Listen up, Frellniks!

If you never saw Farscape, I pity you monkey boy. The reviews are in. "Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars" is FABULOUS! OK, it's not bad. For those of you who hate loose strings, this tied it all up into a neat little bundle. There were tears and laughs. Catch it all this Sunday back to back at 2 p.m. CST.

Old people ate my balls!

It's a prime indication of just how fucked up and selfish our society is that when we run short of flu vaccine it is the elderly who are supposed to get it. Whatever happened to hopping on the ice flow for the good of the tribe? Jesus! I'm all sorts of grateful for the many good things old folks have done for us in the past, but shouldn't we be saving limited quantities of flu vaccine for immune compromised ... oh I don't know, what do you call them ... CHILDREN?!

With the armies of old people multiplying outrageously thanks to advances in medicine as well as medicaid, soon everyone under the age of 65 will be nothing more useful to the elderly than soylent green. Why not? Old people vote. If they want to eat us, I don't see how or why anyone would stop them. Politicians would certainly figure out a way for them to at least eat criminals, right? Raise the retirement age, bankrupt society to keep old people in prescriptions and senior centers.

This is evolution working backwards, folks. I don't hate old people but I'd like to see them take one for the team because let's be honest, not all old people served in W.W. II, Korea, Nam or ... the Peace Corps even.

Check this out at http://www.startrekanimated.com ... bitches! 

Great Artists are Great Invalids

Thomas Mann is the guy who came up the title of this entry. His reasoning was pretty simple. Art is not capable without suffering. The artist is not teh creator of big-eyed child paintings and happy frog mugs. The artist is someone who takes their pain AND their joy and makes you feel it. I mean really fucking feel it. Art is also created by those whose perspective is not that of the mainstream, often because of debilitating mental and physical conditions. Anyone else is just a craftsan. Great art requires the artist to be capable of feeling something more than just the hunger that precedes meal times. A great artist has to know what it feels like to be unlike everyone else, to hurt, to bleed, to have one's mind turned inside out.

You take all that ... roll it up in a fluffy tortilla and serve it up and that's art, baby!

In the afterlife ...

I am continually astounded at the masses of mediocre humanity who seem to get by on nothing more than their willingness go with the flow like so much flotsam. I mean is there really such a big difference between say a concentration camp guard and your average human resources manager?

All I'm saying is that if your job is to take orders without question then your job sucks to the point of being an affront to mankind. Morality is always an issue and that dull bovine expression you wield like a get out of Hell free card is only gonna cover your ass on this plane.

If we can execute retarded children then I suspect God can deny us His presencefor trying to get off on the technicality of a short ethical attention span.

Bloody hell, ya been into me Wheaties?

Gordon "Ugly Irish prick" Harold

I have obstructive sleep apnea so for years -- as many as 20 -- I didn't really sleep the way most people do. I never had that deep, deep sleep full of dreams that went on and on and shifted and changed with the whims of the subconscious mind. No, I would have a little half lucid rambling and then wake up just long enough to screw up REM and start all over again.

Now, I wear a mask. Sometimes I wake up after eight hours in the same position I laid down in. Sometimes I wake up with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. And I always dream. I dream like a mother these days.

Last night, I dreamt about this old roommate of mind, Gordon Harold. This scrawny, ugly fucking Irish asshole looked like Aidan Quinn on crack. He was emotionally abusive though and that was the worst part. He went home for the summer, which was great. But he padlocked the door to his room shut. Also not a problem except that the thermostat was in there and it was a hot one in our second-floor apartment. My room was right above the downstairs kitchen, too.

It was the most reasonable thing in the world for me to unhinge his door and get at the thermostat. He should have apologized frankly for inconveniencing me. Instead, he decides to throw a hissy fit and the door at me. He also accused me of "eating his bloody Wheaties" which was really stupid since he told me to eat whatever he left behind. Truth is, I never touched his Wheaties because I didn't know they were there. Had I known, I would have. I did eat the blood sausage though. It was nasty.

So last night, I have this dream where we are both supposed to speak at the Maintenance Shop (only it looks different) in the Memorial Union at Iowa State. Of course, he calls me fatty shortly before we go on and I beat the Holy fuck out of him. Then for some odd reason I'm naked and have to get dressed right before I go on and miss my shot while he goes up for big laughs.

It had all the elements of reality and none of the substance. His American ass-kiss friends thought everything he did was funny. Everyone acted like he was Brilliant though the only thing he had going for him was ... being Irish.

That guy minus the accent got NO PLAY. He was ugly for Christ's sake. This is a good picture of him and he used to be even uglier. He's gained a little.

Life is a gateway drug

People talk about marijuana being a gateway drug. They say that if you smoke weed, pretty soon you will eventually be living in an alleyway somewhere trying to spike heroin into a vein or blowing businessmen at truck stops for crank.

I call bullshit on that. Every living thing tries to get high somehow. Even old grandma in her kitchen baking cookies is looking for that love rush that comes when the grandkids stop over. Adrenaline is quite a rush, too. Stress junkies abound right alongside workaholics.

Religion anyone? Pass that dutchie on the left-hand side padre, I needs to get filled with Christ's lovebuzz.

And let's not even mention drama queens, food addicts, sugar rushers and people who smoke tobacco and drink coffee all day long. Ever seen one of these pathetic fucks drink cup after cup of hot coffee all day long? There's no way they are enjoying the sweet taste of good coffee, especially from a thermos. These are people hooked on the buzz.

Deny it all you like as you sit and watch four hours of TV a night, but everything we do is an action. Actions have consequences, good and bad. Soimetimes they are just feelings. When we seek to maximize those good feelings, we are drug seeking. And sure it's easy to say that drugs are pills we swallow, weeds we smoke or crystals we chop up and snort and not all these other things I point out, but I say to you that life is messed up and people want to get off. Some want to get off big time and some like a little bump now and then, but they are all doing the same things.

Just so long as they aren't trying to steal MY stereo, it's cool.

It's the little things

I've been fucking busy lately with this cab driving job. I dont like to bitch about the details of it though, that would make it too much like it's what I do and plan to do for a while, so I try not to. suffice it to say, people are cheap fucks especially old people who would fuck you for a nickel. Oh and French Canadians can suck my balls too. This fucker wanted me to get him from 114 and dodge to eppley in 20 minutes. I did it by driving 90 all the way. Tip? $3. Three fucking dollars, man. I'd a liked to kill that bastard. I risk all doing 30 mph over the limit and he gives me three dollars.
And it never fails that the one who has you carry all their shit bitches that 7.15 is too high even with their senior discount which comes right out of my pocket, no one elses.
Then you got these fucks who call you down the shittiest part of town to a place you can't find them and when you have killed 45 minutes looking for them, you find out they already left thus fucking you out of a 20 dollar fare.
And if one more welfare mom lets her kid eat messy shit on my seats, I'm gonna run her bitch ass over. Fucking graham crackers and cheese doodles.

I'm gonna miss Rodney Dangerfield

Rodney Dangerfield was a great comedian. He was a schtick warrior, man. He had that whole old school, sweatin' under the lights, I'm this close to bombing but I'm pushing this shit as hard as I can routine that just sold. It was like pure desperation and pure delight had a baby. My buddy, Todd, used to steal Rodney's lines and tell them all day at school like he made them up himself. It was a perfect match really, because he was fucking relentless. He would tell the same jokes over and over again until people laughed just at the sheer insanity of someone trying to get you to laugh at not only someone else's jokes, but the same someone else's jokes day in and day out.

But still, there isn't a guy my age who didn't admire the man in "Caddyshack," "Back to School" and whatever the hell else he was in.

God bless you Rodney!

Things to do in Boulder when you're dead

What the fuck, man, a blog is supposed to be updated daily ... Multiple times even. How the hell am I supposed to become famous blogger is I don't GET ON IT?! Check out this tale of whoa, as in, whoa, what a fuckhead.
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My name is Greg Jerrett. I am the direct male descendant of Jaret of Camerton Court and his father Gerard de Tornai who conquered England alongside William in 1066. My ancestors were hardcore Normans, the kind of men who kept alive the legend of King Arthur while living in France and when it came time to kick ass, they did so with relish.

Fast forward about a thousand years...

Last Friday I was working my ass off at my new temporary job, cab driving, when I picked up this couple from Chicago. Their car broke down in Carson, Iowa -- a shithole by any estimation -- and then they were robbed by passersby posing as good samaritans. The cops picked them up and dropped them off in Council Bluffs ostensibly to get them some help. They didn't even help them make one phone call to get some cash. They slept in a field.

I picked them up at the last minute Friday. I almost didn't take the call. I don't work in Iowa much until the end of the day when I come home and figure that while I'm driving home, if one call comes in, I can handle it and who knows? Who knows indeed.

I took them to the Hy-Vee to get some money wired from a rich friend in Boulder so they could continue their journey to Colorado by whatever means necessary. They had no ID, no credit cards and a dog they wouldn't inconvenience by putting in a cage for anything. So they actually paid me an inordinate amount of money to drive their asses all the way to Boulder. Yeah ... that's a lot of time on the road and a lot of money. From 10 a.m. to 4 a.m. Sunday I drove almost non-stop. No real breaks, just bathroom, gas and food stops.

As soon as I dropped them off, I headed back. That was the really interesting part of the journey, too, because I was all alone in the wilderness and believe me, there ain't shit out there. Between Boulder and Lincoln, there are two towns, Kearney and Ogallala. I kid you not. Everything else is scrub brush and fear of the unknown.

At one point, I was listening to a lame radio station. I hit the search button and, I swear, it went all the way around the dial and landed on the exact same station. At 2 a.m. I was so tired, I pulled over and bought some spicy corn chips. They are better than coffee at keeping you wide awake on the road.

Do I miss the Nonpareil?

Council Bluffs, Iowa to Boulder, Colo. ... $1,200.

People ask me if I miss working at the Daily Nonpareil for 21K a year.