect it you fags)
Somehow I managed to resolve to myself that I'll stop being an asshole to people. I don't how this how occurred or any of the context around any of the concept, but I sit here commanded while my hears are sanded off by the sounds of Isis thinking to myself "Wait, didn't I say I was going to stop being an asshole to people?", because there's a a glimpse of that notion in this mind here here, so it had to have happened somehow. Thisn't like a piece of chicken caught in between an adult tooth and a baby tooth that never grew where I can say, Ah yes! That piece of chicken fat was from the chicken strip I got at the Safeway deli counter and never paid for; I don't know why the fuck I would ever make one of those shitty internal deals with myself so that I wouldn't be an asshole. Of course I shouldn't be an asshole, but there's plenty of things I shouldn't be doing, but that doesn't seem to phase me. This is really fucking with me now. Why whould I want to stop being an asshole to people? I guess its one of those deals that everyone makes in some situation or another. Looking at the scale and the belly, yr bound to say "Alright no more fucking donuts, Slurpees? I and I need some time apart, just til I get better, here Slurpee, light a candle in the window every night til I get home" or like proverbial drunk is bound to wake up looking like shit having not endured 'real' sleep and says "I'll never drink again", there's dozens of ska songs on the topic. So maybe I offended someone I care about with a classic JRussell, thoughtless, profane slap of "well, its fucking true" or something, but I couldn't put a finger on it. Maybe I was being an asshole to some of the dipshit loser-'regulars' at the store, who are fairly worthless to society and no matter how much I belittle they'll still come back to a used record store EVERY FUCKING SATURDAY because it fits in to their invalid fucker routine of:
- Go to Best Buy because the used record store isn't open.
- Buy something cheap, probably something impulsive to account for loitering in Best Buy, smelling bad, having a stupid fucking earring and beard thing
- Come to used record store, talk to employees on first name basis, look for DVDs that cost less than $5, have decent employee take the shitty DVD's out of the case,
- Only occasionally purchase mentioned DVD's
- Find a legitimate DVD, get excited at the sight of its title
- Tell employee "Ah, my mom has this on VHS, I want her to have it on VHS"
- not get it when employee mutters "I couldn't give a fuck"
- Scratch horrendus goatee-mustache-beard-gopher looking thing on face
- Leave used record store
- go to Asian spa down by Steak'n'egg
- use the code word that old black Harold told you to get "happy ending" during massage
- Triumphantly stride up Wisconsin Avenue, fat worthless fuck
- sit outside Angelico's sipping post-coital/prostutition can of Coke.
- Return to used record store
- not get it when employees ask "Yr back, again?" (Note. these loser regulars aren't foxy DC-area girls who I'd be delighted to have return to the store several times a day, the girls who sprawl in front in front of the Punk/Ska section, just lie in on the dirty ass carpet looking through the liner notes of budget punk comps, exposing some amazing undergarments (on purpose?), they, they can come back as many times as they want)
Fucking loser regulars.
Yeah, I got their fucking numbers, team worthless asshead twits.
Why would I want stop being an asshole?
I make jokes about about blind guys in hooters, about a timid young teacher from Maine with a well-defined jaw, and mention how New Jersey is Manhattan's waste basket completed with obscene language and crude gestures, and that's probably the only thing keeping me from failing AP Government. Some would call it a Gentleman's D.
That's right. Me. A gentlemen. Let me hold the door for you. Pass the butter, cocksucker. Well my olive oil binge is over, I'm no wop, I love me some melted butter. On bread, on pasta, on a potato, hell melted butter on steak would be the shit. (I'd like to ITERATE! that I'm not a butter fiend or anything, its exaggeration like much of this shit, so feel free to hug me without hesitation you smooth skinned children).
A Gentleman.
JRussell is a gentle man. Not a gentle giant. That implies much more heroic bullshit like selflessness and loin cloths.
but yes. A gentleman. I don't find myself passive at all. Someone, somefucker said I was too passive and that was the reason for all of the many failures in my life. My dad, the infamous and outspoken Dick Hickok (who is now a reader of this blog, more on that later) frequently tells to "get on the stick", if I wasn't passive, I don't know why he'd say that.
A fucking gentlemen.
Here. put my shitty United Airlines hoodie with the Crestfallen pin I got a Black Cat from Tim of Crestfallen and the vintage Joy Division pin I stole from dads, put that hoodie in the mud so you can walk to 7-11 without getting yr Pumas or whatever muddy. You don't know i. We never met. But a gentlemen. This is going on too long. This is a dead horse, being beaten (alive).
My parents just got back from the Junior High School auction. They got my sister the "Assistant Principal for a Day" thing, I never got that kind of shit when I was in junior high. When I was in junior high I had to pretend to be suicidal as to guilt trip my mom in to letting me go to HFStival so I could Rage Against the Machine and look at boobs and pay $25 for a t-shirt. Dude, if I had been Assistant Principal for a day, I would have gotten so much poon and then I wouldn't have been an asshole and been confused about a resolution to not be an asshole, right?
Shut the fuck up, you overprivelaged, gimmicky, sack of bulemic waste, fucking cellphone having hairgreasing, arm masturbating, fucking collar up imposition, white LAX pussy credit card varsity jack off, SUV crashing smirnoff ice pounding,TRL watching, fucking motherfucking wearing those shitty fag-ass socks that don't go above the shoes, birkenstock hippie yeast infection wigger lifeless fuck. Delusional fucker shot 87 times by Cupid until yr face is mush for yr fucking northface, a closed casket for a funeral will go to anyway, wasted life fuck, sticks of life shitmotherfucker. I'm the fucking gentlemen, wuss.
yeah.
Who's got no soul?