Times Online Archives!

July 10, 2008

Recently, Times Online launched an archives section ranging from 1785 until 1985. I’m a history geek and I find this absolutely fucking fascinating. Think, for a second, of all the things you could look up. The emergence of submarines (u-boats), the discovery of penicillin, the flight of man — god damn, everything. Being this is my blog, however, I’ve found a few choice entries for you, fair reader. Enjoy. Or don’t.

Vampires! Why by golly. So they make us look like fools, do they? Here are a couple sad tales from France, including dung and an overdose:

And then we have this. Forget vampires, we got Bonnie & Clyde:

This isn’t even a scratch on the surface, and allah knows I’ll be clawing into this stuff for a long time now. The first mention of this, the first mention of that. Anything you can think of that relates to modern society is probably mentioned here somewhere. And it’s worth reading. Because as we all know, say it along with me kids, history — repeats — itself. Good job. Now if only Opium were still accepted. Search for the Opium Commission. Those English did not fuck around with their scag.

This is one example of how to use the internet for good, rather than evil. The following two games are probably the best use of Flash, ever.


Yes -- I am Satan, fighting Jesus, on Noah's Ark. 
He summoned fish from the ocean so as to bludgeon me. He's crafty, 
that Jesus.

From the Adult Swim dudes:

1. Bible Fight
2. 5 minutes to kill (yourself)


May 23, 2007

Everyone has their own addictions. It’s simple and it’s true. One addiction we all have in common is sex. Most of us, anyway.

I’ve often wondered what the interest is in reproducing; what makes the human race keep on going — aside from the obvious orgasmic qualities involved in sex? What else is there? Why do some parents obsess and devote so much time to their children, why do they make their children their lives?

Well, I finally found out. I’m not bright enough to just imagine, mind you, it took the creation of a child of my own.

I can tell you all that I know:


I look at her and I can’t stop looking. She is truly beautiful.

I know that she relies, mainly, on me and her mother for support. We gave her life and we must sustain that life as long as we can. She depends on us, truly. She is a beautiful, helpless little being.

Instinct. I don’t know where instinct started, but it did. It was long ago, that’s all I know, back when men probably just clubbed the shit out of women to mate with them. This was only confirmed by my mother’s revelation that, when nursing women hear a baby cry in public, their breasts leak milk automatically. Did you know this, men? I did not. But everything, in the end, is instinct. We’re all human, however, so we get to enjoy it. That’s one thing I have learned about life, after 23 years and many bottles of prescription pills. You have to enjoy the experience of life itself. The ups, the downs, and especially the god damn UPS. Kendall would agree. You’re ALIVE. You feel, what else is there? Life.

And lastly, the thing I truly love about being a father is that, I always have something to look forward to. I look forward to every second I have with this little girl who knows nothing about this new, fucked up world. I want to teach her and I want to make her into what I think is a good human being. I want to introduce her to all kinds of music. I want to show her classic movies and eat pop corn with her. I want to hold her in my arms and know that she is truly a part of me and someone that I love (because try as I might, I will always love the woman that bore my child). In the end, it’s hard to explain, and I sound like one soft son of a bitch, but nothing matters more than family. That’s what I’ve been taught by my parents and it’s all I know. Instinct… I can’t deny you any more.


April 19, 2007

I some how ended up on Fox News tonight while watching tv, and I was treated to a few minutes of some show called Red Eye. The hosts were talking about Cho Seung-Hui, the kid who committed the shootings at Virginia Tech, and about the videos and pictures he had sent in to NBC. Talk about disgusting. Not Seung-Hui, but the people on the show. The hosts were taking shots at him, ridiculing him, comparing his voice to that of Napoleon Dynamite’s. Really professional, really mature. They went on to off-handedly call him “nuts” and “psycho”, claiming that his writings shouldn’t even be acknowledged, as they’re just ramblings of some worthless lunatic. They said he should be “shamed out of existence”. Like turning the other cheek is going to solve everything.

That type of of ignorance and complete insensitivity is what has lead people like Seung-Hui to to lash out violently, rather than seek out legitimate help from those who care.

Instead of deriding him on national TV (ironically, like a bunch of school bullies), why don’t you think about what caused him to do what he did, to analyze who he was and what happened to him, find out what horrible event in his life damaged him so badly that he felt compelled to exact revenge on more than thirty random people? What made him who he was? More importantly, why wasn’t he receiving adequate help?

He was a human being with problems that needed to be addressed. There’s no excuse for killing innocent people, but mental illness makes him just as much of a victim as everyone else.

Again, I think it reflects upon our society these days. They say that empathy is what makes you human; caring for others, putting yourself in their shoes. It seems that Seung-Hui lost his capacity to empathize, and the same goes for the sad shits out there like the people on Fox. A little compassion somewhere along the line might have stopped all of this from happening. You never know.

What I do know is that if things don’t change, things like this are going to become even more commonplace than they already are. If only I had that much faith left in humanity…

Orleans, One, One, O Seven

January 14, 2007

I feel it my duty to report on New Orleans, albeit several weeks late.


What I did:
– Drink (sorry, I let you fellahs down)

– Not have dirty, STD riddled sex (sorry, I let you fellahs down)

– Attempt, at least once, to carve my way through the wall of humans ever-present at any given moment (I failed)

– Drink the most expensive shot of liquor from the most expensive plastic cup (johnnie red, economy, economy)

– Lose partial hearing to an 80’s cover band whilst fighting the urge to grab random asses in the crowd that was overwhelming and asphyxiating me, if only to carve a little space for myself (Come on feel the noiz)

– Witness someone disrobe for beads (It was a man, and he was urinating. He produced a great Arc De piss, but received no beads. I yelled “Holy FUCK!” like a real tourist)

– Stare out into New Orleans from my hotel window for nearly an hour, downing copious amounts of free tea for caffeine (my happiest moment there. little fireworks in the distance…)

– Watch an incredible, and incredibly short fireworks display in Jackson Square, in the midst of many other drunks (pretty impressive)

– Pee in a constantly wavering port-o-potty surrounded by thousands of people (I have no idea how I ended up in the “piss line”. A strange man opened the door on me as I was fastening my belt. He apologized. People took turns. How a city retains its toilet etiquette under such circumstances, I’ll never fucking know.)

– Witness a little devastation on my way in (Depressing, until the alcohol)

– Witness a little hope from people who shouldn’t have it (I asked a store clerk if things were getting back to normal. His response, in tattered English, was “Yes. We’ll recover.”)

Information overload. At any given moment, at any given glance, I saw something that I would normally take home and explain to my family on any given day. Any one event could define your day in its out-and-out weirdness, but there were just about sixty every sixty seconds. Everything was a little absurd (if you bothered to look around) and there was so much of it, so many silly red faces, that my brain overloaded and gave in to instinct. The near-midget transvestite casually grocery shopping, the drunken bums begging each other for “the booze”, the street kids’ dance, the street men singing their own little songs, the Police in cruisers watching porn, the idiotic tourists such as myself making their own little scenes. I liked it.

I didn’t get too drunk, except in the hotel room. And I had a good New Years.



My bottle of absinthe finally arrived in the mail yesterday — the real deal, not the cheap, gimmicky “absinth” crap. It cost me an arm and a leg, but I can’t really complain. I got it in 9 days from France, complete with replica glass and spoon.

I chose a bottle of Lemercier Amer 72%. It’s not the highest quality stuff, but like they say, you crawl before you walk. Or, I suppose, in the case of liquor, you crawl before you walk… and then begin crawling again.

Despite the fact that I had an empty stomach and had to go to work in an hour, I ripped the box open and poured a glass. Self control has never been my forte.

lemercier0.jpg lemercier1.jpg lemercier2.jpg lemercier11.jpg lemecier10.jpg
Vive la France!

Results? Work sucked pretty bad, as would be expected after ingesting a glass of 140 proof booze (apparently, the granola bar I stuffed in my mouth before heading out didn’t do a great job of soaking anything up). Actually, I was feeling OK until my supervisor called to ask if I would come in early and take a “10 key certification test”. That’s what we call “buzz kill”. Didn’t put me in a great mood for the rest of the day.

The next night I figured I should cut my losses and really try the stuff on, considering the expense. What’s an absinthe drunk like?

Absinthe’s not going to make you trip out hawd coh nigga — after all, it’s basically just liquor with some herbs thrown into it, none of which are related to THC or any such nonsense. It does produce a different sort of drunk, though, just like tequila can produce a different drunk than whiskey or wine or beer.

Whether or not it’s the herbs, the distillation process, the tiny amount of thujone, I don’t think anybody knows. I can say that, normally, after drinking half a bottle of 140-proof liquor I would be shitfaced. One would think that I’d be singing Queen songs to my cats in tight leather pants, followed up with some premium drunk dialing and a hangover the likes of which would make Arnold Schwarzenegger cry like a woman. IT’S NOT A TUMAH!

It wasn’t really anything like that. I was intoxicated, but I could operate. It brought on the rush of alcohol, the euphoria, but without the disorientation and stupidity that so often comes with it. I drink so I don’t have to think. “First I think too much, then I drink too much” – my little motto. I was finally happy doing both last night. Now there’s motivation to attend college…

Oh, and the taste. How silly of me. The taste is really unique, definitely a lot more enjoyable than the taste of any other liquor I’ve ever had. It’s almost like a candy on the tongue, even when there’s little or no sugar added. There was also a spicey aftertaste to it, almost peppery. Combine all of that with the burning-flesh sensation of strong alcohol and you have something special. No wonder the French fell for it. My only question is how they continued to pronunciate things like Montpellier with numb tongues.

The smell. Mmm. My first whiff of absinthe was sort of like my first whiff of pussy, both of them equally exciting. Think along the lines of black licorice. I’ve never been a fan of licorice, especially not black licorice, but I do love the smell and taste of this stuff. It is truly unique.

The visuals: almost forgot the best part. Even without sugar, absinthe turns a murky white when water is added, often with a greenish hue, depending on what color the absinthe was before you added water. It’s what is known as the “louche”. My absinthe wasn’t a deep green in the first place, so I ended up with what looked like a yellow-tinted glass of watered down milk. (They also make blanche absinthes which are simply colorless — but that doesn’t sound as entertaining to me. It’s the green fairy, after all…)

The slow process of dripping water is actually part of the fun — it’s almost hypnotizing watching the curls make their way to the surface. This louche effect is caused by the oils from the plants and herbs present in absinthe, one of the things that makes it so unique. And at the end of the show, you get to drink it. That’s my kind of beverage.

It was only after more than half a bottle that I learned how to serve it properly, though, so that was a little bit of a let down, considering the price. The whole “sugar cube preparation” was a bit too sweet, and after a few drinks my stomach started to hurt. I ditched the cubes or tried cutting them in half, but that didn’t really help much. I started sipping the Lemercier straight and making wonderful faces like someone was prodding my balls with a hot poker. Burnt a little. Nope, not gonna work. After reading around I found that sugar wasn’t necessary, it’s all preference, so I decided to just try it watered down. Success.

Lesson learned. A couple of ice cubes in some water, a slow drip, and you’re good. Sit back and watch the swirls of green and yellow turn into a glass of milky white heaven.

Fun facts:

Absinthe is legal to possess in the U.S., it’s just illegal to import or brew.

– Thujone/Wormwood has absolutely no link to THC. Check it out for yourself.

It’s not likely that you’re going to cut off your beautiful little ears or paint a Starry Night. There’s a big myth that thujone, the primary active ingredient in Wormwood (which is featured in absinthe in small amounts), will get you high. This is false. Thujone is poisonous in large amounts, and that’s about it. Some people do feel effects other than a simple buzz or drunk from absinthe, but who knows from what or if it is even real. Read: “Some researchers have now hypothesised that the reputed ‘secondary effects’ of absinthe have nothing directly to do with thujone at all – if they in fact exist at all, they may be caused by the interaction of some of the other constituent herbs ( fenchone in fennel, pinocamphonethe in hyssop, and the anethole in anise, have all been shown to cause epileptiform convulsions in laboratory animals when administered in very large doses). Source.

Absinth is not Absinthe. Absinth is a gimmick liquor made in Eastern Europe, sold to gullible teenagers who think they’re going to get high from a high thujone content. It’s going to taste like shit and do nothing for you.

– Put away the Zippo, you brilliant cunt. There is nothing about the preparation of absinthe that requires an open flame. When you light sugar cubes on fire, or set the absinthe on fire like these shitheads, you’re simply jerking off the old myth that it’s going to get you high and that there’s something to be unlocked with a flame. It’s liquor. It isn’t heroin. You’re not shooting up. You’re just making 80 dollar liquor taste like burnt asshole.

– Abinsthe was banned because of a foolish doctor in the early 20th century who thought that it was was ruining French society. The wineries in France, who were noticing losses in sales thanks to absinthe, quickly agreed with his claims that the green fairy was in fact a devil, stealing men’s souls. The doctor, one Valentin Magnan, proved his point about absinthe by giving a bunch of thujone to a mouse, subsequently killing it. He then claimed that it was the thujone in absinthe that was causing all of the supposed trouble. If you want to blame someone for the insane price or the fact that it is still illegal in the US, blame that guy.

There’s some other useful info at the La Fee Vert FAQ and at the Wormwood Society. Check-check it a-one time!

Dear Gulf Coast drivers,

December 7, 2006

I cannot help that you were born in Bumfuckvillenowhere, grew up with little-to-no manners and do not correctly know how to drive, but I’m willing to attempt to help you out a little.

Firstly, when it comes to legality, pedestrians have the right of way. Period. This includes stop signs. If you see me at a stop sign, STOP, and don’t bitch because someone else is out walking to work and getting some exercise while you’re on your way home with a sack full of Krystal’s to watch NASCAR. There is no rush. Dale Earnhardt will still be there when you get home.

Shit. My mistake. Well, Petty will still be there, anyway. The point is, you stop. You don’t collect 200 dollars, you don’t pass Go, you Stop and Wait. It’s OK to take things slow now and then.

When you see a pedestrian walking towards you down the road, you slow down or move over to the left if there is no oncoming traffic — some times both! What you don’t do is drive 15 MPH over the speed limit a foot away from the pedestrian (ME, ASSHOLE!), especially when said pedestrian is traversing terrain lined with downed tree branches, sand, and weeds because there are no side walks in the pit stop shit hole town you both inhabitate.

Understand this: the one time I trip and fall into your hideous little Rice Rocket, I can promise you that I will leave more than a small dent in its trim. Your car will be totalled and your life will be ruined because you’ll have nothing else to do on Sundays when you could be riding around town pretending to be an O.G. with Young Jeezy blasting from those pimped out speakers of yours. Just stay at home and pretend you’re cool by smokin’ that Mexican dirt weed you’ve got stashed away, and do us all some good.

My Christmas wish is that the two idiots who passed me on the road today some how collide with each other this weekend, killing each other instantly, otherwise, they’re going to kill someone else out of stupidity. I actually took the driver’s test here in Florida last month (and passed) and can attest to the fact that you don’t truly have to know how to handle a vehicle to drive legally. You don’t have to know what to do in any given situation while careening down the road at 75MPH in a huge metallic behemoth, you just have to know how to park and do an un-timed 3-point-turn.

But they’re out there anyway, enmasse.

Russian roulette, every day, on your way… to work. Have fun.

As for the manners, I’ll give you a hint there, too. When you’re at a restaurant and are given utensils wrapped in a napkin, place the napkin on your lap. It’ll make you look sahfistacayted,