The Hottest Blog Ever or an Incensitive Eulogy

Current mood: guilty

My apologies for the tacky bulletin, but I just gotta get some feedback about my attempt to make light of the man who burned himself to death despite my efforts to extiguish him at my gas station.

As the members of Monty Python sang, "Always look on the bright side of death." I won't continue the lyrics. It seems redundant.

Sorry to dissolve any of you who felt a sense of relief, but obviously the insanity of Russ Staley wasn't resolved through partial hospitalization.

I gotta get out of this funk, so I that I can get back to wrestling. Imagine the angst I was in when I went to Hobby Lobby. The telling myself that I couldn't buy anything shiny to accessorize my alter ego.

I feel worse than Nicholson about the "All work and no play." It's like that but add "No beer and no TV make Homer go something something."

On the topic of going crazy, there aren't many jokes that can be made about a guy on fire. Trying to come up with an inciteful, comedic blog is as difficult as finding a satisfying end to a trilogy (Revenge of the Sith excluded).

When wholesome, antiviolense, no vulgarity Mom said she had more fun watching Hot Fuzz than Shrek the Third, I think you know where I'm coming from.

And come on. Topher Grace as venom? And if there is no wine for Thomas Haden Church, I'd rather save my dough for Merlot from a box.

My therapist accused me of ADD, but blame Family Guy. We allow Seth McFarlane jump in and out of stories. But, allow me to get this giant chicken of my back and get back to the story at hand.

Gas can: $5.99
Enough 87 octane to get the job done: $1.55
A memorable exit and a headline: Priceless

Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.

Smoke on this Illinois

To call me a cynic would be redundant. With that being my nature, I'm indeed skeptical about the health risk of second hand smoke.

The smog clouds in LA and Mexico City are not caused by people lighting up tobacco products. It is from industrial pollution, motor vehicles, and quite possibly the Mexican community lighting their farts.

Hey, if I was part of the Hispanic race which is associated with excessive flatulence, I know that's what I'd be doing. That's what I'd think about so called patriots and their illegal border patrol.

Of course, the Lady Liberty only wants the hungry, weak, and huddled masses. She says nothing about the gassy.

Discussing farts brings me to the main point of my argument. I have yet to see a cigarette set off a Carbon Monoxide monitor.

On two separate occasions, after eating two pounds of Gardner's mild wings, my brother's unconscious farting set off our house's CO detector. He may have been twelve years-old at the time.

Until I heard the beeps, I was in a deep sleep of rare occurrence. Perhaps the fumes were consuming me. My brother did not wake to the noise, so he may have been near death. If it was not for me rushing to our bedroom door to release the gas, it may have resulted in his demise. I cannot help but wonder what kind of danger we would have faced if he had a tongue for spicier foods.

Now that we established that cigarettes are truly only dangerous to the user, why must we have a smoke-free Illinois?

Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.

Suicide would mean I'd bitch less

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Current mood: distraught

This started as my blog of "Why I'd like Peoria to be more like Detroit?" but from looking over the draft, I found a point where I go off course to be quite fitting for when it comes to my recent unfair, state of unemployment, and further realization of how hopeless I really am.

I wish I was suicidal so that, so my bitching may end.

The excuse for breathing right now: I made it to difficult to off myself. The regret of tattooing my wrist, so I can't slit em'. Pills never seem to work for my friends, and I don't dare dial any dealer numbers.

Read the rest of this blog other stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies.

A Possible Cause for My Lack of Intellectual Activity

Current mood: angsty

I've recently deprived my yearning to entertain the community. With the thoughts that I had a rekindled wrestling career proven false, what is the point of pursuing other creative outlets?

That sounds better than my not keeping up with my blogs because I don't want to make the trips to Target to refill my anti anxiety meds. Not because of the cost of the pills. But because they always have some kind of special on Pokemon cards or DVDs...or hair products. I just can't afford to allow myself to act out of impulse while on unemployment.

And the inability to act impulsively has sent my alcohol tolerance to great lows. It's a struggle knowing that I can no longer finish a fifth by 4 am, and still be ready to handle the pains of existence regardless of the hangover.

So I guess, I often find myself in the position of choosing between my identity and my sanity. All of this stems from being a slave to a conglomerate. So DOWN WITH TARGET.

Sadly, I have to retract that statement after opening the offer for $30 in gift cards. And where else can I go for reasonably priced meds? Is it a conspiracy between What-Ever-The-Fuck-Mart and the psychiatrists to keep us ill, or should I just take another Ativan and Trazadone cocktail and stop worrying?

America's got...

Current mood: pissed off
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

What America's got is me pissed off. I can't believe this is how I get my freedom to blog tonight. My older sister, who wouldn't watch American Idol when our cousin was in the top 12 is watching America's Got Talent.

I'm not trying to make myself look good or my older sister look bad. I didn't tune in to Idol when my cousin was on it. That was the third season, the one between Underwood and Studdard. The person who won, well I don't listen to crossover music I guess. As does everyone else since they can't remember him when I tell them my cousin "was the kid who looked like Conan."

That in itself is something America's got me pissed off about. William Hung fever wears off, so damn those who worked their ass off to be sell outs to that exploitative limey son of a bitch. I did at least listened to John Stevens album of covers. Dare I say I'm an ideal American for supporting a family member that I hadn't spoken to...probably ever.


Read the rest of this blog other stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies.
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