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Archive for "Jul 20 2006"


Ron Kuby, protege of William Kunstler, and maybe the biggest, bestest legal defence shyster when it comes to certain kinds of shit crazy clients, told me, vis-a-vis Glenn Greenwald:

“never heard of him.”

Cite your umbrage, Greenwald. Damn me for saying some simple reporting that cuts your civil rights balls off. Kuby never fucking heard of you. He’s Kunstler’s kid; you should have clerked in their office or passed by their glance if you really did a decade in NYC as you claim; if you were any good and legit, you little piece of shit, they would have contracted you as a freelance dude.

That little nazi of yours was your only case, and nobody fucking cared a damn. Kuby never heard of you, Douche … I called the other usual suspect’s besides King High Kuby, and not one knew who the fuck I was talking about when when it came to you.

Now go call up your bitches and fix the holes in your story, morning glory.

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Note to the Backyard Butchers*:

it ain’t just me, you pack of skippys

At no point in the past did I intend to link to Guitar Center, but I wanted to tell a little tale to get my sin off my chest. I dropped in the other day to inquire about a program called Nostalgia, which has every – single – fargin’ – synth sound from the 70s and 80s. Why would I want it? Because I had a mad dream of combining whooping Moogs with 80s orchestral hits into the usual interminable dance music, of course….

Side note: I much prefer the keyboard side of the store to the guitar side. The guitar side is full of dudes shredding away, screeching out note-for-note copies of the solo from “Hot for Teacher” (I think; either that, or it’s the sound of someone playing a theramin with a coat hanger. A horny, drunk coat hanger) while working the pedals like J. S. Bach performing on No-Hands Sunday. The keyboard side is older and geekier.

Climb on a drum kit, Jim. Drive Jasper right over the edge.

(*= who crank in my fenced patch of grass when we cook dead stuff and get drunk, and I pay the ticket when the cops show up)

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Could This Meeting Have Gone More Screwed to the Balls Totally Wrong?

Short version: met today with people (contact thru an old friend) at a local Advert shop interested in “maximizing” their client marketing via Interweb; hot for blogs and all the “Web 2.0” malarkey. Somehow–they won’t tell-came up with me as a person to talk to about such stuff.

ME: “You have to understand, right off the bat, your audience can smell if you’re full of shit straight off their computer screen.”

DICK1: “So we need to mold the message?”

ME: “No, asshole. You need to–”

DICK1: “–Don’t call me an asshole.”

ME: “How about “dick” you piece of shit. How old are you, fucking twelve? I got dead 64 decks in my basement that know more about this shit than you.”

MHTC*: “Okay, let’s step back here.”
(*=Man Holding The Check)
ME: “This is the one you were talking about?
MHTC: (nods head; vague smile)
I frisbee an uncrumbled napkin at DICK1,which he blocks. I follow up with a high, hard spitwad to his head, right above his left eye.
DICK1: “I ought to–”
MHTC: “Now I know what [redacted] was talking about. caveat lynch!
ME: “–you ought to either sit the fuck down or get out of that chair and take one step so I get to kick the shit out of you.”
ME: “This kid’s the nimrod you wanted me to teach? Fine. Can I kick him in tha balls right now? That’s fucking Lesson Number One as we stand right now. You do not fuck with Teacherman!”
MHTC: “Teacherman?”
ME: “Yeah. Stan Lee’s gonna make a comic outta me.”
MHTC: “You’re a own cartoon already.”
ME: “Yeah, but you love me… what’s up with that?”
ME: “You actually pay this gasbag?”

to be continued….

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