you know, this show wouldn't be half bad if it werent for the judges. seriously, who's garbage can did they scrape these fuckers out of? honestly. we've got that asshole randy jackson, who talks like he did 20 years at san quentin, dawg this, dawg that. his reaction to a good performance "aight. yo. yo. so check this out. check this out. yo. aight. yo. yo. check this out. yo. dawg, you really nailed this one. that beat was bumpin'. idol in the hooowwwwwwse! good lookin' out, dawg!" does he even know what good lookin out means? and this is what he says when it's a bad performance, "aight. yo. yo. ok. aight so check this out. check this out. yo. yo. check this out. aight. yo. so, i gotta be honest with you dawg. it was really just aight for me man. it really wasn't that good. dawg. dawg. yo..... yo." i guess a stint with journey is like a bit in folsom. fuck.

then we have little miss mouse face who thinks she knows everything about everything and talks the same way normal people try to get to the center of a tootsie pop, all pucker-faced and sucky. and beside her? fuckin' pisstank abdul, who's in a rush, rush to get to the bottom of a twixer of bacardi. has she ever enunciated a word, ever? SPEAK, paula, pull your teeth apart, let the words OUT.

the only person with half a brain is simon the flaming canker sore. but seriously, this guy is out to lunch too. "why are you booing me when they said the same thing?" well, what boozer, wanna-be-con and mouseface all said was "the performance wasn't the best we've seen from you" and what you, little simy-poo, said was "go slit your wrists, there's no point to living, you suck so hard not even jesus loves you anymore... ahem. die." and then he follows it up with his trademark shoulder shrug, palms to the sky and a "WHOT??"

fuuuuck.

Technorati Tags: american idol, randy jackson, paula abdul, kara dioguardi, simon cowell

my son is so beautiful. i just can't express it in words. every morning i wake up to him cooing in his crib. i look over and i see little legs kicking up. i get up and walk over to his crib and look down at him and he squeals with delight and flashes me the most stunning two-toothed smile. he punches his fists and kicks his legs in excitement from seeing me. then i bring him back to bed with me and he talks to me. he grabs my face and says "ahhh, ahhh, ahhh" or razzes with his tiny little tongue. then rocky, the bestest fur brother a kid could have, jumps into bed with us and joey just smiles from ear to ear. he loves his bro bro. we all cuddle and play and make faces and laugh until it's time to get up.

it sure as hell beats waking up to an alarm, alone every morning. my son has made me a morning person. i never thought i'd see the day. he's a magical little boy.

you know what? why the fuck do people make awful movies? and you know what else? why do they cast nick cage? the guy is so ugly i can't stand it. i don't know what the fuck inspired me, but i just watched bangkok dangerous and i felt like i was being mugged over and over again, except the muggers weren't stealing money or jewelry or anything like that, they were sucking my soul out of my eyeballs. and they weren't muggers. they were nick cage. god. fuck.

the one part when the kid asks cage to teach him assassins 101 and nicky poo, instead of answering, holds a knife up to him to teach him to block someone coming at you with a knife, and he's saying "again, again" in his raspy-ass, wanna-come-see-the-puppy-in-my-van voice. oh my god. it was like restless leg syndrome, like your legs have so much energy at 3am when the rest of your body just wants to sleep and there's nothing you can do to make them feel better except take a hot bath? yeah it was like that, it was like an itch you can't scratch, like a blistering burn on your finger tip. i wanted to reach through the screen and grab him by his greasy chester hair and tell him that just because unky frankie cast him in the godfather a billion years ago doesn't give him the right to go around acosting us all with vile shit like bangkok dangerous and maybe he should think about getting a new fucking character because even in leaving las vegas he was still the creepy pedophiliac-esque raper man with a backwoods 'do, pock-marked face and fucking bug eyes. he's gross and the only job he should have is gravedigger or catholic priest.

Technorati Tags: nicholas cage, bangkok dangerous, leaving las vegas, francis ford coppola, the godfather, bad movies, oh my god

did you ever make something so yummy for dinner that when you packed up leftovers for lunch the next day, you could barely wait for lunch to come? just wishing you could press the fast forward button and throw that damned stir-fry in the microwave and sprinkle sesame seeds and grab some chopsticks and gobble. yeah.

i wish it was socially acceptable to eat dinner entrees for breakfast. how come it only works the other way around, except in the case of steak. you can eat steak for breakfast. which is retarded. stir-fry is a much better way to start the day than steak, nes pas?

the whole thing is bullshit. maybe i'll just defy all social norms and eat the damned stuff right now. fight the fucking power.

Technorati Tags: stir-fry, breakfast

i wrote this at chichen itza:

i'm sitting at chichen itza looking out over a 200ft diameter cenote (sink hole). there's an altar next to it, where they used to sacrifice people and throw them in. it is *entirely* fucked up. and the ride here was no different.

i left joe with his daddy, and got on the bus. there was this guy behind me, one of those people who've studied the day's itinerary backwards and forwards and just have to make sure everyone knows. a know-it-all. so, first thing, he asks me where i'm from. i tell him vancouver and he says he wants to live there one day. i tell him that i live in playa. he doesn't believe me. he thinks i'm just another gringo i suppose. then immediately he tells me he won't get married until 2012. just out of the blue, like i'd asked or something. i respond, "ok" and turn away. as i'm staring out the window at this jungle road, palms fanning out over the highway, vines hanging from them, like tarzan vines, double-fuck behind me whips out his cell phone and starts playing a deliciously lovely repeated mix of celine dion, system of a down, aerosmith & guns & roses. Oh, and a little bon jovi. and he's one of those fidgety people always grunting to himself, singing along to the wrong lyrics, playing with his phone, his camera, rummaging through his bag. he's got one of those fucking nextel walkie talkies and the noise, that fucking nextel noise is just going off every 3 seconds. he's sitting next to a couple from spain who are constantly having to move to make room for this widget to fidget. i'm about to turn around and yank his flavor saver so hard his head bounces off the back of my chair. but i refrain, hold my breath, hum along to livin' on a prayer.

we stopped @ a store with bathrooms briefly and there was this fortune teller out front, telling fortunes kind of like that edwards freak from tv; yelling out something and asking if anyone knows anything about it. i'm watching this bullshit for a while and then she yells either, "you're going to prison" or "you went to prison". naturally i was curious to see if anyone piped up and claimed that one. but i think the crowd was all mostly french and she was, obviously, speaking spanish. no one said anything. then she sort of mumbles, "yes, prison" like she's talking to someone in front of her and then looks up and yells "veinte doce, veinte doce" 2012, 2012. she looks right at me, i swear. i duck into the vanbus dilly and bury myself in moby dick which i am reading again for the umpteenth time.

so, back on the bus, back to dude looks like a lady followed by some ear shattering celine dion ditty. scrappy doo behind me is fidgeting so much i think his seat may have come off the brackets. staring out the window again watching the tiny little mexican towns go by. we're slowing down through one and i suddenly notice we're driving by a prison. new thing for me. a mexican prison. i almost wanted the bus to stop there... but that's just me and my save-everything-hippie-bullshit.

on to chichen itza. wow. i mean seriously fucking wow. you see it in pictures and read about it but it is seriously fucking insane to be standing there @ one of the wonders of the world, where heads rolled, blood was spilled and everything is in perfect solar, lunar and astrological alignment (s'pose that's a little redundant, perdon). the pyramid is so much bigger in real life than you think. it's huge. it was built to echo what is said at it's base, so we tried clapping and the echo sounded like a scream coming from the opposite direction of the pyramid. that was seriously fucking cool.

i wandered away from my group for a minute to look @ a table selling obsidian. beside it was a blind dude, another fortune teller i assume and as i walked by he said "your heart is broken" in spanish. i said, "perdon?" , "su corazon es roto!" i just kind of stood there staring at a tree to the left of the guy... "roto, su corazon es roto" and then, oddly, he says "veinte doce" 20 fuckin' 12. now, i realize that i am in the religious center of the mayan world. i also am well aware of the fact that their calendar ends in 2012. i can also buy the idea that perhaps they might play that up a little in order to freak people out and have them believe and spend money on things that my sooth their worries, like the idols and the calendars, etc. but, and this is not too much to ask, why the fuck do they have to fuck with me? do it to the gringos, the passers through, the boisterous & burnt europeans. don't fuck with me. seriously. i was in the mood for a nice little tourist jaunt into the past, not some spiritually significant journey. come on. seriously. come on.

whatever. so here i sit overlooking a cenote which, under the water, is surely filled with skeletons.

Technorati Tags: chichen itza, pyramid, mayan, mexico

Sam was a good kid. He played on his high school football team, always made the honor roll and took good care of his younger brother, Todd while their loving mother worked hard as a waitress down the street. Every Thursday after Tood watched is older brother's football practice with pride, Sam, Todd and their mother, Jenny, would sit in the same booth at the diner where Jenny worked, all three would order the house specialty, a cheeseburger, and they would sit around the table and tell stories about their week and tell jokes and laugh with each other for hours. It was the one day a week Todd got to stay up past his bedtime, Jenny thought it was well worth it to have the kind of quality family time they did.

A few months before graduation, Sam was invited by his wealthy friends to go with them to Las Vegas to celebrate their graduation. It was to be supervised by one of Sam's friends' father. That Thursday at the table, he asked his mom if he could go. After a long back and forth of worry and assurance, Jenny finally agreed, reluctantly.

Sam was so excited, he couldn't wait. He counted down the days and finally the time came to get in the car with his friends and go. He gave his mom a big hug, told her he loved her and he would see her soon.

A few hours later, the boys checked into their hotel room, excited. Immediately Sam's friend's father hit the casino. The boys ran out to explore the hotel and pool. Sam and two of his friends decided to go for a swim, and their other two went to go see what shows were playing over the weekend.

After his swim, Sam toweled off and the boys went upstairs to hit the showers. Their other two friends were already there and they seemed out of sorts and the room was extremely smoky. One of them, Craig, pulled out a bag of marijuana and offered it to Sam. Sam shook his head and said no. The boys all partook in smoking marijuana and the room became smokier and smokier. Sam just watched and laughed at his friends as they got weirder and weirder. All of a sudden there was a bang on the door. The boys became paranoid and told Sam not to answer it. Another bang, "Las Vegas Police! Open Up!" Sam panicked and knew he had to open the door. He did and in burst 2 police officers and the hotel manager. Within minutes all the boys, Sam included, were in cuffs and being hauled out of the hotel.

Sam was beside himself, but kept telling himself that he didn't smoke any marijuana so he would be ok. They would realize this once they got to the police station and everything would be ok. He could call his mom, and go home.

Sam was wrong.

Sam was eventually convicted of possession and in the state of Nevada, this carries a penalty of 1-4 years in prison and a $5000 fine. Sam was sentenced to 4 years, the maximum penalty. Because he had just turned 18 at sentencing, he was sent to an adult prison.

His mother had to somehow come up with a $5000 payment for his fine. So she sold her car. This was especially awful for Jenny, because this meant she couldn't drive to visit Sam on visiting days anymore. She told him, the last time she went to visit, that it would be ok, he could call her and they could talk on the phone instead.

When she got back home from Nevada after the whole ordeal, and Sam was sent to his adult prison, he called her. They talked for the 15 minutes they were allowed and promised to talk again the next day. Sam called again, every day for a month.

After that month, Jenny got her phone bill and was shocked. It was over $700! That was more than her rent! She called the phone company and found out that each call her son had made to her cost her $20. Her heart sunk. Now she knew they wouldn't even have the calls. She knew she wouldn't be able to pay her phone bill and rent in the same month and eventually her phone was cut off. She worked double shifts to try and get it back but couldn't make that amount of money. In the meantime, little Todd was now without his big brother whom he adored, and his mother, who was working so hard she was never at home.

Back in Nevada, as every Thursday passed, Sam's heart grew heavier. He was having a hard time in prison as is. He became angry and lashed out at people, winning himself time in the hole repeatedly. Finally, on his little brother's birthday he thought he might try his Mom's old phone number once again just to see, because he couldn't bear the thought of Todd not hearing from him on his birthday. Sam dialed, and he got the same message "This number is out of service". Sam felt like crying but in prison you can't cry or you will be harassed. As he was walking back to his cell, someone bumped into him and swore at him and Sam lost it. The fight lasted only a few minutes as his opponent was twice his size. Sam was carted off to the infirmary, where he died a few hours later.

Jenny got the call at work and became hysterical. Later, when Todd found out, he was inconsolable. Their beautiful family had been destroyed.

This story uses fictional characters and events but has happened more often than you know. There are 2.3 million people in prison in the USA, an estimated half of that are non-violent offenders. There exists, in reality, over 1 million people like Sam in lock-up.

Please, please help us to put a stop to the destruction of poor families with loved ones in prison for non-violent offenses. Sign the petition to lower the cost of calls from prison, now: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/3/lower-the-cost-of-calls-from-prison

and forward this to as many people as you possibly can.

Sponsored by http://www.genpop.org

Technorati Tags: prison, phone, calls, jail, incarcerated, inmate, convict, telephone

there's this guy who cleans our p0ol every day. he wears pants that only go down to the top of his ankles and sandals that you picture jesus wearing. i call him noah because he is clearly expecting a flood and his shoes are so... so... biblical.

i rode my bike to my favorite restaurant tonight, under a duanting cloud. oddly, not a drop of rain fell on the way. i ordered my usual, ate, paid and jumped on my bike again. i couldn't find my cloud in the dark of night that'd fallen while i was eating. i just rode and halfway home the skies opened up and let loose a downpour so furious that it was clearly what noah had been anticipating. soaked to the bone. balderdash.

i got brass knuckles hanging from my neck and my chain. yeah. i just quoted good charlotte and i'm not ashamed. recognize.

Technorati Tags: rain, good charlotte, brass knuckles

sometimes the tags are twice as goofy as the post.

so. steelers win. boo. i went to mom's hotel to watch the game and committed to running a 50/50 for the local dog shelter but after the first quarter there were too many people smoking so i had to leave, it was bad for my little baby boy. so i went to this bar down by the beach open air sports bar that i go to a lot. i missed the entire second quarter, but i caught the halftime show. ahhhhhh, the boss.

i was in my first football pool this year and let me tell you, i spent a lot of money and totally sucked. bad year for football all around, but half the proceeds went to the pet shelter, so it's all good. next year, we'll be hosting a new football pool that anyone in the world can join, to benefit the peanut pet shelter, here: http://www.nflpool.net

joey loves football. he will watch it for an hour straight, this at a time when he is rarely ever content doing the same thing for more than 10 minutes. he gets so frustrated when his body won't work the way he wants it to. he wants to be all grown up already, just wants to get on with his business.

Technorati Tags: steelers, super bowl, football, animal shelter, nfl, dogs

She testified that initially she wasn’t positive in selecting Cole’s picture, but she became more convinced based on comments and actions of police and prosecutors. She now thinks that they misled her.

Now 44, Mallin, who lives in Baytown, has apologized to Cole’s family and is working to clear his name.

Mother pleads in court to have son posthumously exonerated | State | Star-Telegram.com

a rape victim not only has to deal with being the victim of a violent crime, nooo, now she has to feel guilty that the man in the photo she was misled to select as her attacker, died in prison serving a 25 year sentence.

is this really justice, do you think? really? or are we just victimizing people more?

Technorati Tags: rape, wrongful conviction, prison, dna