NOTE: If you are easily offended by offensive things then please go somewhere else. I suggest or, you wuss!


Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Fifty Mile Couch (reprise) ...

... I don't like being alone. I especially don't like it when Natasha goes out and I stay home alone, like tonight. But, sadly, it's necessary. We're so broke that I'll actually agree to stay a few random nights alone while my wife goes out and makes some money. I don't want to, but I have to. Biting the bullet. That's just how it's got to be. It's hard, you know? It's just hard. I don't do alone too well.

Plus I've been really frustrated at work lately. I've been working my ass off doing two to three people's jobs because the employees that are supposed to be mine keep ending up everybody else's but mine. So I'm left essentially all alone to cover their job as well as mine. I think I have an ulcer now. It popped up sometime today at work. It's like a small yappy dog is biting my left side. Yay me!

You want to know how rough I've had it lately?



Yeah. That's when you know that I'm doing rough, when I shave. Sure I'll think up some smart ass answer as to why I shaved, like I offered my facial hair as a sacrifice to the god of hives or something like that, but that's all bullshit. I shave when I'm depressed, usually.

It's on nights like this that my 1gig iPod shuffle can read my mind ...

Marti Webb: Tell Me On a Sunday

Beatles: And I Love Her

Gnarls Barkley: Just a Thought

Beck: Do You Realize (Flaming Lips)

Pink Floyd: Mother

Jamiroquai: Virtual Insanity

Raconteurs: Together

Greg Kihn Band: The Break-Up Song

Tears for Fears: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

The Kooks: Crazy (live Gnarls Barkley cover)

Beatles: Strawberry Fields Forever

Madonna: Live to Tell

REM: The Great Beyond

The Format: 1,000 Umbrellas

Aggro 1: Falling Away In The Wind (Kansas VS Korn)

Bobby Womach: Across 110th Street

John Lennon: God

The Eels: Going to Your Funeral (part one)

Weezer: Island in the Sun

... and it is on nights when I find myself alone, nights like this one right here, when something truly magical happens at my house. You see, whenever Natasha goes out and I'm all alone at home our couch magically transforms from a small shitty little couch into a big, lonely, fifty mile long couch. Suddenly I am all alone on a couch that stretches out fifty miles long in every direction. I sit there, drink my pints of Labatt Blue, listen to my psychic iPod, and watch the same DVDs over and over again.

And believe me when I say that in the last few years, I have had many a night sitting here on the fifty mile couch.

I guess that tonight is different from all those long, heartbreaking nights back in the oh-4our because now at least I'm sharing the fifty mile couch with a snoring little mexican angel named Isabela. That makes me feel a little bit better. But still, it's always hard, these nights on the fifty mile couch. I haven't had a proper fifty mile couch night since way back summer oh-4our. I remember I was eating a microwavable pizza and switching between my bootleg of "Let It Be" and one of the most graphically disgusting holocaust documentaries ever created.

The only smile that night came from my debate: which is worse, seeing thousands upon thousands of dead jewish corpses ... or seeing Paul McCartney being a conceited fucking douchebag?


I fucking hate fifty mile couch nights.

And yes, with every passing pint of Labatt Blue that passes through my throat, the less I seem to care.

Wow. Hell yeah. Here's to hoping that the rest of the night is as happy and as dizzy as I am right now ...

MF Doom: Blunt Drunk

Link to an awesome flash video for the awesomely depressing James Big Ego song "Cautionary Tale"

Young MC: Bust a Move

"Weird Al" Yankovich: Alternative Polka (long live geekdom)

Strange Things Inside My House, Part Two ...

... a lost dog poster I found on a lightpole in Chandler, Arizona in March. It struck my eye so much that I made my wife pull over so that I could yank it off the pole and take it home with me. There's something about it that makes me love it so much.

Harry Potter with big fat mexican moustache.

My massive portrait of Stephen King, taken from the walls of a Barnes and Noble, that currently takes up most of the wall behind my computer despite the fact that I do not particularly like him or his books.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Strange Things Inside My House, Part One ...

... my autographed picture of John Inman, the gay guy from the British sixties department store comedy show "Are you Being Served?"

... my 2006 Douglas, Arizona calendar, capturing all the fun and excitement of Douglas, Arizona. (NOTE: the picture on the front of the calendar is in fact downtown Douglas.)

... a christmas-themed Bart Simpsons riding his skateboard on top of my fridge and in front of a huge pack of cat food, all for no reason whatsoever.

Please note: this is part one of what is currently projected as a sixty-seven part series. So buckle up.

Monday, May 29, 2006

The Galindo Family Visits the Sacramento County Fair ...

SHOCKINGLY Violent Baby Pictures (not for the faint of heart) ...

... these pictures are show the brutal aftermath of the highly anticipated, long awaited hardcore receiving match between Isabela Galindo and "Pimpin" Jesse Cee of the B.S.O. The stipulations of the match, made by GVWA general manager and the Secretary of the Interior during the Harding Administration who was responsible for the infamous Teapot Dome scandal Mr. Albert B. Fall was that the loser of the match had to leave town.

Jesse lost.

People ask me, is the GVWA ever coming back? I say, maybe. There's still a lot of action to be had in my mind. So Maybe. Maybe soon.

Sorry that you lost, Jesse.

The Homosexual Nature of One of Marvel's Most Villianous Villians ...

... all the other goblins in goblin school used to pick on the Green Goblin on account of the bright pink purse that he would carry with him wherever he went. "MAN PURSE, MAN PURSE, NORMAN HAS A MAN PURSE!" they would all chant, making Norman cry and cry and cry. One day all the bigger goblins threw Normal into a dumpster, took his man purse and opened it up. They were shocked to find that there was nothing in there but maxi pads, pictures of Heath Ledger ripped from magazines, and a shitload of pumpkin bombs. They left Norman alone from that day on but not out of fear. Out of pitty.

Still to this day when the Green Goblin is flying on his glider high above the rooftops of New York City trying to kill that hideous Spider-Man creature, all he's thinking about is Butch Goblin, Ox Goblin, Chet Goblin and all the other goblins that picked on him at goblin school and how one day soon those bastards will pay.

Saturday, May 27, 2006


... so we went to the county fair, and just to let you know you haven't lived until you've placed a bet on one of Cook's racing pigs of Galt, and while we were there I saw some worry dolls for sale and I bought them for Emerald. I had them when I was a kid and, being the only brown kid in a suburban white neighborhood, not to mention a nerdy four-eyed one, I had a hell of a lot to be worried about. I used them a lot, my worry dolls, whispering my worries to them at night and placing them under my pillow so that when I was asleep, so the legend goes, they could take away all my worries. Well, hmmmmm .... actually, come to think of it, I also used to carry around one or two mexican worry stones, too. Wow, I had a lot of issues as a child. This all probably set me up for a lifetime of paranoia and wishy-washiness as an adult. WELLLLLLL, apparently something was lost in the translation of the worry doll legend because Emerald is absolutely freaked the hell out by these things. "NO, DADDY! I NEVER WANT TO USE THEM! EVER!!!" Her eyes bug out, she gets all frightened. She is incredibly vehement about her never wanting to ever use them ever, period, end of story. I think that she thinks that while she's sleeping that these little alien demon monster things are going to literally come alive and kill for her. And I absolutely hate myself for thinking that's cute as fuck.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Coleridge returns in "Coleridge 3: Beautiful Coleridge" ...

YES! It's the sequel you've all been waiting for! Coleridge, the lipstick-wearing eunich boy returns for his greatest adventure yet!

Here, for all you Coleridge-heads, is a detailed timeline of exactly what you can expect from Coleridge's latest exciting adventure ...

0:01 - this time around, Coleridge's awesome, fun-loving femi-daddy wastes no time in getting to the action, skipping the opening credits and starting right off the bat with his son's penis.

0:30 - gratuitous underwear footage (for the chickssssss).

1:00 - Coleridge shows off his fat ass dancing skeelz on playa-hatin' niggaz and all you sucka mcs and mad whack chickenheads.

1:10 - Coleridge falls on head.

1:40 Coleridge jumps off chair and falls on head ... who is this kid, fuckin' Steve-O? No, nonono, sorry, that's me going too far. Everyone knows Steve-O from Jackass doesn't show his penis off as much as Coleridged does.

2:05 - OMG ... MATCHING Hawaiian shirts?!?!?!?!?!

2:50 - more nudity.

2:57 - jumping on the bed in his underwear. Wow. I now fear for Coleridge's safety. I really do. Show me on the doll where he touched you.

3:06 - it is here, during the end credits, that I realize that I am so going to hell or sued or something when femi-daddy finally realizes what I'm doing with their home movies ... but there's no way I can't NOT show this one. It's his greatest adventure yet!


Steve the Confused ...

... I have no clue what's going on today.

Here's my usual day off ... Emerald wakes me up gently somewhere between 7:30 and 8:30 by pulling on my feet and quietly saying "C'mon daddy, wake up!" We watch Clifford magically go from a big red dog to, an hour later, a small red puppy. We watch retarded dragons fag around in dragonland. We watch a new show "It's a Big, Biw World" wherein a stoned hippie sloth fucks around with a bunch of muppets in a giant semi-computer generated rainforest tree, ve-e-e-e-e-ery strange shit, but Emerald and I have fun. Around noon I make a huge pizza and by that time Natasha and Isabela are awake. We stay up, play video games, talk, and my iPod, which can read my mind, plays a mellow mix of day off music from Tom Petty, Beatles, Sebadoh, John Lennon, Ben Folds, PJ Harvey, Townes Van Zandt, just to name a few. We take a walk. We drink coffee. And we sit around talking about how much we love each other.

And we dance. We sing and we dance. Oh how we dance.

Today I have no idea what's going on. Only a few days ago Natasha informed me that she was going to go on a field trip to the county fair with Emerald's cousin, not that Deinna deserves to have my wife go because Deinna is a horrid mean evil devil brat from hell. But Natasha left at eight, gave me a page of instructions to do when she left. Then she sprinted off in true Natasha fashion and I fed the baby. I thought Emerald was missing. Turns out she was just next door and nobody told me. That was ten seconds of absolute fear.

Then once I got the baby to bed, Natasha RETURNS, telling me that I now have to drive her back to the school so that I can go back home and later take the car and the kids to the county fair and meet her by the bear at noon. The whole trip there she's giving me even more instructions. All I know for sure is that I have no idea what's going on.

"Northern Song" by The Beatles played as I drove home. I've never related to that song more so than I do right now. Today is a Northen day.

Here's some music from the fucking Wind Clan ...

Mungo Jerry: In The Summertime

The Raconteurs: Together

Wilco: Hotel Arizona

Eels: Old Shit/New Shit (I would so loooove to see then June 1st in Sacramento if I wasn't borderline broke)

The Kooks: Crazy (live acoustic Gnarls Barkely cover)

Margot & the Nuclear So and So's: Skeleton Key (an amazing new band that I highly reccomend, so here's some more ...)

Quiet as a Mouse

Vampires in Blue Dresses

Dress Me Like a Clown

Thursday, May 25, 2006


... because of the mention from my friend and work companion Michael Burns, who WOULD be the person who noticed this kind of shit, I have now fixed the typo that was previously on the Megan/Dale Schornack t-shirt available on my slightly bizarre merchandise site. It has now been fixed, thank you Mister Burns, and now the buying of this limited edition piece of frightening collectibe nostalgia can commence.


Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Two Films About the Same Thing ...


Here's the summer blockbuster action movie one ...

... and here's the tearjerking drama oscar buzz one ...

... and does anybody know of a job that's available now where they pay good and I wouldn't have to do three people's jobs?

Let me know! It's been a long time since I wanted to find a job.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Viva Schornack (T-Shirt Now Available) ...

... about 40% of the news anchors you see on Sacramento television news have come from Phoenix, Arizona. And it is creepy as fuck. One of those people was Mister Dale Schornack.

My parents would talk to me over the phone freaking out about how all the news people used to be from Arizona but I would just laugh at them and chalk it up to crazy parents talk. But when I moved here, damned if I didn't see Dale Schornack and begin to agree with my parents. He used to work the weekends on channel 64 news. He had this demeanor that screamed tired but upbeat middle ages serious white businessman but with a funny side. I loved Dale Schornack in Phoenix and despite the creepy "Island of Misfit Phoenix News Anchors" vibe in Sacramento, I really liked the fact that the Schornack was in Sacramento now.

I'm all about the Schornack.

Here's where it gets funny.

They were doing a bland, shitty, nothing new "investigative" report on myspace, which is as relevant as doing an "Investigative" report on teens going to "raves" and doing this new street drug called "extasy." I would have changed the channel after Boston Legal but the baby was asleep on my chest and I had lost the remote.

Well, the general thesis of the stupid piece was that teens are using myspace to get drunk and have sex and find drugs. And during it, they showed all these pages from myspace with faces blurred out and all that. There were only two faces that weren't blurred out and one of them was my work friend Megan, one of the most loving, caring, innocent people I know.

So now, in my mind, although I know for a fact that she is happy and peaceful and altogether lightheartedly cool, Megan is a drugged out crackwhore who fucks anything that walks.

Why, you might ask?

Because Dale fucking Schornack told me so. That's fucking why.

I trust News Channel Ten more than I do Megan. Sorry, Megan, but it's the truth. I'm shooting here. I trust my heart in Schornack. He's never let me down before.

I love Megan and all, and any woman who has a frighteningly intense knowledge of professional wrestling is a woman that I want to rub up against, but when was the last time that Megan gave me traffic updates or told me the latest American Idol news? Huh? NEVER! That's when. And Dale fucking Schornack does that shit every day.

So, I made a t-shirt about it.

And you can but it right here.

And here are two other shirts I've recently made available to buy ... there's the unappreciated at work t-shirt and there's the jet black Ed Wood 3:16 shirt a la "Stone Cold" in 1997.

And, as always, there's our best seller, the cheap ass Ed Wood savior t-shirt, nice and simple and cheap ass hell.

If you've got some spare change lying around your modest bungalow in the hills, help a brother out and buy a shirt or two. All the proceeds will once again be going directly into the "Steve Galindo Wants to Afford KFC Sometime Before He Dies" fund.

Monday, May 22, 2006

A Bitch in Retrospect ...

... it's like the fates are punishing me for being happy, for having happy children and a happy wife and an overall drama free happy life. They're punishing me by constantly throwing me random people, complete strangers, whose job it is to completely FUCK with me.

This is yet another one of those stories, although it took me a while to realize how horrible of a situation it was. It took me a few days to get pissed off about it.

I was at Albertson's on Mother's Day with my wife and we were buying my prerequisite day off bounty of sugar and alcohol. Now, I was sick at the time. I couldn't properly breathe for like a whole week straight. I remember on tuesday or wednesday finally being able to beath. It was like my body did a week's worth of backstocked breathing in three hours, I was so damn dizzy. So I was sick and as such I was coughing up shit all over the place. I wasn't feeling too hot.

We were at the self checkout and this white trash nasty chick, the type of woman that's so white trash that she looks like she pees dust, she walks past us and with a coy toothless smirk she says "Smoke another one!"

Laughing, I told her I was sick. Chuckling, my wife told her that I has asthma and a cold and that I don't smoke. This woman didn't care what we had to say. She was dome chiming in her random diss at a total stranger. She just went to her checkout and bought her stuff. Natasha was pissed instantly. Me? It took me a few days to realize that this woman was a dumb fucking crack whore and that I should have slit her idiot white bitch whore throat.

With every passing day I lose more and more faith in mankind. It hurts. From my neighborhood to my work to the store to driving home, I'm constantly filled with people who are after me. I have almost no faith in mankind save for my daughters and my wife and maybe Marisa. Everyone else I'm unsure of, esepcially after a week of racist moms and bitches making fun of me at the supermarket and bums threatening to kill me when I go pee.

This is how people get that condition where they are afraid to leave their house. And that's really sad.

I fucking hate people.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Why you should be loving on The Format ...

The Format is an incredible band from Tempe, Arizona and they are one of the greatest bands out there today. I accidentally stumbled onto them during a frighteningly homesick period of time about two years ago when I would buy a cd just because the band was from Phoenix. I heard my share of crap music but it was worth it to find The Format. They have a new album coming out this summer and here's some tracks and demos from it ...

1,000 Umbrellas (acoustic demo)

Pick Me Up (demo)

The Compromise (demo)

Wind That Blows (demo)

She Doesn't Get It (demo)

Now ... here's the thing ... The Format, much like a less pussy versions of Dashboard Confessional, is currently known for being very moody and very acoustic and very young and very shaggy, a sort of band that when you go to one of their shows there's a large amount of teenage girls bouncing and singing along to every single song. Good music, all in all, and you get a good sense of that with the demos.

But the two tracks that appear next off of their new album ... makes them sound an awful lot like Queen.

And that's a tit bit frightening.

Dog Problems

Time Bomb

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Racism, Bitch Mom, Panda Sex and the Pain (and joy) of Storytime at My House ...

... this is a story about my work.

Now, I try really hard not to talk about work here. I vaguely try as much as I can without any effort to make this blog seem somewhat semi-professional and in doing so I try to stick to funny stories and observations and lecherous raconteur tales from my life and my past, as well as a few daddy moments of weakness when I show off pictures of my kids. And some naughty bits. I try not to touch too much on work. Work talk is boring, usually, and I really don't like reading that crap on somebody else's online diary. Yeah, I know your job sucks, dude. Join the club. It ain't nothing new that I haven't heard before, you know?

But I have to mention what happened to me today. It's a story of anger and racism and tears and happiness. Yeah there's some happiness. I just had to work at it to get there.

Now, being a brown man such as myself ...

... it is incredibly difficult for me, as well as it must be for all people who don't have blonde hair and blue eyes and white ivory skin, NOT to take every negative interaction with somebody as a racist interaction. Someone treats you like shit at the Hollywood Video? Was that person a racist? Well, probably not. People who work at video stores are young douchebags and therein lies the problem - is it a racist incident or are you just dealing with an asshole?

That is the catch-22 that all people of a non-white race deal with every day of their lives.

After years and years of dealing with intense Arizona white christian elderly republican mormon white trash racism of the dirtiest kind, I had worked myself into a comfortable position here in Sacramento amongst the intense amount of asians and russians here, to a point where I sometimes forget that I have brown skin and long hair and impressive fingernails and a very mexican moustache.

I forget that I'm mexican, I've been so americanized.

But recently, and I'm talking about the last eight to twelve months here, I have slowly but steadily been noticing more and more blatant moments of racism between myself, bright eyed and bushy tailed and eager to help people at work, and the white yuppie middle aged bastards that I help ...

- women holding their purses with deer-in-headlights eyes and a fierce death grip the moment I walk past them

- people asking me for help ... IN SPANISH ... and I don't speak a fucking lick of it

- I ask someone for help, they say no, then ten seconds later go ask cute little Lisa for help (substitute any nice looking white person for Lisa)

... but today was the worst, the absolute 100% worst bit of racism that I've have ever experienced in five years that I have been living here, an incident that upset me so much so that I actually left work two hours early because I was so pissed off over all of it.

Now, as anyone who reads this thing on a semi-regular basis already knows, I take my twice weekly storytimes ve-e-e-e-ery seriously ...

I don't get a stage anymore. My friend Greg, he's going to be on Days of Our Lives this wednesday and I am eternally jealous. I almost wish I hadn't signed him up without his knowledge to that gay bondage website in '95 but I digress. The last play I was in was Bleacher Bums back in Phoenix, for which I was paid in subs, pot and a few hundred dollars, my biggest payday so far. I used to be in a few plays a year, a whole bunch of stand up, I was all over the place trying to gain a spotlight anywhere I could.

Now all I have left is my tiny little stage and my storytimes and my regular kids who spend an hour or two a week listening to me ad-lib to children's books. So I take it extremely seriously and personally. When one of my fellow employees told me about all the businessmen who have complained about the noise level during storytime, I got so upset that it ruined the next two days for me. When two eight year old little brats who were dropped off in kids while their mom read religious books started making fun of me and saying "Bo-o-o-oring" during a story, I stood up and told them to leave the store. When they told me the didn't want to leave, I told them to just be quiet and listen. Two moms clapped at me for that. I love storytimes. It validates the rest of my job.

First off, I made the announcement IN the children's section. I shouldn't have done that. I usually do the announcement in the manager's office or in receiving. But today I did it in my department. There were nine families in kids before my announcement. When I was doing it, the families got excited, talked amongst themselves, got a look at me, and promptly dragged their kids out of the store. Three minutes after the announcement and the section was empty.

I had six kids show up for storytime.

Four of them - blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect little kids - sat down with their father and were just so incredibly excited for storytime. They were jumping up and down and laughing. They were so excited. As I started going over the schedule, the mom came in. Not seeing me, I heard her say "OOH, are they having storytime?" Then, after seeing me, she quickly and angrily said "NO, nonono, we are NOT staying for this, not with ... him. No, no ..." and dragged the kids out by their arms. The kids were crying and kicking the whole time, screaming that they wanted to stay, but the mommy said "No, not with that guy, no, we need to finish shopping" and yanked them out of storytime.

The two remaining kids were excited, more for the treasure box than anything, but once I started the first book one of them said "I want to hear storytime but could you wait? I want to check out some books" and promptly left, checking out sticker books and junior Star Wars novels.

And there I was, alone in kids, a possible victim of racism, not as exciting as an Over the Hedge sticker book, all alone. It was my first storytime no show since 2004. And it hurt like fuck.

I waited around, books and treasure box in my arm, waiting for a bunch of kids to run up saying "Sorry we're late, Mr. Steve" but I began to give up 25 minutes of nothing. Just then two girls came in, running in to the section, jumping up and down. I hoped to god that they were for storytime. I asked the grandmother if she needed any help, hoping to hear "Yeah, we're here for storytime." Instead, she told me she was looking for a skinny paperback dictionary with pictures and big print, the one she saw at Costco. When I showed her every fucking dictionary we had, she started giving me shit that we didn't have what Costco had.

I was trying not to cry. That says a lot about me. I'm vaguely ashamed of that but its true. I tried my damnedest not to start bawling my eyes out.

After talking with Nicolas, he made me realize that I was feeling sick (wink wink) and I went home two hours early. No point in me being in an empty section. I frightened everyone away.

At seven pm tonight, I did a three audience storytime, the smallest audience I've had since 2003. But it was still the best one I've ever done. The audience was my two daughters and my wife. I read three books, got the audience to be loud and scream just like at my regular storytimes, and I even got to be dirty a few times, something I definitely CANNOT do at work.

It made me feel better that my family let me do storytime at home. A tuesday or a saturday without storytime just wouldn't feel right. I take storytime seriously and it really hurt that no one came. Well, technically six kids came but no one stayed. I take my job seriously and part of my job is entertaining and when I'm not able to do that then I take it really really hard. And my wife understands all that. I love her so much. I love her for letting me do storytime at home. That really rocked. It was my best storytime ever.

It's now almost 11pm. I'm on the net and drinking my Labatt and she's rocking whiskey and coke. And I still feel upset about storytime but I feel great now that I did storytime at home. Or maybe that's the Labatt talking.

By the way, I got the first picture from this post by typing "panda sex" into google images. And on page four of the panda sex results is a picture of Vin Diesl. Why, you ask? It's my theory that his birth is the result of sexual activity between a human and a panda. If that's untrue, then prove me wrong!

Or, again, maybe that's the Labatt talking.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Speaking of the Stupidity of Mankind ...

... I had heard this story in passing a few times but just assumed that it was some sort of urban legend. I went to, an incredible urban legend site that debunks most urban legends and is a great place to go to when you smell bullshit on the web. Take, for instance, that e-mail that Nicolas at work received about a giant twelve foot, six inch bear or the one that I'm constantly hearing about how Mister Rogers used to be a sniper for the army, both of which are bullshit, by the way. So I figured that this mickey-doos story was bullshit but snopes didn't help me at all. I was almost ready to give up on the quest to find out if this story was legitimate when all of a sudden Primetime Live ran a story about it last November. Here's the basis ... this guy calls a McDonald's claiming to be a police officer. He talks to the manager and describes one of the workers there, a young teen girl, and says that the girl is wanted for shoplifting. The young eighteen year old girl, regularly goes to church, never done anything wrong ever, denies it, starts crying, but the stupid manager fully believes that this guy is a police officer and that this woman that she's known for a long time may have committed a crime. The "officer" tells the manager that they have two choices, either he can go down there to the restaurant and search her right there in the restauraunt OR the manager can search her right there over the phone. The manager agrees to search her, finds nothing, so the officer tells her to strip the young girl. Right there, any normal person would say no, but this dumb bitch (pictured above) goes on to strip the young female employee, strip her down to her panties and bra and then, under orders from the stranger over the phone, strips her completely naked. Yes. But her stupidity doesn't stop there because this woman, and how the hell did she become a manager, proceeds to "search" her via other, nastier ways because the guy over the phone told her to. This thing goes on for hours, literally fucking HOURS. And eventually, sodomy becomes involved. Can you believe that? I mean, can you believe that?

What's sad in this story is NOT that the guy calling is pretending to be a police officer but that the fucking dumb ass bitch manager actually BELIEVES the guy over the phone and, without any proof other than he "sounded" like a cop, strip searches a seventeen year old employee. How fucking stupid can this bitch be? She should be killed for falling for that bullshit, as should the 60 (!?!?!?!?!) other people all across America that fell for this crap. How could people be so stupid? Mankind is hopeless. I hate existence beyond the walls of my house. God. I have everyone.

To read the full story, click here ...

To watch a news video of the story that features disturbing surveillance camera video, click here ...

Shirley Temple Will Kill You (and proof that Arkansas sucks ass)...

Twentieth Century Fox is recalling some 750,000+ Shirley Temple DVDs because they contain these cute little charm bracelets that just so happens to contain large amounts of lead.

And I do believe that I am an asshole for finding that funny. Shirley Temple, once America's childhood sweetheart, now a harbinger of poisonous death. That's just hilarious to me.

Jesse once told me that my road to hell was going to be paved with teddy bears. I have never has someone explain my damnation so perfectly.

Speaking of damnation, here is a story that just broke on the Associated Press newswire that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that people from Arkansas are fucking idiots ...

Associated Press
May. 18, 2006 07:15 AM

BENTONVILLE, Ark. - A Wal-Mart clerk noticed something familiar when a customer went through the checkout line - a credit card from her own wallet, which had been stolen two days earlier, police said.

Ashley Dawn Dover repeatedly tried to pass a credit card through an electronic scanner at the store Tuesday to pay for $120 worth of merchandise, Police Chief James Allen said Wednesday.

Allen said the clerk then offered to try the card and noticed it was her own.

"The clerk looks up at her and says 'This is my stuff and I want it back,' " Allen said. "The suspect reaches in her purse, hands everything over and then runs out the door."

The credit card was stolen from the cashier's car, one of two vehicles broken into at Wal-Mart on Sunday. A camera, CDs and a purse were taken from the cashier's vehicle.

Allen said Dover is accused of using the clerk's checks and credit cards at several different locations in Bentonville and Rogers before police heard the report from the Wal-Mart checkout clerk.

Dover, 20, was arrested as she drove away from the store, Allen said. She was charged with breaking and entering, fraudulent use of a credit card and forgery, all felonies, along with two misdemeanor drug charges. She was being held in the Benton County jail Wednesday awaiting a bond hearing.

How sad is that? Is our society becoming dumber? It has to be. That is so incredibly sad.

Really, it's like each and every day I learn something that restores my lack of faith in humanity. It's like I live in this cave now ever since Isabela was born, and I am completely detached from friends and family (especially that) and movies and pop culture. I see modern life from the outside. Inside here life is good and funny and happy and occasionally sexy ... but on the outside is all this patheticness and stupidity.

I hate KCRA Channel 3 News at Ten. I watched that entire mind-numbing news broadcast last night because they kept announcing "Take your kids to a museum featuring the muppets, more later" and I kept watching and watching and watching because Emerald loves the muppets and its very hard to keep a child on the muppets in this day and age ... and it was the absolute LAST story ... and it was about a muppet museum IN WASHINGTON DC!?!?!?!

You bastards! You dirty fucking bastards! I watched that entire fucking broadcast because you led me to believe that there was a muppet museum somewhere in Sacramento and it turns out that it was all just a sixty second throwaway look at a museum all the way across the fucking COUNTRY?!?! You fucking cocksucking whores! I hate them all. Edie Lambert in channel three is a fugly bitch and with her starnge looking nose she looks like the Chickenlady from Kids in the Hall, the bitch. Fuck all y'all, seriously. I am STILL upset about that, as you can tell.

Here's some free music for you, courtesy of the mothafuckin' Wind Clan ...

Beck: MTV Makes Me Wanna Smoke Crack (his first EVER music release, taken from the record)

Prince: Partyman (from the 1st Batman movie)

The Raconteurs: Intimate Secretary

BTW, continue the adventure of a murderous Shirley Temple at!

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Jesus told me to tell you to rock the beads ...

--- Mary Bellers wrote:

> Hi,Reverend
> Thanks for creating time to listen to
> my problem...
> Before telling you my problem i'll like to tell you little about myself..I'm Mary Bellers by name and the only child of my parents.I was given birth to 26years ago..I lost my parents while i was 7yrs in an auto accident..It was an uncle from the UK
that came for me and took proper care of me..I live and study in the UK..I went to DMU(Demontfort University)Leceister city,Bedford for my graduate degree,i studied business administration and graduated as a business administrator last year..Let
me tell you about my love life.. My uncle never wants me to date any of the guyz in the Uk while i was in school,he's a strict uncle and says that they will endup jilting me and he never want me to get hurt by anybody..Few months after my graduation i was unable to secure a job for myself..I later got a job as a college teacher though the salary is nothing to write home about but what since there's no option i have to do it.I lost my uncle last year
and everything changed..
Its was a painful death because he's all i had..Before his death i have a man i'm chatting with online and he's from africa..He told me about africa and there resources...I asked him about the business and he told me that African Modelling materials is the best thing to sell now..I was interested but no money to start the business but after the death of my uncle and i was given some money that my uncle left behind after his death..I decided to trade with the money with the little money i had on me...I decided to start a business on my own by importing African Modelling matterials from african countries to europe for sales..I told the african friend and
he agreed to assist me on it since its my first time..
I bought an allround ticket due to the business i'm about to start..I left UK for nigeria late last year with all the money i've gathered to start the business..When i got to the nigerian airport i met the man i came to meet at the airport waiting for my arrival..We decided to lodge in an hotel throughout the period of our transactions,so we board a taxi from the airport taking us to the nearest hotel...Hun few miles away from the airport we had an accident which claimed the life of the driver immediately..We were rushed to the nearest hospital and the hospital management requested for a deposit before treatment could commence on us..My partner helped with $400 each and they commence treatment. It was about later that i discovered that my partner was unable to survive the accident...I'm getting better now and the management are requesting for the balance of the bill my partner paid for me..I was left with the management's laptop as a means of communication and i'm being charged for it.I've really tried but i have no one to beckon on for help..And without paying the bill i can't leave here because the management is with my travelling documents..And i have no money on me..
I just decided to tell you this maybe you can help me because you're the only one i have and wish to be with you because you really sound caring and nice to me,i'll be glad to have you and spend the rest of my life with you after helping me outta here with the balance of the bill because i need a man like you and won't mind relocating if you'll allow me to come to you. The total of the bill is $900,my ex-partner helped me with $400 with a balance of $500..So what is delaying me here and keeping me from being with the man of my dream is $500..I'm promising and assuring you that you won't regret helping me outta here.To contact the hospital management..There e-mail address is and phone number is 2348050244002. And the name of the doctor is Dr Tosin Seweje.It took me time to tell you this and please don't disappoint me..I'll be waiting for your reply..Bye
> Mary Bellers

Here, in its entirety, is my reply ...

Dearest Mary,
I have prayed long and hard about your plight.
I suggest selling beads on ebay.
Jesus told me that this was the divine path to take.
Don't question His logic lest you be cast in the fires.
By the way, how many times have you seen The Passion?
I've seen it three hundred times.
You haven't read Da Vinci Code, have you?
God hates the Da Vinci Code and its heathen lies.
He also hates gays and abortioners and jews.
Anyhoo, Jesus told me to tell you to rock the beads. So I'd get on that, lest he smote yon ass.
I'd send you money but Jesus says you're a whore.
He also says you probably don't exist.
Hey, don't get angry with me.
Take it up with Jesus.
So, bless this and praise something and all that.

The Blessed Reverend Steve.

How Many Time Must He Die for Noble ...

... I love my job.

I do. I love the fact that my job allows me to be a part of the community. I go to a store or to a movie and I get recognized as "Mr. Steve" the storytime guy. I love the fact that for two+ hours a week I get to hang out and read stories and ad lib and basically do all ages stand up comedy for groups of 15 to 35 kids, not to mention their parents who are usually laughing more than the kids. I love the fact that I'm so much of a local semi celebrity that the Arden mall has me do storytimes in the center of the mall once a year, on a stage, with a mic, in front of 100-250 kids, all loving me and laughing with me. I love the fact that I run a Harry Potter club that, with absolutely NO help from management or corporate or even the book's publishers, manages to attract 20 to 30 kids a month, all on account of my manic creativity. I love the leeway I get from management. When the new community relations person was hired she was specifically told not to fuck with me, which shows the sort of semi weight I pull.

I love my job.

With that being said, how many times must my life get threatened while I'm at work? Huh? And how sad is it that I even have to ask that?

Let me paint the story for you, life threatening number three for me in my four years working at this localtion ... after drinking 30+ ounces of coffee within a seven hour period, which is standard fare for myself, and after doing the work of two and a half employees due to bad scheduling, which again is standard fare, I decide to go to the bathroom. As I enter the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of a skinny young black guy with a white shirt hanging from the back of his jean shorts .. and he's washing his body in the sink.

This alone does not frighten me. I work in a neighborhood that reminds me of the cultural economics of downtown Phoenix where you have the Bank One Ballpark, the America West Arena, all these high class corporate behemoths ... and two blocks away, one of the biggest homeless shanties you've ever seen. My store is right next to a mall that serves wine in its food court and has valet parking ... and yet, right behind the Toys r' Us you'll see ten homeless guys sleeping on the floor drinking a 40 oz. and smoking pot openly right there out in the open.

So, needless to say, I've had my share of crazy homeless guys bathing in our bathroom. So that did not frighten me. I was a bit concerned that he was talking quietly to himself. But he looked really young and almost attractive and I thought he was going to be cool. I went and peed and he kept washing. Once I flushed and started walking to the sink to wash my hands, he did this little sprint into the bathroom stall, locked the door, and stopped talking to himself. Whatever, I thought. I washed my hands.

Right before I finished this guy KICKS the stall open, gets in my face, and starts cussing me out in an intensely frightening scene that in retrospect reminded me of when Vincent Schiavelli, the subway ghost that's teaching Patrick Swayze how to move stuff, snaps and starts yelling at him out of nowhere.

"What's your fuckin' problem, dog, huh? You fucking asshole, you fucking pussy, I'm gonna cut you you don't get off my back? Huh? Why you following me, huh? Imma fucking kill you, you fucking shithead, you fucking get of my back, huh? Why you following me?"

As calm as I can, I tell him I've never seen him before and I just came in here to pee. So he throws the door open even more and starts coming at me slowly, continuing his cussing at me for apparently "following" him, which is impossible. I mean, how can I follow him when I'm covering customer service and restocking the teen table and shelving books from other people's sections and answering phones and doing everything BUT work in my own department? So I walk out, still hearing the guy cussing me out at the top of his lungs as the door closed.

I tell my store manager, trying my hardest NOT to mention his ethnicity and DEFINITELY not saying the "N" word. She calls security and they escort him out. The security head, a hard old man with tattoos on his arms and a mobile home that he keeps parked in the store parking lot, comes back after they've chased him out so that he can talk to me. I go over the events with him and he tells me that my life threatener is a skitzo homeless guy that takes up box somewhere across the street. He explains how I did the right thing, then frightens me by telling me what we can do to take him down WHEN he comes back and threatens me AGAIN.

That was, sadly, not the first time I've been threatened at work.

Time number two happened the summer of oh-4our. Every day at 9:15 am for two weeks, this short but built and eye squinty and angry looking twentysomething guy, and when you picture him think of a mexican Taz circa ECW ...

... this guy would walk through the kids section dressed in a blue shirt and a tie and carrying a huge, and I mean comically HU-U-U-UGE duffle bag EVERY DAY like clockwork at 9:15 am. Strange as fuck. You could set your goddamn watch to mexican Taz, I swear to Wood!

Well, not trusting when older lonesome men walk through the children's department for seemingly no reason, I would always be at my desk doing work and every day like clockwork he would walk through kids and I would look at him, wondering what was up.

Then one day, as he walked past, he stopped. He threw his comically huge bad down and, like I was "Stone Cold" Steve Austin and he was the fucking Rock, like I was Cena and he was Triple H, like I was Hogan and he was the fucking Ultimate Warrior, he storms up to me, goes toe to toe, nose to nose, and starts cussing me out.

"What the fuck, huh, why you looking at me, huh, you fucking pussy, why you fucking looking me, huh, you wanna get your ass kicked, huh, you want me to fucking kill your ass, huh, why you looking at me?"

I wait a hard six seconds, probably way too long for someone who'se getting threatened, and I calm as hell say "I work here. This is my department. I help people who come in here. It's my job. I'm sorry if you think ..." and he gets a handfull of shelf and just throws all the books down, gives me the finger, picks up his bag, and tells me he'll be waiting in the parking lot for me.

That was time number two.

The first time, which was about a year after I moved here, was completely my fault. Alone and drunk and despondent, I got into an on again/off again/on again/off again/on again/off again/on again/off again/on again/off again relation with a married woman. That was me wanting someone to be with and her wanting anyone other that her husband.

It ended the fifth time, after a lot of broken promises and attempts to solve everything just to eventually end up with my heart broken repeatedly, with the angry husband bicycling, yes, I said BICYCLING to my work, calling me out in the middle of the street, throwing his bicycle down hard, threatening my life, wanting to fight with me right then and there. And although she treated me like shit, I've never been so greatful for a six foot, eight inch tall bulky, angry, pissed off female receiving manager, one that had my back and seemed to care about me, if only once.

That was all me. Well, mostly me. That was pretty much mostly my bad. I shouldn't have gotten in the relationship in the first place and I shouldn't have listened to the husband who repeatedly promised that he would leave us both alone and I shouldn't have listened to the woman who repeatedly told me she was comitted to me just to leave me for her.

The first time I was threatened at work, that was personal. But, the point is, I shouldn't even HAVE to say the words "The first time I was threatened at work ..." because that's the single most pathetic sentance I've ever typed here and it says a LOT about my work.

I love my job.

I really do.

I love the people I serve and the kids I entertain and the people I work with and my awesome, positive, attractive store manager and all the regulars that come in that I know and can talk with and all the people that work with me that I can joke with and joke about and make fun of, people that actually understand my crazy, manic, and incredibly offensive sense of humor. Hell, I was all set to move to Arizona and the main thing that made me change my mind was the faces I see every day, the friends and the crushes and the love I feel from that damn store.

But how many times must my life be threatened at work until I wise up and leave the store for a job that will appreciate me and pay me something higher than shit?

I don't know.

However, to end this post on a positive note, the Albertsons has restocked their Labatt pints. And, since I took the sign that said they were $0.99 and those lazy asses haven't made a new sign, I'm pretty much going to be the only person buying their entire stock of cheap ass canadian beer. I rock big fat monkey balls.


Sunday, May 14, 2006

The End of a (canadian) Era ...

... I am sad to say that Albertsons is stopping selling the pints of Labatt's Blue. I have in the past three years forsaken all other beers for this amazing, mind blowingly smooth and easy going beer made by canadian angels and sent down from canadian heaven to cheer up my dry, depressed mouth. It's like god in a can and it is, for a lack of a more heartfelt description, fucking rock ass.

So the news that they are stopping the selling of these works of genius has hit me pretty hard. We went to the Albertsons just now so that we could get some provisions for our Mother's Day evening ... taquitos, mudslides, chips, mini tacos (who knew that such a thing existed) and some good ass Labatt. But, alas, the sign saying "$0.99 CLEARANCE SALE" brought some tears to my mexican eyes. I bought the last two that they had in memory. It's sad, really sad. It is indeed the end of an era.

Needless to say, I took the sign.

Here's some music to make you feel better ...

The Format: Your New Name

Simple Minds: Don't You Forget About Me

Beatles: Your Mother Should Know

Special Guest: Emerald ...

... once again my four year old daughter Emerald wants to write on my blog. It's mother's day and we are hanging out, cleaning the house, watching The Office and ECW, playing together and letting mommy sleep in.

So, without further ado, here's Emerald ...



from emerald

... she wrote for like a half hour, typing fast and fake, just hen pecking the keyboard to death for like forever. And then she decides to erase it all and asks me how to type I love you. So there you go. Thank you Emerald for that amazing piece of knowledge.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Random Stuff ...

- my wife is naked on the couch and damn if she doesn't look hot as hell. She is the perfectly proportioned woman. She has the tastiest curves. And she's drinking some wine. That MEANS something 'round these here parts, wink wink. Just looking at her makes me want to fast forward two or three hours to when the littlest one falls asleep and it's just me and my wife and our dirty dirty minds.

- no matter what concert you go to, be it Toby Keith or Vince Gill or System of a Down or Los Lonely Boys, there will always be one guy there who is slightly drunk and can whistle with all the volume of a humpback whale being raped by Godzilla. And he will be right next to you. And he will whistle. The. Whole. Fucking. Concert. It's that fingers in the mouth whistling thing that 60% of white males know how to do and 10% of mexicans know how to do. And that's the fucking truth.

- I can't wait for E.C.W. to come back. In the book Hardcore Homecoming, wrestler Jerry Lynn gets upset over wrestling fans who yearn for an alternative to the WWE but don't bother to watch TNA on Spike. What he fails to realize is that TNA, although it is groundbreaking and revolutionary, is run by the Jarret family who just happen to be a bunch of fucking douchebags. I hate Jeff Jarret, not because he's a great bad guy but because he thinks he's shit on toast and yet he has earned absolutely ZERO respect from wrestling fans. He's a douche. I want to watch an alternative to wrestling that is NOT a Jeff Jarret cock sucking contest. That said, fuck TNA. ECW is the return of real professional wrestling and I for one cannot wait.

- my store manager is hot as fuck. Sad but true.

- work has made me think something up... is it wrong to know TOO MUCH about someone's personal life? And if it is, then how do you go about telling that person that you don't want to hear anymore of their heartbreaking freaky ass horror stories from the deep bowels of their horrible marriage? I don't think you can do it without coming off like an asshole.

- I just couldn't believe the season finale of The Office. WOW! I did not see that one coming. It just hit you like a fucking train coming out of nowhere. Wow, man. And if you missed it, here's the last three minutes for you ...

... America has been trying to rape ideas from English television for years and years and years ... Men Behaving Badly, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Big Brother, and the dead in the water Coupling. But we have yet to be fully 110% successful until The Office. The creators of the original show decided to stop the show after two seasons so that they could end on a high note, a decidedly quiet and polite British sort of thing that we asshole Americans can't comprehend. Our American version, however, didn't fully become popular until now, the end of the second season, so now OUR Office will be surpassing the original. Who the fuck knows what's going to happen from here on out? No one knows. And, as a sign of good faith, the original british creators have signed on to write an episode or two for the next season. That's awesome. I was the ONLY ONE at my work extolling the praises of that show when it first aired. Everyone else hated it. And now the rest of the world is slowly coming back to me. The Office rocks. Join us in our conquest of British comedy.

- I'm hopped up on cold medicine. AND I LOVE IT! FIESTA!

- I honestly and sincerely hope that Deborah Bell and all three billion sisters of hers are all doing good. I miss my Arizona days and thoughts of Arizona alywas stray to thoughts of her and her family. I really do mean it when I say I hope she's going well. She deserves great things. On Debby's myspace it says no drinking/no smoking. And I hope to god that's true. And I really hope that she's doing well, hasn't caught some horrible disease, and I hope she knows that I miss the fuck out of her and hope her life is good. These are the thoughts that eminate from the dirty whorebeast that is fucking myspace and its evil mutant power to help you find everyone that you've ever known EVER! It's a day to day fight, the whole NOT joining myspace. But, hey, I'm just taking it a day at a time.

- I called in sick for tomorrow. And FYI, yes, I am actually sick. So there.

- the other day when I came home from work my wife was asleep on the couch with the baby and Emerald was on the couch with a bathing suit on and ONCE I walked in the door she asked me if I wanted to go swimming with her. And I didn't. But the look on her face has the power to guilt Hitler for shit's sake, so I threw on some trunks and went swimming with her in the 2 1/2 foot pool that nana has in the backyard. And fuck me if I didn't have the most fun I've ever had swimming. It just reminds me that Emerald is becoming more and more like a regular person, a grown up, a human, and I am happy to say that if I wasn't her daddy then I would still like to hang out with her because she's cool and a ton of fucking fun. And that's awesome.

- here is a link to a big titty blog. It's good stuff.

That's about it. Life is good. Here's some free music for your ass ...

Michael Penn: No Myth

The Raconteurs: Steady As She Goes (acoustic)

Porno for Pyros: Pets

The Editors: Orance Crush (awesome cover, these guys are the balls)

Weezer: Island in the Sun

Sifl and Olly: The Panda Song

Friday, May 12, 2006

The Sign of a Good Employee ...

... my body only allows me to be sick on days off. That comes from working my ass off doing shitty customer service jobs for the last seven years. My body refuses to allow me to call in sick. If I call in sick, there's probably a 60% chance that I just don't feel like working. Either that or I'm death bed sick, like I am now.

So here's my symptoms ... I'm dizzy and tired, I've been sleeping all day, I have a nonstop runny nose, my head hurts like a movie hangover, I can barely eat, I can't breathe out my nose because it's so clogged and I'm sneezing every six seconds.

But, knowing the customer service skills that run through my blood, there is a 75% chance that I will feel absolutely fine in time for work tomorrow.

And that sucks ass, by the way.

Speaking of by the ways, this is my 336th post on this blog since 2002. That rocks ass. Hooray me.

The God of Bling ...

"My god is a god who wants me to have good things. He wants me to bling! He wants me to be the hottest thing on the block. The god I serve says 'Mary, you need to be the hottest thing this year and I'm gonna make sure you're doing that.' My god is the bomb."

-an actual quote in US magazine from musician
Mary J. Blige, proving to the world
that she is a stupid fucking cunt.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Music I'm (currently right now at this second) Into ...

...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead

A Fazmiliar Blue

Alkaline Trio

Armor for Aleep


Beastie Boys


Black Eyes Peas





dj BC

Eagles of Death Metal


Faith No More

Flip the Switch (wrote a song for my church)


Frank Sinatra


Grand Buffet

Jimi Hendrix

Led Zeppelin

Los Lonely Boys

MC Lars

MF Doom

My Daughter Emerald




Sergio Mendez

Seu Jorge


Stiff Little Fingers

System of a Down

Tribe Called Quest

White Stripes



Monday, May 8, 2006

The Return of Professional Wrestling ...

... in the early 1990s, professional wrestling was dying. The World Wrestling Federation was undergoing a massive steroid trial, a sexual abuse case, and its major babyface, Hulk Hogan, had just jumped ship to Ted Turner's World Championship Wrestling promotion, a relatively unknown and overlooked southern wrestling federation that was losing money left and right and was on the verge of bankruptcy.

The major problem with both these federations was that it was the 1990s, the world was changing, people's attitudes were changing, Kurt Cobain made a nation of teen sullen and the show COPS became a window to a brand new world of crack and wife beatings. The nation was getting grittier but in the world of professional wrestling the writing and characters were still firmly entrenched in the "Hulkster" 80s where the good guys told you to say your prayers and take your vitamins. Meanwhile the bad guys were atrocious comic book throwaways with horrible gimmicks.

This was a time of ferociously atrocious wrestling characters. Take for instance Oz. Before Kevin Nash became famous for creating the ECW-ish tag team "The Outsiders" which led to the foundation of the N.W.O., he was Oz, Ted Turner's way of showing the professional wrestling world that he owned the rights to The Wizard of Oz ...

... then there was a bad guy that was so bad (as in crappy bad) that he is now the stuff of legend. You probably know the character of Kane, the Undertaker's evil brother and now the star of the upcoming horror movie See No Evil. But back in the early 90s he was Dr. Isaac Yankem, an e-e-e-e-evil dentist. Yes. You read that right. He was an evil dentist.

... then there was MY personal favorite, Irwin R. Schiester, or in other words I.R.S. He was an evil accountant. Yes. That's right. An evil accountant. He had a buttoned down shirt with the sleeves ripped to show off his muscles. He would bring a briefcase with him which he would sometimes use to win. It was disgraceful to the world of wrestling. Joey Styles said it best just a while ago on WWF Raw. The sport of wrestling had become sports entertainment. And that is really sad.

But while The Repo Man wrestled The Patriot in the dying WWF, a small independent promotion called Eastern Championship Wrestling decided to do something that had up until that time had NEVER BEEN DONE in the world of wrestling ... they brought in tables, chairs, ladders, sexy women, fire, drinking, smoking, cussing, thumb tacks, sex, crude humor, violence, and they introduced the wrestling world to two brand new words: extreme and hardcore. They rechristened themselves Extreme Championship Wrestling and went balls out every night bringing the wrestling world what was missing: realism, violence, and fun.

Eventually WCW and the WWF gained viewers and money by outright copying ECW's style and stealing their biggest wrestlers ... Eddie Guererro, Taz, Raven, Rey Mysterio, The Sandman, Chris Jericho, The Dudley Boys. Suddenly WCW had all their cruiserweights and WWF was doing ECW hardcore and calling it the WWF "attitude" era. And using bullying muscle tactics, they ran ECW out of business and were purchased by the WWF, now called the World Wrestling Entertainment because of a lawsuit from the World Wildlife Federation.

Last year they decided to cash in on nostalgia by airing a pay per view: ECW One Night Stand. They expected it to be moderately successful. Instead it was a MAJOR success that made WWE take notice. They are in trouble. The 1990s are happening again. People who were once hardcore wrestling fans, people like myself, stopped watching a long time ago. It's boring, watching the same shit over and over again, watching them push these bastards and place them in atrocious storylines. It's pathetic. People aren't watching wrestling anymore because it's not wrestling. It's watered down crap. The realism is long gone. People are fed up. They want a revolution like the 90s all over again. They want something different.

So, guess what wrestling promotion is coming back full time later this year?

YES! Finally! Real professional wrestling is back! Get ready to love pro wrestling all over again. Dust off your foam fingers, make your signs for the stands, and wash all those wrestling t-shirts you bought in 1997. Get ready. Get set. Because it's back. It is back! ECW is back!

Here, to get you all ready for real professional wrestling, is Rob Van Dam versus Sabu for the ECW Television Title. Both these men will be back. Get Excited. It's real professional wrestling and it's coming back. I am geeking out hardcore about this. I can't wait and you should feel the same way, too ...