The Avengers

So, uh, the Avengers is a comic I am not really familiar with. I mean, I’ve seen Iron Man, Thor, and all the Hulk movies so far. They were alright (*Thor sucked). But this team up seems pretty interesting. The movie looks visually appealing (anyone have any acid?). So today I interviewed Joss Whedon to get a feel for what to expect:

DD: So Joss, since we are conducting this interview via email, are you a dude or a girl? I need to know if I need to taper back my vulgarity/sexism.

PS My name is Double D

Joss: Hey there DD. I’m Joss (fucking retard felt the need to tell me this even though I emailed him) and I am a man.

DD: It took you so long to respond I just looked you up. I know this already. Ok, I have not really prepared any questions so lets just see what happens, shall we?

So what dentist do you go to?

Joss: What do you mean? I’m not sure that’s relevant.

DD: Exhibit A:

Wanna make out?

It looks like Thor hit you in the face with that hammer. Or maybe you sucked Hulk’s dick and his green came off a bit in your mouth. Or maybe that’s a grill I’m looking at made from the gold metal that Iron Maiden uses on his suit. No matter which way you look at it your dentist needs to be hulk smashed. Or Captain America should wing his fucking shield at you and knock all your teeth out so you can start over.

…with a new dentist. Because seriously… fuck your guy. He sucks.

Joss: That’s pretty harsh man. Are we going to talk about Avengers? Because I’m not just going to sit here and be abused…

DD: We are discussing it.

Joss: How so?

DD: I just introduced several of the characters.

Speaking of which, I saw the trailers… and I saw that smooth mother fucker Tony Stark. But I don’t see Iron Maiden anywhere in these ones. Does he make an appearance in this particular film?

I mean look at that guy. He NEEDS to kick some ass on screen don’t you think?

Joss: Are you a psycho?

DD: Now who is abusing who Mr. Whedon? What part of that question gave it away?

Joss: Well for starters it’s Iron Man… Iron Maiden is a band. And yes, yes he (Iron Man) is all over this film.

DD: Shit. Now I’m confused then. Dude, I dunno how that skull lighting dude could play guitars or whatever but I’ll take your word for it.

Anyway, whats it like to live with such a terrible disease?

Joss: Im reluctant to ask you to clarify…

DD: Fetal Alcohol Syndrome? I could tell by the eyes. My sister has that too. Except hers are too far apart as opposed to yours being too close together. Sometimes she walks right into the poles of stop signs. She’s broken her nose twice.

Joss: This is ridiculous. Fuck off.

DD: I’m sorry… one final question. About the movie… answer it if you want to or ignore me. I don’t care. You’re a loser anyway. Comic movies are a totally lame cash grab and you should be ashamed of yourself. Why spend all that money on filming and then market it with this blurry, old looking poster? And what’s with the dialogue?

Joss: Dick head…

Are People Really Like This?

Dude: so uh, my wife caught me jerking off to your pics the other day and she doesn’t want us to be friends anymore

Hot Stranger: Then tell her to get a (name withheld) costume to properly please you, ain’t my fault.

Dude: Should I send her over to root through your closet? that would be a big help. our relationship has just lost its excitement after all these years

HS: Well…I’ll let her if she’s my size…but from the looks of it, she ain’t got a butt and hips like me. And her tits are smaller. Take her to Discovery and buy her the most rock whorish clothes you can find. Or I can take her shopping. But if she gives me any attitude, I’m beating her ass.

Dude: This one time, I took her to discovery, and I waited in the car. Some girl came out and changed into her new shirt right in the car next to me. Jerked off that time too. I passed out from cardio and hit my face on the steering wheel and broke my nose. I looked like a disaster.

HS: Wow…I’m starting to think that maybe the problem in your marriage is that you jack off to every goddamn thing around. I’d be pissed off too if I was her.

Dude: I just can’t help myself. Any advice?

HS: It’s simple, JUST DONT TOUCH YOURSELF. But really, why would you wanna stop?

Dude: I know. I think I’m just going to tell her I love you and am not unfriending you. Maybe she will leave me.

HS: Holy fuck, do not use that “L” word around me, or I’ll defriend you myself! The fuck??!

Dude: Don’t worry. I’ll get you a pistol in case she freaks out

HS: You are fucking insane. Don’t even think about it.

Dude: Ok so I told her. She says she wants me to give you her phone number. Is that ok?

HS: What is the matter with you? NO I don’t want her number!! I have nothing to say to either of you, bringing me into your sick, twisted games!

Dude: I don’t think she is playing a game. She has her crazy eyes on. I’m kind of scared! Can I come crash on your couch for a few days?

HS: NO!! NO no no no no NOOO NO NO NO HEEELLLLL NO! STOP!

Dude: …But I already forwarded my mail. She threw my stuff in the front yard too. Can you come pick me up?

HS: You’re giving me an anxiety attack! NO! You act as if I don’t have a man, he’s gonna freak the fuck out on you!

Dude: He can’t be as scary as she is. I have xanax though. Come get me and I’ll give you some. Just be careful operating heavy machinery after taking some.

http://www.shopinprivate.com/hitmagwansup.html 😉

HS: I’ve told you before I don’t take pills at all…are you fuckin’ for real? You don’t take no as an answer do you?

Dude: 😦 ok. I’ll just make a fort by my car. This rain sure is cold today.

HS: Your guilt trip shit isn’t going to work with me.

…Goddammit. Fine. I’ll come get you.

Dude: I swear I will behave these few days we are together. No jerking off I promise. Thank you.

*******************************************************

So the dude then sends me a link to a website he started to get back on his feet.

http://www.hannahsusedpanties.com/homepage.html

At least he changed her name for the site

Sometimes I Get So Excited I Could Just…

…shit now I gotta go change my underwear. I changed the theme on the blog so it doesn’t hurt our old people eyes. Always thinking about you folks! Love ya. Happy Wednesday.

Phil Robertson. A Man I Wish I Had the Pleasure of Knowing.

Take out your dictionary and flip to the ‘m’s. Now there is a word that should be familiar to you all. M A N. See how it says: man- Phil Robertson? If yours doesn’t say that it’s time to throw it out and get an updated edition.

I’m not going to lie. I haven’t fired a gun in well over a decade. When I went shooting last I shot targets and not animals. I have never shot an animal. I like guns and I like to eat animals. Seems pretty intuitive to pair those two together though. Therefore, I support hunting. The other day, I tuned in to this show exclusively to mock a pretty girl I like for watching it herself. Moments later, the name Jase, flashes across my screen and I feel smug in my assumptions. Two hours later I am literally bummed out the episodes have ended.

Duck Dynasty is the name of this show. Weeks/months (?) ago I saw the intro commercial for this strange marriage of hunting/reality television. I thought… I’m going to watch that, those are some awesome looking gentlemen. Didn’t catch the name and I feel like I knew it was going to be about ducks, but it was gone from my thoughts quickly thereafter. Enter the girl. “Excited to watch Duck Dynasty” as a Facebook status. I grab the remote control to see what the hell that even meant. Tune in, Jase, smugness, captivated.

Here is the deal. I’ve now watched all the episodes at least twice. I’m in love with so many different elements of this show that it makes me laugh. Let’s ignore the fact that Phil made some interesting choices when he was younger and those choices led to the successes he has now earned.

Let’s ignore the fact that one of his sons has built upon his dreams and turned this operation into something larger. Those in themselves are obviously impressive. What I take away from this show though is the spirit of the individuals and the palpable bonds of friendship and family. I’d love to sit here and quote Jase, Phil, and Si (my three favorites) for the next two hours. It’s all just great. Over at my house we got this whole Si “hay” thing down like a three part harmony in a chorus. Amazing. Jase is like this bearded man with this infectious vice grip on the attitude and adventure of navigating life like a kid who never got burned. Si looks all crazy and has this awesome beard divided perfectly in half showing all grey and mostly grey on either side. Phil is this quiet warrior pursuing the things he feels passionate about and telling you why the entire time like a father should. These dudes are in love with their lives and love each other. It’s something I can’t say I’ve seen represented as clearly elsewhere.

Sometimes it is the small victories occurring right in the same universe I live in that make me feel all excited. To see a show about some lifestyle I never really thought much about good, bad or otherwise come out of nowhere and make me laugh and make me think has just been a good experience.

Looking forward to Wednesdays now for the first time since my band stopped practicing on Wednesdays.

The Value of Shit I Didn’t Recognize Had Value

For a lot of years, pretty much all of them actually, I have called myself a hillbilly/drunk when people try to tell me I’m insightful or my writing is good because I don’t really know what to say to compliments other than trying to devalue them and remain someone everyone can identify with (or mock which I will take exclusively for the sake of the arts {all for you guys}).

I recently had some sort of identity crises a few blogs back. I’ve been thinking about who I am and what I want ever since. Of Course, some credit belongs to my buddy Geoff in that, he takes action. He has a vision, figures out how to achieve something, works toward that goal. It is effective and it is inspiring to watch from the outside but its just not how I operate. Some of that is stubborn, shits been this way forever, type thinking, but some of it is beyond my control/I’m going to vomit if I built a plan like that and worked toward something.

Some things just work differently. Quitting smoking, getting fit, or educating yourself are very real, obtainable goals. I can appreciate those. I think that approaching those goals with a calculated method is the obvious right choice. However the things that truly interest me (important to me, only about me and my dreams) are these creative roads that can’t be navigated with the same maps. I mean, I write a lot, as I’ve said in this space before, I could turn out a record of some tunes, or write a story for some kids… I DO love that shit. Especially the unpolished, spontaneously captured directly from my own asshole shits. That’s my favorite stuff and definitely some of the work Ive done that I’m most proud of. That’s not Geoff’s favorite though. But that’s totally ok.

Here’s the deal, I don’t like dreaming of being a rocker anymore. It has nothing to offer me anymore. I do it now for emotional cleansing. I hate (seriously really hate) playing shows (unless I did not agree to play that show and am asked to play a bit like the last one I played), I don’t want strange pussy, I’m mostly retired from drugs, Id rather see my kids smiling face on a Saturday night than do most anything else… the list is endless. Not to mention the personal sacrifice I have to make just to share a dumb, childish sentiment (anger/hatred, I like beer). It sucks. I’m still happy I’ve got a 1995 Fender DG-11 black acoustic guitar tattooed on me. Still love the Lawrence Arms hourglass with bat wings on me. Still live and breathe Chicago punk rock until I die. I’m just old. I don’t have the energy to jump and scream and excite a crowd and drink the number of beers it takes for me to get comfortable sharing all my personal shit with strangers. Sure, I will still write music. I will still record music and hopefully someday I can love it as much as I used to, but if not that is ok too.

So here’s my dilemma. Geoff and I discussed two creative outlets and possible directions to wander. One was music. The other one was writing.

The ONLY place I can think of that could further me and whatever this is that I do here, is cracked.com. Except, phew that feels intimidating. You don’t get to just walk in the door and liberate your laptop from your purse you shamelessly walk around with and get to it. You HAVE to write those list based articles to even get in the door, which I have tried but perverted the concept of. So I immediately get turned off by the whole thing. Which, as a person whose pretty used to failure and rejection, is a weird spot to be in. I don’t know. Bizarrely the most success I have experienced in writing has been kids stories. I find that so strange because they would never sell my records at a Walmart. For ten years people have told me to write nicer/softer, less brutalized by my own voice, songs. With the stories and rants, people mostly just get into it. I cant romanticize a glass of scotch in a song and make it my love interest, no not acceptable, but I can (in writing) have a dog rapist, heart breaker of a woman fuck her ex in a suit literally made from the dog she raped after a drunken therapist fails to talk him down. Weird and gross, but some how palatable.

Writing is something I have done since I could actually write. What’s interesting and exciting about it is literally ANYTHING is possible there. I can’t write a fucking country song to save my life but I could write about some hicks in love for sure.

Hilariously I set out to talk about how inspiring I find Phil Robertson and co. from Duck Dynasty (on A&E). I think his adherence to his beliefs and in his own desires is THE (hands down) way to cruise through this life time. That’s really what triggered my memory of that conversation about pursuing these two dreams of mine.

I’m going to be more like him.

Pretty Please? Tell Me the Story About the Demons Again

She was twelve now. She could hardly remember the “dreams” of the scene that unfolded before her very own eyes years before. She had grown into a big girl. One who could appreciate and process her thoughts and dreams more than ever. A girl more fearless than any regular twelve year old.

Outside the Sunday skies opened up. A storm came out of nowhere. The blues became obscured by clouds and the sun set. She liked the rain though. The power of thunder startled her but she enjoyed it like a scary movie. She fell asleep.

In her dreams the skies were even darker. There was no lightning to illuminate the path. Her visions seemed ominous. The darkness seemed to breathe and whisper to her. “This way” And she wandered forward into an open field where she could see a tree line in the distance. A fire burned, unattended. It’s flames danced proudly. The flames, themselves, a menacing blue and orange and white hot. A crudely built platform became visible. As her eyes rose up from the ground she could see feet and skirts, belts and aged white shirts. And heads that swayed, lifeless, in ropes. Three women were hung and left there. Delilah walked toward them. Still unsure of what she was seeing. She stood at the edge of the gruesome stage now. She could see their eyes were still open. As her eyes adjusted she could see theirs. They were red from flames fingers grasping at the blood still in their heads. And she woke up.

She felt gross again. She couldn’t forget the details. She couldn’t remember any other dreams. She became apprehensive about what would follow. She saw images from the last time a “dream” had made her feel this way.

She got dressed and walked to the bus. The kids shouted and misbehaved and swore and told lies and she just sat there. Unimpressed. It’s hard to watch the circus once you’ve lived through the real one. These kids still had their innocence. They arrived at school. She stopped at the water fountain to wet her throat. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and hadn’t stopped breathing rapidly since she woke up. She was thirsty. She reported to class. As class began she noticed a visitor. The visitor sat quietly watching the teacher. The teacher called roll and introduced a new name to it. Her name was Elizabeth. She had black hair and green eyes that were angry and full of turbulence. Like when clouds gather and the storms are going to be brutal. The kind that rattle your windows and destroy your siding. A storm that takes your stuff away in the winds. Elizabeth smiled a manipulative smile and said “Hello!”

The class responded cordially. The pit in Delilah’s stomach grew and gripped it like a hand around a child’s arm in a busy store. The class went about their day. After school the two girls rode the same bus home. Delilah was no longer concerned with Elizabeth. She was again concerned with the approaching darkness and her bed time. She was familiar with the siren song of the witches. She knew that, when the song plays she would dance again and there was nothing she could do about it. She picked at her dinner. She stared blankly at the television. She then put on her pajamas and lay in her bed staring at the ceiling fan that worked tirelessly, pushing cool air onto her face. After some time the sleep took her away again.

Music that made her feel like she was at a funeral played. The stars went into hiding. The moon was full like it had eaten them. It was all there. The open field and the fire. The stage of horrors had sat undisturbed. It seemed to wait like a predator now though. She was reluctant to approach it this time. For what felt like an eternity she watched from her spot without breathing. A glow in the distance appeared. And the daughters of the flames seemed to notice it too. One of them began to move. At first a startled gesture as though she had just woken up. Then a panicked frenzy to free herself. The light grew brighter and the song got louder. It wasn’t an instrument though. It was more like a hellish choir that sang beautifully but scared her senseless.

Once free the woman tried frantically to wake up the second. Once awake, together they grappled with their fear of the light growing brighter still and the strength of her body underneath the rope. Now freed the second witches’ head struggled on her shoulders. Her neck, broken from the brutal treatment. There was no time to rescue the third. They shrieked and howled as the light came upon them. They stepped backward, examining it and plotting. The light was coming from a being that looked mostly human. The light became duller as the being approached the third, hung victim until it devoured her. The shrieks of her sisters echoed in the open field off the trees and Delilah herself. The form turned toward her and just stared with the ugliest, most hollow, glare that even from fifty yards out was penetrating. Delilah turned to run and the being was already behind her. Blood on her mouth and black, reptilian eyes that made Delilah feel paralyzed. It was Elizabeth. She recognized Delilah although they were not friends. The beast seemed to wrestle with its own instincts and intellect. It turned and followed the screams of the others it had already chosen.

Delilah watched it run off, not knowing if Elizabeth would return. On one hand she felt, safe, that she had confronted the thing and survived. On the other though… she wondered if it would come back to clean up its messes.

Lol. It works. (best buys are closing) (tupac hologram) (newt gingrich vs penguin)

Top searches google sent my way…

pinterest

http://www.realdoll.com

I love when that shit works. Hilarious. Welcome to blogging Ashley. Looking forward to more bologna and ejaculation.

http://www.realdoll.com/

yesssss… steer that traffic to my blog.

Hey you fucking perverts!  I can appreciate your socially awkward/too lazy to deal with a person attitudes. Thats right.  That bitch cant make you a sandwich after you finish though.  

Holy Shit!

“What happened to your face?” A cruel stranger insults me. I had been deeply absorbed in my own thoughts when, suddenly, I was thrown from the train that had chugged reluctantly toward some sort of resolution. But now it was lost. STOLEN from me by this dick of a man masquerading as some person who cares.

“Oh this? THIS FACE? (I am making a hilarious face) This is my thinking face. Kind of like how when a rock god is hammering out a guitar solo and it takes all that concentration and focus and they just kind of look silly.”

1st Place Special Olympics (power lifting so watch your fucking mouth)

The stranger feigns interest. His interrogation continues.

“Excuse me sir, am I free to go?” I ask as I pull up my pants. Why my pants were down I was not sure. It was as if I had just shaken off the haze of a night of carousing. It was at that moment I realized the man wore a familiar uniform. His shoes were polished. His badge reflected the sunlight directly toward my eyes.

“You are not under arrest but I do have a few questions I’d like the answers to. What’s your name and address?” He doesn’t skip a beat. (badum tss) ((no seriously, he’s like the Cal Ripken Jr. of police officers. 2131 straight days of work without missing a single day. He had missed everything that matters in his kids lives but he didn’t particularly like them anyway))

“Your badge is an asshole.” I am desperately trying to focus.

“…what?” He doesn’t look amused.

“Your badge is an asshole…is my name and go fuck yourself is my address.” I am standing now. My feet don’t want to cooperate though. They seem to have broken down like a fucking Ford Taurus right when you need to go somewhere. I begin to run awkwardly. I realize this is futile so I decide to use my other super power. Words. Sexy fucking words. “Hahaha naw man, I’m just kidding. You are strikingly handsome, sir. Now that the sun is in YOUR eyes I can see how soft and warm they are. Are they blue or is that some grey I see in there?…”

The officer is clearly flattered but I have triggered a hot button deep inside of him. He is a homophobe. “Is that why your pants were down out here buddy? You cruising for dudes? This IS a popular spot for that sort of activity.”

“I did not know that.” I lie. I look around pretending this is all unfamiliar. “I’m going to go with I am a sleepwalker here…” He is powerless against me now.

“I will give you an ‘A’ for effort. But I am still going to need you to answer those questions.” He persists.

“How about instead of answering those questions I give you the hottest, most regrettable, shame inducing beej over there by them trees?” I counter offer.

I can see the gears turning in his mind.

Good Friends Come at You With Good Questions

Ok. Full disclosure. I’m pretty sure I’m a psycho. Except I say that out loud so that usually means that a person is not a psycho. But I can see right inside a totally insane persons head. Some of it is sheer research and time spent in the trenches dealing with them, but some of it is shit that I can completely identify with and even appreciate (so gross) as a survival instinct.

I have spent far too much time revisiting my past lately and looking at it with some different perspective, but mostly the same perspective. Who I am, my core personality, has never changed. Yesterday I was braced for and then asked this question:

Friend: So…where are you in your head now?
I am going to ask a weird yet serious question

Me: hmmm currently i am in a good place
it has changed so rapidly for the past several weeks

Friend: Who is Eric? Who do you see yourself to be? If you could strip away the damage from the parents, which led to more damage from a lot of other people…who is at the core of you?

Me: whoa…
I dunno
(excerpt removed)
I’ve just been this thing cruising around
trying to survive

Will you look at that? Seems like a pretty fucking important question to be able to answer.

I write so much shit it is ridiculous. I’m going to share a paragraph I started a while ago and just abandoned.

“Wow… You ever drink too much coffee? It makes you shake… a little sweat can bead on the forehead, your thoughts race. Your fingers or your mouth, depending on your medium, struggle to keep up. I kinda feel like my brain is redlining and I didn’t drink any coffee. This happens to me sometimes. Sometimes for months at a time. This is what I often imagine ‘mania’ feels like. I don’t know. I have sat and looked at least four white coats in the face and told them I thought I was bipolar. All four of them were like, naw… Now, you guys know the things that interest me. I’m not tossing that dx around like most regular people who say anyone with any sort of erratic behavior must be “bipolar”. I know exactly what it is. I’ve interacted with people who have it. I’ve seen it severely disable people. I’ve never really had the downside of it though. So I’m kind of forced to agree with the doctors.”

I WAS manic for a second there. I felt so good. In 169 words it was gone again. I type fast.

“Where are you at in your head?” “Who is Eric” (I dunno if I ever said my real name on here)

Those are two questions that only a person who cares about you would think to ask.

My head is a swirling, buzzing, endless stream. Sometimes it rushes like rivers and carves out chunks of the earth and changes direction. Sometimes life flourishes and sometimes the water recedes and everything dies. I can only answer that question in the moment.

“Who is Eric?” though is quite different. I find it alarming that when I was asked that question the whole water works shut down like a hydrant at the mercy of a monkey wrench. There’s just darkness there. I find it further alarming that since 2009 I have been encouraged to pursue the answers to that exact question. Work on myself. Distance myself from co dependant relationships. Seek out a counselor to help me stop shaking. Start sleeping. I have. I did and I will continue to do so. But still, once my name is uttered finishing that particular sentence… its just emptiness.

I honestly don’t know. I went from little kid on a bike, to junky, to parent. I’ve spent my whole life in phases where thinking about yourself or looking at your wants/desires/dreams was not even on the spectrum. I’ve spent hundreds and thousands of hours exploring those transitional phases and why I became this way. I’ve concluded that there are no uniform rationalizations for it. Everyone is different. All that I DO know and take ownership of is that, my goal here in this lifetime is to just not be shitty. Just don’t be shitty. Don’t tell people shit you don’t mean. Because in the end you find yourself alone. Drowning. Or on fire and not in a heavy metal, flames rule kinda way.

I am the motherfucker who will help you figure out who you are. I need to surround myself with people who can help me solve my own puzzle, not throw in fucked up pieces while I’m trying to assemble the frame.