Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Here Comes The Rain...

{part one}

Los Angeles went well. Let me rephrase that. Los Angeles went well for me. Since the last time I've written in my journal, I've rid this world of 3 different people. Bad people. People who do terrible things to others. They all died within hours of meeting me. I've discovered that I don't have to sleep with them in order for it to happen. A touch will work. Unfortunately, that is how I learned I couldn't walk into a nightclub in search of someone. There were 2 unnecessary deaths that night, and I'm very lucky that no one has linked it to me.

The search for me continues. My face is now spread across TV stations and newspapers, right alongside the very people I am seeking out. I've had to maintain a very low profile. I am a shadow, never staying in one place for long. Like a shadow, I am ever changing, conforming to where the light isn't, pooling in corners, further darkening the night. My victims never have a chance to say no, they don't have a chance to scream, to fight, to try and take revenge on me for what I've done.

I'm a murderer.

Every night I wrestle with my conscience. I struggle with what I'm doing, and I have to ask myself if I've become the enemy, or if I'm still providing this world with a valuable service. There are people in this world right now who have never had the chance to become a victim, and it's because of me. But do those people see my picture and hate me? Or, upon glimpsing my face, are they given a sense of peace, a measure of understanding, and the ability to support what I'm doing?

The real reason I'm writing tonight is because I seem to have found my nemesis. I've found someone who, while not being my equal, certainly seems to be immune to my peculiar ability. His name is Jeremiah, and he is a serial killer in South Dakota. He is employed as a police officer in Garretson, so he has had the perfect cover for many years now. He chooses his victims quietly, and no suspicion has been raised. To this date he has murdered 38 people. I heard about him through a woman I dealt with in Houston and I traveled here hoping that I could make a difference.

It's been 4 weeks. When the touch didn't work, I kissed him. When that didn't work I slept with him. When that didn't work we started dating. I have lived in a constant state of fear over the last 28 days. I don't dare fall asleep when I'm at his house. I don't sit with my back to him. When we are together, I spend most of the time constantly touching him, just to try to end this. I'm scared, but for a multitude of reasons. Being a police officer, he has access to the pictures of wanted persons. It's only a matter of time before I cross his desk, his bulletin board, his fax machine.

Just now, I've made a decision. I've never pulled the trigger of a gun, I've never plunged a blade into the soft flesh above the heart. I've never used poison, and I've never closed my hands around a throat with enough pressure to kill. The one thing all of my murders have lacked is evidence linking me to the crime.

That will change tomorrow. Tomorrow I will have literal blood on my hands for the first time.

Am I monster? Or am I a saint of death sent to rid the world of the real monsters?

More importantly, am I coming for you?

Monday, December 27, 2010

Memoir Monday: The Letter.

Alright, so I haven't done one of these in a while. While I don't expect anyone to join up, I am taking Memoir Monday out of the closet, dusting it off, and putting it on the wall again for at least this week. So grab a cup of cocoa, sit back, relax, and read the tales of my average life that I put a humorous spin on. 




I'll never forget the first day I read his words. I had just graduated high school, and my mom handed me a note and 3 crisp $100 bills. The note was dated August 28th, 2000. 

It was from my dad, who had been dead for 8 months. 

The line that got me, the line that still gets me to this day was this: 

"I'm writing this in case I'm not alive for your graduation." 

My dad, thinking ahead as usual, had decided to put some money back for me to go on a trip as a reward for graduating. I never took that trip, mostly because I had other things to try to take care of. 

Then...I lost that letter. 

For the past 7 or 8 years, I've been wondering where it could be. Not searching high and low, exactly. Just kind of hoping it would turn up one day. Then, on Christmas Eve, I got the best present I could have ever asked for. 

I was going through the garage at my mom's house when I stumbled across what looked like a journal my dad had kept for the last few months of his life. Turns out, that's exactly what it was. I started to read a few excerpts, and I quickly realized I wasn't going to be able to keep it together. I smuggled the notebook out to my car, and later that night when I got home I started reading. 

I really want to publish some of his words on this blog. I think the "world" as it relates to me needs to read a few of the things he wrote. However, that is a conversation that needs to take place with my mom, and it's not one that will turn out well for either of us, simply because it's still too painful. 

However, after turning a few pages, I found the note. 

A smile cracked my tear stained face, and I did a dance of joy in my soul. On the page stood his handwriting, all in caps, signature Brian Sloat writing style, and telling me that he was proud of me and how much he loved me, and that I needed to look after mom.

I've gotten some pretty amazing gifts in the last few years, but this was by far the best Christmas I've had in a long time.

It also reinforced my belief that all parents should be writing some kind of letter to their children. Write more than one. Write a bunch. Tell them everything that is going on. Tell them you love them. Tell them you're proud of them. Because I can promise you, one day they are going be thankful you did that. 

Here's to 2011, and the hope that a new year always brings. 

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Like A G6, And Why Music Sucks Now: Chapter 6.

I heard it the other day in my truck because I forgot my iPod and I was being forced to listen to the radio.

"Travis, you know you don't have to turn on the radio when you're in your truck."

Yes, yes I do. Because with absolute quiet, my thoughts start to get loud, and that's not good for anyone on the road. Trust me.

So the beat starts out alright, kind of a booty shaker, with a little techno pop thrown in, which is currently all the rage and is typical of music since 2005, but I don't mind it sometimes. Sometimes you need to dance, right? And sometimes when you dance you need to be naked. Sometimes that helps you get through college. Sometimes that's how you justify having low self-esteem. But all that is okay with me, because you're dancing naked and I'm throwing dollar bills at your face. /tangent

Then the lyrics start. I've taken the liberty of copying and pasting them below, then providing you with some funny observations, which is what I do in these posts.

The song is called "Like a G6" and it's sung by Far East Movement.

Lyrics to Like A G6 :
(feat. The Cataracs & Dev)

Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6

Verse 1

Gimme that Mo-Moet
Gimme that Cry-Crystal
Ladies love my style, at my table gettin wild
Get them bottles poppin, we get that drip and that drop
Now give me 2 more bottles cuz you know it don’t stop

(808) Hell Yeaa
Drink it up, drink-drink it up,
When sober girls around me, they be actin like they drunk
They be actin like they drunk, actin-actin like they drunk
When sober girls around me actin-actin like they drunk

Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6

Verse 2

From http://www.lyricsmania.com/like_a_g6_lyrics_far_east_movement.html
Sippin on, sippin on sizz, Ima ma-make it fizz
Girl i keep it gangsta, poppin bottles at the crib
This is how we live, every single night
Take that bottle to the head, and let me see you fly

(808) Hell Yeaa
Drink it up, drink-drink it up,
When sober girls around me, they be actin like they drunk
They be actin like they drunk, actin-actin like they drunk
When sober girls around me actin-actin like they drunk

Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6

Bridge

Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up
Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up
(You can’t Touch this)
Its that 808 bump, make you put yo hands up
Make you put yo hands up, put yo, put yo hands up
(You can’t Touch this)
Hell Yeaaa, Make you put yo hands up, put yo put yo hands up
Hell Yeaaa, Make you put yo hands up, put yo put yo hands up

Hook
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6 

Okay. For those of you that are still with me after reading that nonsense, I'm here to help you make sense of some of it. I can't possibly define every "word" used or give you the correct spelling of everything in one blog post. But I'm going to at least try to help you walk away with a little bit more of an understanding of why this song makes your butt shake but your eyeballs twitch and gives you a headache.

1. Defining the word "slizzard:" UD gives several definitions for this word, but the funniest by far has got to be "a very slutty lizard." When I first read it, I thought maybe there was a blizzard somewhere, only with a lot of ice. Like a slippery blizzard. Then I thought slippery blizzard might be a type of drink. Kind of like a Slippery Navel and a White Russian put together. Then I thought about what goes into each of those drinks separately, and immediately wanted to throw up. Then I kept reading. Turns out, "slizzard" means getting drunk. Not just any kind of drunk though. According to one UD definition, it means "Getting toe up from the flow up." I'm assuming that the correct spelling of that phrase is "tore up from the floor up." But for all I know it could be a new dance move. Listen folks, if we want to get through this, we're going to have to keep moving.

2. Sizzurp: This is a drink that consists of a Codeine based cough syrup, any fruit flavored soda, and a Jolly Rancher. This is a popular drink amongst idiots and high schoolers who hear idiots on the radio singing about drinking it. Thanks for the example there, Far East. Can we just go back to country music stars singing about getting whiskey drunk and beer sober? Please? Also, what do you think would be the best Jolly Rancher for something like that? I would think cinnamon would be the worst choice.

3. The first verse is all about consuming copious amounts of various liquor, (I'm assuming the sizzurp has been put away for the drive home) and then ordering more liquor. The second part of the verse goes on to discuss the fact that "sober girls act drunk" around them. That's all it says. 4 lines of song, that's all it tells us. They must be either a.) Really hot girls, or b.) Really not drunk but acting like it so techno music stars will take them home and have crazy sizzurp sex with them so they can get pregnant on purpose and have their babies so they can say, "You remember the song Like a G6? Yeah, my baby daddy is one of the people in that group. I don't know which one. It was sort of a sizzurp gang rape party thing." And then her friend can say, "Oooooh Gurrrrl! You so crazy!" Seems to me like a lot of people lose in that situation. But hey, do what you do I guess.

4. The second verse is pretty short and it basically talks about how they do this every night. Drinking and promiscuous sex every night. Then they glamorize that kind of lifestyle by putting it in a song with a catchy beat and hot women shaking their butts in a video. Speaking of, where do they FIND these chicks for these videos? Is there a factory in Akron somewhere? Anyway, I'm pretty sure that drinking every night is bad for you. I'm also pretty sure I can get medical science to back me up on that. Also, all that sex with different ladies means that someone is going to catch the HIV, and that's not good for you either, unless you're rich. Then HIV will make you look GREAT.

5. Finally I answer the question. What is a G6, and why is it so fly? First off, I'll tell you what it isn't. It isn't a bird. It isn't a car made by GM in 2004 bearing the surname Pontiac. It isn't a type of can opener. It is this:


That's right folks. It's a plane. A plane that is very fancy I guess. The Gulfstream website says "it is quite simply, the gold standard in business aviation." You can check out the specs on the plane here. You know, in case you're interested in obtaining one of them. Because hey, you've already had your sizzurp, you're gettin kind of slizzard, you got a bunch of sober broads around you actin like they drunk, and you have about 60 million that is burning a hole in your pocket. 

Or is that the chlamydia? 

P.S. I wrote this post because The Ginger that is Mandy asked me to. When I tweeted that I was going to do it, she acted a tad ungrateful and kind of sort of demanded I make the whole post about how awesome she is. While she is a very awesome person who lives in Detroit and spent a lot of time moping about how her boyfriend went to London lately, she is not the whole topic of the blog post today. She is, however, the whole topic of the P.S. So there, Mandy. Enjoy. 


P.P.S Mandy is not psycho. I just wanted to clear that up. She's a very nice person. She also didn't ask me to write this. 

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

You Spin Me Right Round...Plus The Okay Christmas Parade: 2010 Edition!

"Hey Susan, let's go to spin class!"

"Yeah, I just got done with spin class, I'm pretty tired."

"I'm going to spin class, I'll be back in an hour."

I can't tell you how many times I've heard these statements and similar ones on TV over the past 28 years. Everyone was talking about spin class. Carrie Heffernan was talking about it. Elaine Bennis was talking about it. If you were a woman in the 90's-early 2k's, you were concerned with spin class and talked about it often.

Now before I admit something very embarrassing to you, I feel like I should preface it with a little "about me." I'm the type of person that figures things out on his own. To you ladies out there saying, "Well yeah, you're a man," you can hush it. I just usually take a word or phrase, see the context it was used in, and go from there. I've done it all my life until recently, in fact, just the other day. That's because just the other day I found out something about spin class.

I found out that it isn't this:



Yeah. I know the girls in that video are twelve. But it was the first video I saw that really kind of matched the image in my head for "spin class."

Go ahead, finish laughing. I'll wait.

As it turns out, spin class has a lot to do with riding a stationary bike and nothing at all to do with having to get dizzy. Unless you're having some sort of cardiac fit on the bike.

So that's that, as it were.

If you were hoping to get an adoption tidbit thrown in here, you're in luck. Adoption Update REEEEMIXXXX! The progress has slowed down a bit, thanks to someone who has trouble keeping appointments and doing things when she said she would. I really don't have any idea why someone would purposely delay the rescuing of children from bad situations, but I guess there are people out there who feel that since they have that power, they can do it.

The lady wound up typing up a report on our lives. I read over the report, and I realized that Alicia and I have a pretty nice little thing going on. We've hit some rough spots, and there have been times when I'm sure we've both been ready to call it quits, but overall that report seemed to say that we have a good marriage, there is money in the bank for stupid stuff most months, and we would make some pretty decent parents when it all comes down to it. I was happy about that.

So now that report is going all over the world it seems like. Once it lands in the hands of our case manager, we'll either be approved or denied. I'm not going to lie. If they deny us, hide yo kids. Cause I'm going to be snatchin one up. I'm kidding, but geez. I really don't think we'll be denied. The only negative in our report is the fact that we said we'd "sometimes" spank our child, but wouldn't if they came from an abusive background. Y'all can say what you want, but I got spanked a LOT as a child. It worked. Mostly.

Also, I'm trying to get back in college. I'm going to be a writer, and I know that the only way those artsy fartsy editor douchebags will ever pay attention to anything I write is going be if I get a piece of paper that says I can do it well. Things are rolling for me to get back into it this spring semester, but we'll see how it pans out.

ALSO.

Most of you remember the Okay Christmas Parade video I made last year, and the ensuing drama. A good portion of you stood behind and grimaced at the view while we fought against 2 people in my hometown who thought I was being mean.

Well.

They had another parade this year.

So...ahem...I made another video. Here it is in all it's glory, and I wish you all a Merry Christmas. I promise next time to maybe not let so much time pass between bloggins.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Hide Yo Blog, Hide Yo Facebook; Dey Message Rapin Urrbody Out There.

Did I just use a pop culture reference to describe what has turned into a potential serious situation?

Yes I did.

Some of you read my blog yesterday. Others didn't. If you didn't, this one won't make sense, so go back and read up. Also, read my blogs on time from here on out, then you won't have homework, doucher.

So I get a Facebook message last night. It reads:

"Obviously you need the part in the bible that says Thou shall not LIE! You need to be careful what you say about others! The rath of GOD is much worse!"


Me being the classy guy I am, I responded.


"That's all well and good, but do I know you?"


From there it disintegrated into a pish posh of her threatening me with stuff like:


"You have know idea who I am or who you're messing with! Don't say I didn't warned you! So I think it's time you stop it!"


"Ok that's fine keep diggin that hole! Just tryin to help ya! Sorry!"


"Now it sounds like you can't handle someone commenting on what you write about people! Uuuummm! Maybe you should think before you speak! Oh and I told you sorry! Won't try and help anymore! Just FYI!"


So yeah. That's how I spent my night. Responding to vague threats from a 33 year old "Christian" mother who drives a vehicle suspiciously like the one that I had the altercation with yesterday. I asked things like, "How deep am I allowed to dig?" and "That's the best way ever to spell wrath." And the whole time she wouldn't admit that is was about the blog. THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME. 


So I did what any self respecting, red-blooded American would do. I threatened her with legal action. 


No dice. She obviously isn't scared of the long arm of the law.


So here are some scenarios that I'm playing out in my head. 


1. She's a witch. She's going to put a curse on me, and that's what she was warning about. Maybe she's going to pray down the "rath" of God on me. Either way, I can only hope that she does what that dude in that one Stephen King book did. "Thinnerrrrrrrrrrr..." No diets, FTW!


2. She's going to try to take out some form of "justice" on my vehicle. I'll be the first to admit, the prospect of paying for tires or an insurance claim is kind of lame. So maybe I can confuse her. I drive a white Mercury Milan. Matter of fact, IT'S IN YOUR DRIVEWAY! SCRATCH IT! 


3. She's going to eventually have me killed in my sleep. In the words of Snoop Dogg, "I done seen everything but God anyway." Naw. Seriously, I don't want to die. Don't kill me. I have so much unfinished business left here like...well, um...let's see...more blogs? OH! Duke basketball! It's the start of the season! I don't want to miss it because we're going to be REALLY good this year. Also there's that whole adoption thing. Kids and what not. The love. 

So there are my 3 possibilities.

Now for the serious part.

Listen, I know you're probably reading this right now. So maybe you realize...THAT THERE IS NO SERIOUS PART! This is a HUMOR blog, you ninny, and it will continue to be one. I'm not going to threaten you back, I'm not going to call you ugly and say you can't read well. Enjoy your time on my blog, and thanks for telling all your friends and family about it so my page gets more hits.

Just try not to give my vehicle quite as many, okay?

ZING.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

A Little Something About My Drive To Work...

Most of you know my drive to work sucks more than a Dyson on cocaine.

Today however, it reached a new point.

Back in this post, I outlined a couple of roads where people like to pull out in front of me on my drive. Usually when this happens I'm running at about 70 MPH, and when they pull out in front of me, I have to lock up my brakes and pray to the Good Lord that I don't rear end them. It also cuts into my Facebook/Twitter/Text time on the drive to work.

Unacceptable.

This morning, as I was driving along at about 70 MPH, a lady pulled *almost* into the intersection, and then slammed on her brakes, bringing her just inches from her car jutting out into the roadway. I had already started applying easy brake pressure, but I was able to back off and continue along. This prompted me to be nice, and instead of giving her the finger, I just kind of held both of my hands up in a "What the heck?" kind of gesture.

She copycatted me.

Well, things had clearly escalated. She wanted to act like she had done nothing wrong, so in order to make sure that she KNEW she had messed up, I flipped her off. Now. I've been trying to get back in church and straighten my life up a bit in preparation for kids and...you know...eternity and what not, so I'll be the first to tell you I felt kind of ashamed to be driving by her with my middle finger at full mast. However, it felt pretty satisfying too. "There. She now knows she's wrong, and she knows never to drive like an idiot again." Those were my words as I sped happily on down the road, feeling good about my ability to be a teacher of the rules and regulations of the Oklahoma Highway System.

When I passed this lady in the intersection we were about 10 minutes from town. She was also about 10-15 cars back from me on a road that is barely accommodating of 2 cars side by side, much less open for passing.  Folks, I'm here to tell you, this lady overtook 15 freaking cars and caught up to me at the last intersection before I turned to pull into my work.

SHE FLIPPED ME OFF.

Oh snap.

Let me set the situation up for you with a little picture.

Here's what went down. I was turning, and as I turned, I gave the lady the "Come here" hand. You know the one. Palm facing you, bringing all 4 fingers down towards you then release and repeat. The one you give when you want to let someone know you'll fight them, but you're too lazy to start it. 

The reaction I got seemed as though I gave her the "GET OVER HERE!" hand, as seen here: 





I CRAP YOU NOT, this lady slammed on her brakes in the EXACT spot as indicated in the picture above, then attempted to take the white arrow route to get back to me. WITH OTHER TRAFFIC BEHIND HER.

I'll let that sink in. 

I am so glad I made it into my parking lot safe and sound. I don't think I wanted to have to fight this chick. Mostly because as crazy as she was, I'm pretty sure I'd have gotten my butt kicked. Also now I've been going out randomly to the parking lot to make sure I still have a nice paint job and my tires haven't been slashed. 

And that's my drive to work this morning. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. 

Friday, November 5, 2010

More From The Adoption Front.

So I'm stressed.

Tomorrow we have to go to the last class, which consists of a potluck dinner and listening to a bunch of kids tell us about how they've aged out of the program because no one wanted them.

Yeah.

They want us (people who are willing to adopt) to sit through a panel of teenagers who no one wanted. I honestly don't think I'll make it through tomorrow without crying like a 10 year old schoolgirl who has just been punched in the arm by the boy who likes her. I've made it through 4 classes and countless horrifying and terrible statistics without shedding so much as a tear, but I know tomorrow will break me.

We had our first Home Visit Monday, and to be honest it felt like a 2 hour verbal rectal examination. I think this coming Monday will be worse. We're at the end of the process folks. You know that old saying about tying a knot in the end of the rope and hanging on? I've got the knot tied, but I'm struggling to maintain the strength to hold on. I'm not funny anymore. I've pretty much given up on the comedy thing for now. I'm gaining all my weight back that I lost. I'm taking things out on friends. I'm taking things out on my readers.

I'm stressed.

But I'm not stressed because I'm doing something I'm not supposed to be doing. I'm stressed because I'm taking the biggest leap of my life. I'm about to claim responsibility for the lives of two children. Two people who will look to me for guidance and understanding about why the world has treated them so badly. Two people who will call me daddy and love me unconditionally, until they're teenagers when they will hate me unconditionally.

We'll more than likely be included in the meeting the Case Managers have in December to pick out available kids we might like. Which means that if we make a decision in December, we might have kids before Christmas.

Christmas.

Will this be my first Christmas with children?

Also, the adoption is not finalized until six months after we get the children. You know what can happen in that six months? A long lost family member can suddenly show up and take our kids away from us. No consideration on our part, just, "Well, thanks for watching them, they're going home now."

What?

How would we be expected to recover from that? I can't, and I WON'T compare it to a miscarriage, because I don't think it's even close to the same. However, I will say that it is probably the next worst thing. About the time you are starting to realize how much you love YOUR kids, they can get taken away. I don't think that's right at all, and I pray every day that this never happens to us.

But what if it does?

What if after we adopt Alicia gets pregnant?

What if the kids have some sort of undiagnosed problem when we get them?

What if I lose my job?

What if, what if, what if?

I know y'all don't have the answers. I don't expect you to be able to comfort or console me, and I don't expect there to be much more tolerance of these "non-funny" blogs, although some would argue they never were funny to begin with.

The Missus told me today that she likes to read my blogs because I always say more on here than I do in real life. I guess that's true. I've always liked to write as opposed to talk. After she reads this, she may realize that she's bringing children into a household with a crazy man and run off and leave me. I can't say that I'd blame her.

I'm ready, y'all. I am. Don't get me wrong. I'm ready to be a daddy. I'm ready for sleepless nights and diapers and giving advice on how to properly start fires. I'm ready to discipline, I'm ready to teach, I'm ready to learn. The thing is, all that is coming at me faster than your mom, and right now I'm just stressed about it. It's okay to be stressed though. Surely I'm not the only would-be parent that's stressed about it. And I don't think I'll be the last.

So bear with me and give me some time, and I'll turn this whole thing around to where it was, only maybe a little cleaner because my kids might one day stumble over this jewel, and I don't want them getting the wrong impression of their dad.

Geez. I've got to go hide my archives.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Why I'm Beginning To Hate Star Trek.

There are a few people who stopped reading at the title, loudly exclaimed, "HERESY!" to no one in particular, closed the window abruptly and stopped following me on every form of social media they could.

To those people I say: "I hate you, and your breath smells like rotten cabbage."

Shh...they'll never know I said that. Cause they stopped following...see? Never mind.

When I was a small kid, my dad loved Star Trek TNG. My mom hated it, and she hated the fact that my dad watched it. It got so bad that one night I walked in the living room where my dad was watching it, and I started crying. He asked me what was wrong, I told him he was watching a bad show and he shouldn't be. He then told me it was an awesome show, and I instantly became a fan. Then when he stopped watching it, I picked it up and had to work out a deal with my mom where I got to watch it every other night while it was in syndication on UPN.

So why am I starting to hate it now?

Mostly because all of the cool stuff it promised us. You might be saying to yourself, "Travis, what exactly did they PROMISE us?" The truth is, it was never a spoken promise. It was a subliminal message of better things to come, and they haven't gotten here yet, and I've got to tell you, I'm being inconvenienced over here in Oklahoma, and that just won't fly.

So here's the list of wicked cool stuff we were unconsciously promised by Star Trek: The Next Generation.

1. World Peace - Okay, so I'm pretty sure I've given up on this, simply because I think it's mostly Jesus' job. However, just a LITTLE bit of world peace would be pretty cool. I'm tired of hearing about those poor Jews over there trying to defend themselves constantly, and then you have the "War on Terror" where we've solemnly sworn to take every last BB gun from any country sittin on the ol' black gold, which is surprisingly NOT a euphemism for Dr. Dre's #1 records. I want world peace as much as the next guy, but truth be told the only time that's going to happen is when the zombies have killed everyone. Zombie peace, FTW!

2. Transporters - Listen. This is getting old. The last 3 weeks of my life have been filled with road construction. It used to take me 30 minutes to get to work, now it takes 45-60 minutes, and I'M FRICK FRACKING TIRED OF IT. Meanwhile, Star Trek people are zipping to and from galaxies with the ease of pushing a button, and aside from a little transporter hiccup every 10th episode, things are just peachy. And for sure, I wouldn't mind taking the risk of becoming a randomly shifting group of particles flowing throughout the universe. Heck, that's gotta be pretty cool anyway. I'd just spend my days quietly coalescing in a corner. (Yes, that was a Hitchhikers Guide reference) But anyway, I want a transporter. I'm looking at you, scientists.

3. Food Replicators - In all seriousness, I shouldn't even have to explain this one. Step one: your stomach growls. Step two: you walk to your wall. Step three: you say, "Hey thingy, make me a sammich." Step four: "What kind of sandwich would you like?" Step five: carefully consider your options. Step six: order a Reuben, because they are effing awesome. Step seven: a Reuben sammich comes to life before your very eyes, made with the most tender beef and tartest sauerkraut to every tantalize your taste buds. Step eight: order a beer to go with it. Step nine: you aren't hungry anymore. Those nine steps take 30 seconds with a food replicator, and they take 2 1/2 hours if you're dealing with a retard at the local fast food place, and the sauerkraut isn't even that tart.

4. Holodecks - Again, something I shouldn't even have to explain. "Holodeck, I need Megan Fox, naked, with better thumbs and in the mood for some hot lovin and a tolerance for premature ejaculation." A couple of beeps later and you're having the time of your life. You know what? Scratch everything else on this list. If just the holodeck gets invented, I'm pretty sure everything else would fall into place. "Listen, these guys want to go to war with someone." "Well, put em in the holodeck." There's your world peace.

5. Tricorders - I think we currently have all the things a tricorder could do, but all of those things are really big, and if you put them together on one device, I'm pretty sure you'd need something the size of Rhode Island to carry it in. Plus it would really slow you down when you needed to whip it out fast to check out something suspicious like a random rock or tree. Let's make these machines smaller, and put them on a cell phone.

6. Communicators - I like cell phones better. Comms didn't even give you a choice if you wanted to answer. It beeped, you were live. Unless you got some sort of alien force field to mess it all up. I'll stick with an "FU" button, thanks.

7. Klingons - You want to meet one, I want to meet one, we all want to see one fight in the UFC cage match. $6,000.00 for pay per view? I think so.

8. Better Health Care - If Obama wants to impress me, he needs to come up with a healthcare plan that involves a hot ginger doctor holding up a painted white out container with flashing lights on it that makes me skinny, THEN make it free. I'll vote for that. Twice.

9. Phasers - How many of us would honestly use stun? Vaporization is where it's at.

10. Hot Android on Human Action - Eight words say it all: "I am fully functional, programmed in multiple techniques."

Things I DON'T WANT from Star Trek:


1. The Borg
2. Cardassians
3. Hot female counselors who know when I'm lying
4. Space-Time continuums
5. The Borg

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Whip My Hair, and Why Music Sucks Now, Vol. 5.

PLEASE READ THE UPDATE AT THE BOTTOM!


Some of you may be familiar with my "Why Music Sucks Now" line of posts. For those of you that are new here or are unfamiliar because you stopped looking at my blog a long time ago, the basic gist is this: music now is pretty much terrible, and it makes me want to vomit.

Kid Funk said something to me when Obama was elected. I said, "Well, it's a black president, what do you think his odds are of being assassinated?" KF replied, "I hope that doesn't happen. I don't want my generation to be remembered for killing their president."

Wise words.

However, I don't want to be a generation that is remembered for Justin Beiber, Nickleback, or Lady Gaga. (even though I kind of like her) A new addition to this pile of filth was thrust upon me the other day as I was creeping my way through Twitter. A link was shared. A link that had a common place name in it. A name that I respect, not only for his music, but for his fine cinematic skills as well. That name was Will Smith.

You can say what you want, but I am a Will Smith fan. He's a clean-ish rapper who is still entertaining, he has beats that make me want to shake my money maker, and he has killed a lot of aliens all while keeping our planet safe from impending doom. Plus, I'm pretty sure there isn't a person alive who can't finish, "Now this is a story all about how my life got twisted turned upside down." Am I right? You finished it, didn't you? Yep. I'd just about bet that you had co-workers finish it with you.

So when I heard his son had a song, I was intrigued. I haven't seen the new Karate Kid, mostly because I consider it sacrilege and heresy. But I thought I'd give the song a chance. So I clicked.

I was bombarded with the following:



I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth

Hop up out the bed turn my swag on
Pay no attention to them haters cuz we whip em off
and we aint doing nothing wrong
so dont tell me nothing, i'm just tryna have fun
so keep the party jumping

so whats up (yea)
And i'll be doing what to do
we turn our back
and whip our hair and just shake them off
shake them off, shake them off,shake them off

Don't let haters keep me off my grind
Keep my head up i know i'll be fine
Keep fighting until i get there
When i'm down and i feel like giving up

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth

I'ma get more shine than a little bit
Soon as i hit the stage applause im hearing it
whether its black stars black cars im feeling it
but can't none of them whip it like i do
I, i gets it in mmmm yea i go hard
when they see me pull up i whip it real hard
i whip it real hard,real hard,i whip it real hard

Don't let haters keep me off my grind
Keep my head up i know i'll be fine
Keep fighting until i get there
When i'm down and i feel like giving up

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth

[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/whip-my-hair-lyrics-willow-smith.html ]

I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (ok, ok just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth

All my Ladies if you feel me
do it do it whip your hair
Dont' matter if its long, short
do it do it whip your hair

All my Ladies if you feel me
come on do it do it whip your hair
Dont' matter if its long, short
do it do it whip your hair (your hair, your hair)

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip my hair)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (just whip it)
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth (whip it real good)

I whip my hair back and forth
I whip my hair back and forth
I whip...


I want to start out by pointing something out. There are 100 lines in this song. 69 of those lines contain the words, "I whip my hair." I don't profess to be a musical genius. I'm not, y'all. However, I'm pretty sure that if I wrote a song in which 4 words made up 70% of the song and handed that song to someone off the street, I'd be shot. And I'd expect it. And deserve it. And thank them after. 
Other than that, there are a few things I think Mr. Willow did not fully consider when writing this song. 


1. Lawsuits. I really think there will be a seriously backlash (ha) in the legal arena. Aside from this parrot, (click that. just do it) I don't think anyone ever in the history of time can whip their hair back and forth for 4 minutes without causing irreparable damage to their brain stem and/or lower back. What about kids dancing to this in the car? It will make a good many parents think their child is having a grand mal seizure and they will kill everyone on the road trying to pull their SUV over to check on little Timmy. That's on you, Willow. That's on you. 


2. The constant addressing of his "haters." Willow, you're like 5. You don't have haters. You might have a kid that took your remote control car in the park last weekend, but you and I both know your dad bought you another one. Probably bought you a life size remote control car. Either way, you don't have haters. Not yet. Your dad has haters. They're called "real black people." Wait a while, you'll understand it. 


3. Stop talking to the ladies.  Once again, you're 5. Or 6. Or 10, or whatever. Doesn't matter. Your balls haven't dropped, so stop talking to the ladies. Plus, I'm going to be real honest here, all that hair whippin you're doing is probably going to affect the amount of lovin you get when you finally get old enough. You're gonna be like, "I'm Willow Smith, I'm Big Will's kid." And the ladies are going to say, "The Whip My Hair kid? No thanks, we're going to go gang bang that Beiber guy." Seriously. You're worse than Beiber right now. Little Bow Wow was throwing up gang signs and smoking weed when he was your age. Go do that, then try to get NWA back together. Then the ladies will "feel" you. 


4. That applause you think you're hearing on stage? Yeah. It's tinnitus. It's caused by all that whippin you're doing. 


5. Stop telling chicks it's cool to have short hair. Yeah dude, I don't want The Missus hearing that crap. I like her hair long, and I don't want it short. If she hears this cute black kid saying it's cool for it to be short, and then she cuts her gorgeous hair off, I'm coming after you. I don't care what degree black belt you are, you're 6 years old. I can beat you up. I'm pretty sure I can beat up your dad, too. I don't think he'd be much without CGI. Your mom though, woo. Wasn't she a lesbian in that one movie with Queen Latifah? Could be wrong. Either way, I want to bang your mom. 


That pretty much wraps it up, your lyrics really tell people how dumb the song is. If that doesn't do it, they can just watch the video and see you paint a classroom with your locks. I thought it was dumb. I don't think I'm alone. Why not just cover all your dad's old songs? Right now, just hit the studio in your room (I know you have one, don't lie) and start with "You know parents are the same no matter time nor place." That would be legit, and also pretty ironic. Good luck, and here's to you not making music suck anymore.


UPDATE: So apparently, Willow Smith is a girl. I had no idea Will Smith had a daughter, although I really had a weird feeling when writing this. I thought his kid Jaden had this stage name Willow or something. I am refusing to rewrite any of this blog to make me look less dumb. You may all proceed to laugh at me, although it doesn't change the fact that the song is stupid too. So there. *sticks tongue out