Before you went crazy
We held each other at the baseball game.
Now,
You scream in public
We watch the game in the basement
You are calm for all nine innings
Usually
There was the time you caught and then ate a brown mouse
Before you went crazy
We examined human nature
Now,
We discuss the transmitters in your soul
You think they are trying to steal it
You don’t really seem to know who they is
You always have many reasons why they want your soul, though
Sometimes,
you think I am they
Those are interesting nights
Before you went crazy
You dreamed of having children
Well,
You have 38 Cats
It’s OK
The cats keep you company when I run to the store
Plus,
I figure, it’s not as sad
when you accidentally strangle a cat
Before you went crazy
You absorbed nature like Whitman
You don’t like going outside anymore
Well,
Sometimes,
At Midnight,
When there is a full moon
You like to get on the roof and feed it
Fish sticks
Before you went crazy
I still remember
I hope you come back
But,
Before you went crazy
Is enough to keep me here
Keeping you
Out of the kitty litter
Before you went crazy
I loved you
I love you now
Still…
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Least Likely Things to Happen While Obama is President
- Gay sex scandal
- Supreme court nominations (by writing this, and the law of jinx, I just guaranteed that he will. You're welcome America. Sorry Scalia.)
- Republican party crumbles when that whole Jesus thing finally loses steam.
- The country shares a shameful wince when the president looks like an idiot next to a foreign dignitary.
- Telling Republicans to respect the office finally gets old.
- Your black friends still don't know who the president is.
- Obama excels in such a way that the country unifies in the peaceful pursuit of a common goal.
- People on the white house tour routinely comment on the over-abundance of mayonnaise on the complimentary sandwiches.
- Pretty much anything other than Armageddon
- Supreme court nominations (by writing this, and the law of jinx, I just guaranteed that he will. You're welcome America. Sorry Scalia.)
- Republican party crumbles when that whole Jesus thing finally loses steam.
- The country shares a shameful wince when the president looks like an idiot next to a foreign dignitary.
- Telling Republicans to respect the office finally gets old.
- Your black friends still don't know who the president is.
- Obama excels in such a way that the country unifies in the peaceful pursuit of a common goal.
- People on the white house tour routinely comment on the over-abundance of mayonnaise on the complimentary sandwiches.
- Pretty much anything other than Armageddon
Monday, February 23, 2009
Interviewing the Enemy
I really want you to know that this interview did not come easily. I assume that many of you will read it and be disgusted that I entertained the man in conversation, much less did nothing to kill him.
You are right to think that way. All I can say is that I had to weigh my odds of successfully killing him and my duty as a journalist.
I will be forever changed by the experience but I will comfortably live with the choice I made. The world needs to read this interview. Comment on my blog.
Osama Bin Laden had me picked up at the airstrip. I was driven to his home, somewhere in western Kentucky, in a purple and gold stretch limo. I was happily surprised when the driver did not place a gag in my mouth after binding and blindfolding me. Riding in the trunk was actually my idea. Have you ever smelled these guys?
We drove for at least 90 minutes. When I was finally able to open the trunk lid there was no one around. The car, still running, was parked in a large bush bordering the back parking lot of an A&W Root Beer Factory. I cut myself through the foliage and stumbled into the factory. The creak of the door snapped the towels of about thirty guys with AK-47’s. Osama and Hakim Aal Aklam (Osama’s press secretary who initially contacted me about the interview) never lost focus of their intense debate. I had no idea what they were saying, of course, but it was a heated disagreement none the less.
Twenty-five minutes later, suddenly, Osama addressed me.
O: What’s your name? You look Jewish.
Seth Millican
O: That’s a Heeb name if I ever heard one. You some kind of Scottish Kike?
No, not at all. Well, it is, I mean commonly, the name that is, Seth is from the Old Testament. But, I am not Jewish.
I am just American.
(coughs and clearing throats)
O: Kill him…
O: I am just yanking your chain. Did you wet yourself? Holy shit man, I was just fucking with you. Anyway, listen, you can help us settle a little bet, Mr. American.
OK
O: You know those little burgers you get at White Castle?
I am familiar
O: What are those called?
Sliders
O: Not, chasers? You are sure?
HAA: Hee!! I knew it.
O: Chasers: are they not also called chasers?
Well, they call them sliders at White Castle. I know that much for sure.
HAA: You have your answer sir. He said sliders because that is what they are called. I believe you owe me an iphone.
O: You shall have your iphone Hakim, you shall. But watch your prideful tongue, especially in mixed company.
HAA: Yes sir. I apologize.
(Hakim promptly left the factory and, presumably, headed to one of the rape rooms scattered throughout the Lexington area.)
O: Ok, McJew, you have ten minutes. What do you want to know?
Why are you in America? How are you in America?
O: Are you going to throw me out? Can you?
You are not answering my question
O: But that is precisely what I did. I am here because I can be; I want to be here because I can be. I am the angst ridden rebel and America is my school cafeteria.
Are you planning an attack?
O: What if I told you I was? Would you wet yourself again? You stink by the way. I thought you were going to clean yourself off.
The towels your guys gave me were covered with blood.
O: Hmmnn. Figured you would be ok with that, what with all your big time action movies.
Are you planning an attack?
O: You are so two-dimensional. Will there be an attack? Where will the attack be? When will the attack happen? You are still living in a World Trade Center world. You think of attacks as buildings and bombs. But, so does the rest of America. Which is why I am able to tell you all this.
What are you telling me?
O: I could tell you everything and it wouldn’t matter at all. I could cum-tape a complete breakdown of the attack to Katie Couric’s left ass cheek and it wouldn’t mean shit. We are past you now. Forget the bomb in the briefcase bit. That was so last decade. We won’t blow up an airplane because we will own every single airplane in every single airport in every single city in this country. You are worried about an attack but we are going to own your heart and soul. The best part: you are going to beg us to do it.
You won’t own anything in America. Americans wouldn’t give you a penny.
O: (Laughter) Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Ok, you are right in that my name won’t be on the signs, but money is money baby and power is power. I remember when I first saw Barack Obama. By the way, no, I cannot believe his name either. What a crazy coincidence. He was giving his speech at the ’04 convention and Karl Rove turned to me and said, “Holy shit, we just found our Buckwheat.”
Hold on, I refuse to believe this. Obama is not in league with you. I refuse to believe that you contacted Obama.
O: Right again Sparky. But, let me ask you this: What will America do if there is another attack, a bad one, under this liberal president?
…
O: I’ll tell you what. They are going to riot in the streets. They are going to demand the old regime. They are going to amend the constitution. They will not rest until George W. Bush is made King and the whole country can snuggle their whoppers and feel safe again. King!!
Osama threw his head back in laughter and I blacked out after being hit in the head with the butt of an AK-47.
You are right to think that way. All I can say is that I had to weigh my odds of successfully killing him and my duty as a journalist.
I will be forever changed by the experience but I will comfortably live with the choice I made. The world needs to read this interview. Comment on my blog.
Osama Bin Laden had me picked up at the airstrip. I was driven to his home, somewhere in western Kentucky, in a purple and gold stretch limo. I was happily surprised when the driver did not place a gag in my mouth after binding and blindfolding me. Riding in the trunk was actually my idea. Have you ever smelled these guys?
We drove for at least 90 minutes. When I was finally able to open the trunk lid there was no one around. The car, still running, was parked in a large bush bordering the back parking lot of an A&W Root Beer Factory. I cut myself through the foliage and stumbled into the factory. The creak of the door snapped the towels of about thirty guys with AK-47’s. Osama and Hakim Aal Aklam (Osama’s press secretary who initially contacted me about the interview) never lost focus of their intense debate. I had no idea what they were saying, of course, but it was a heated disagreement none the less.
Twenty-five minutes later, suddenly, Osama addressed me.
O: What’s your name? You look Jewish.
Seth Millican
O: That’s a Heeb name if I ever heard one. You some kind of Scottish Kike?
No, not at all. Well, it is, I mean commonly, the name that is, Seth is from the Old Testament. But, I am not Jewish.
I am just American.
(coughs and clearing throats)
O: Kill him…
O: I am just yanking your chain. Did you wet yourself? Holy shit man, I was just fucking with you. Anyway, listen, you can help us settle a little bet, Mr. American.
OK
O: You know those little burgers you get at White Castle?
I am familiar
O: What are those called?
Sliders
O: Not, chasers? You are sure?
HAA: Hee!! I knew it.
O: Chasers: are they not also called chasers?
Well, they call them sliders at White Castle. I know that much for sure.
HAA: You have your answer sir. He said sliders because that is what they are called. I believe you owe me an iphone.
O: You shall have your iphone Hakim, you shall. But watch your prideful tongue, especially in mixed company.
HAA: Yes sir. I apologize.
(Hakim promptly left the factory and, presumably, headed to one of the rape rooms scattered throughout the Lexington area.)
O: Ok, McJew, you have ten minutes. What do you want to know?
Why are you in America? How are you in America?
O: Are you going to throw me out? Can you?
You are not answering my question
O: But that is precisely what I did. I am here because I can be; I want to be here because I can be. I am the angst ridden rebel and America is my school cafeteria.
Are you planning an attack?
O: What if I told you I was? Would you wet yourself again? You stink by the way. I thought you were going to clean yourself off.
The towels your guys gave me were covered with blood.
O: Hmmnn. Figured you would be ok with that, what with all your big time action movies.
Are you planning an attack?
O: You are so two-dimensional. Will there be an attack? Where will the attack be? When will the attack happen? You are still living in a World Trade Center world. You think of attacks as buildings and bombs. But, so does the rest of America. Which is why I am able to tell you all this.
What are you telling me?
O: I could tell you everything and it wouldn’t matter at all. I could cum-tape a complete breakdown of the attack to Katie Couric’s left ass cheek and it wouldn’t mean shit. We are past you now. Forget the bomb in the briefcase bit. That was so last decade. We won’t blow up an airplane because we will own every single airplane in every single airport in every single city in this country. You are worried about an attack but we are going to own your heart and soul. The best part: you are going to beg us to do it.
You won’t own anything in America. Americans wouldn’t give you a penny.
O: (Laughter) Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Ok, you are right in that my name won’t be on the signs, but money is money baby and power is power. I remember when I first saw Barack Obama. By the way, no, I cannot believe his name either. What a crazy coincidence. He was giving his speech at the ’04 convention and Karl Rove turned to me and said, “Holy shit, we just found our Buckwheat.”
Hold on, I refuse to believe this. Obama is not in league with you. I refuse to believe that you contacted Obama.
O: Right again Sparky. But, let me ask you this: What will America do if there is another attack, a bad one, under this liberal president?
…
O: I’ll tell you what. They are going to riot in the streets. They are going to demand the old regime. They are going to amend the constitution. They will not rest until George W. Bush is made King and the whole country can snuggle their whoppers and feel safe again. King!!
Osama threw his head back in laughter and I blacked out after being hit in the head with the butt of an AK-47.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Armageddon! What, now?
This blog has lit a firestorm.
Listen up. I can’t stop bringing my public the up-to-the-minute news that they require. My blog is not all serious news. I am the first to admit it. But, when it breaks, I have an obligation to report it. I cannot help that nobody reads this blog. That is beyond my control. You know what is within my control? Breaking stories. What do you need to break stories? Hard work, that’s what.
But because of all the controversy, I am going to tread lightly here. This is a real news story that happens to touch on a very sensitive subject. I can’t help but break it in half.
Sir Edmund Philip was the greatest mime in all of Minnesota. He was highly regarded as the greatest mime ever from the Twin Cities and much of the surrounding area. Many times, while performing “Walking off a Building” on a street corner, women, of all creeds, fainted from fright.
Eddy Philip was born in Newark, New Jersey in 1967. It is said that Eddy’s first word was his last. As Eddy’s Mother, Charlotte, whom I called at what she described as an obscene hour, remarked, “Edmund was the perfect child. We had no need for a play pen, those little fences or, really, even to watch him at all. He would sit in the middle of the room pretending he was trapped in a box.”
Little Eddy moved to St. Paul when his father, Edward, got a high paying position in St. Paul’s sanitation division. When Edward went on his site inspections he always took Edmund, who would mime on every corner his father passed.
Eventually, as all mimes do, Sir Edmund Philip fell in love with a deaf girl. Theirs was a love that is to be envied. Little Eddy was not so little anymore.
(I have lots of pictures of Edmund, all through his life. Comment on my blog and I might send you some. I don’t dare post them, lest my blog be overrun with faggots. You know how they are. )
Sidney went deaf at the age of six months. Her mother was carrying her through a music store and accidentally dropped her on a Nigerian Cymbal.
Sidney literally ran into Eddy’s life.
Edmund was performing “Watch Me Stretch Reality as You Know it” in front of the Metropolitan Stadium, before kickoff of the last game ever held there. Sidney White had tickets and was late for the game and her date. It was just another hearing guy that her friends paired her up with. They were all going to booze it up in the top deck suite, and he was the “understanding” guy they always brushed her way. Let her be a second late, and she knew all her hearing friends would spend the entire night discussing the injustice of our society that simply will not accommodate the hearing impaired.
Sidney ran square into Edmund. They both went sprawling, but in the second that their bodies collided, Sidney felt the heat of love and saw, in Edmunds eyes, that he was worried about her landing awkwardly.
They married and had seven kids (no mimes if you can believe it). They lived and worked in the Twin Cities their entire lives. In 1991, the year the Twins won the World Series, Edmund’s “Puckett Swing” routinely hauled in $500 a night.
Sidney, after years of silence, began to hear hums and whispers in 1999. It was the miracle of all miracles. Doctors from all over the country clamored to examine her. One doctor, Dr. Stein, impressed Sidney. Dr. Stein is a man that tells the truth. It is said that Dr. Stein took the MCAT twice, because he saw the boy next to him mark the answer to #35 the first time.
Eventually, Dr. Stein announced that because of the amazing regeneration in the inner ear canal, Sidney would slowly be able to hear more and more. Dr. Stein’s date for full auditory regeneration? 9/11/01.
Edmund had a meeting in the World Trade Center that was going to take his act worldwide. He brought Sidney so they could celebrate her new world of hearing. She was exploring Times Square when the planes hit.
This is the letter Edmund sent to Sidney before he jumped from the 43rd floor: (My wife’s brother worked for the firm that was hired to scan all the letters into a database and distribute them to the intended parties. He kept a bunch of them on his laptop in order to close the deal with chicks, with surprisingly good results).
Dearest Sidney,
That space was my hands forming a pulsing heart in my chest. You have seen it before. I love you. I wish that you could have heard my voice. I was going to surprise you and speak tonight. I was going to take you to a fancy dinner and over dessert tell you that I love you. I wanted my first words, in a very long, long time to be the first words you hear clearly.
Be careful with those in-your-ear headphones, the kind they use with i-pods. They seem harmless but they can really mess up your ears. Don’t sleep with them in.
Now, “Walking off a Building”, one last time for you my love.
Yours, Ed
Listen up. I can’t stop bringing my public the up-to-the-minute news that they require. My blog is not all serious news. I am the first to admit it. But, when it breaks, I have an obligation to report it. I cannot help that nobody reads this blog. That is beyond my control. You know what is within my control? Breaking stories. What do you need to break stories? Hard work, that’s what.
But because of all the controversy, I am going to tread lightly here. This is a real news story that happens to touch on a very sensitive subject. I can’t help but break it in half.
Sir Edmund Philip was the greatest mime in all of Minnesota. He was highly regarded as the greatest mime ever from the Twin Cities and much of the surrounding area. Many times, while performing “Walking off a Building” on a street corner, women, of all creeds, fainted from fright.
Eddy Philip was born in Newark, New Jersey in 1967. It is said that Eddy’s first word was his last. As Eddy’s Mother, Charlotte, whom I called at what she described as an obscene hour, remarked, “Edmund was the perfect child. We had no need for a play pen, those little fences or, really, even to watch him at all. He would sit in the middle of the room pretending he was trapped in a box.”
Little Eddy moved to St. Paul when his father, Edward, got a high paying position in St. Paul’s sanitation division. When Edward went on his site inspections he always took Edmund, who would mime on every corner his father passed.
Eventually, as all mimes do, Sir Edmund Philip fell in love with a deaf girl. Theirs was a love that is to be envied. Little Eddy was not so little anymore.
(I have lots of pictures of Edmund, all through his life. Comment on my blog and I might send you some. I don’t dare post them, lest my blog be overrun with faggots. You know how they are. )
Sidney went deaf at the age of six months. Her mother was carrying her through a music store and accidentally dropped her on a Nigerian Cymbal.
Sidney literally ran into Eddy’s life.
Edmund was performing “Watch Me Stretch Reality as You Know it” in front of the Metropolitan Stadium, before kickoff of the last game ever held there. Sidney White had tickets and was late for the game and her date. It was just another hearing guy that her friends paired her up with. They were all going to booze it up in the top deck suite, and he was the “understanding” guy they always brushed her way. Let her be a second late, and she knew all her hearing friends would spend the entire night discussing the injustice of our society that simply will not accommodate the hearing impaired.
Sidney ran square into Edmund. They both went sprawling, but in the second that their bodies collided, Sidney felt the heat of love and saw, in Edmunds eyes, that he was worried about her landing awkwardly.
They married and had seven kids (no mimes if you can believe it). They lived and worked in the Twin Cities their entire lives. In 1991, the year the Twins won the World Series, Edmund’s “Puckett Swing” routinely hauled in $500 a night.
Sidney, after years of silence, began to hear hums and whispers in 1999. It was the miracle of all miracles. Doctors from all over the country clamored to examine her. One doctor, Dr. Stein, impressed Sidney. Dr. Stein is a man that tells the truth. It is said that Dr. Stein took the MCAT twice, because he saw the boy next to him mark the answer to #35 the first time.
Eventually, Dr. Stein announced that because of the amazing regeneration in the inner ear canal, Sidney would slowly be able to hear more and more. Dr. Stein’s date for full auditory regeneration? 9/11/01.
Edmund had a meeting in the World Trade Center that was going to take his act worldwide. He brought Sidney so they could celebrate her new world of hearing. She was exploring Times Square when the planes hit.
This is the letter Edmund sent to Sidney before he jumped from the 43rd floor: (My wife’s brother worked for the firm that was hired to scan all the letters into a database and distribute them to the intended parties. He kept a bunch of them on his laptop in order to close the deal with chicks, with surprisingly good results).
Dearest Sidney,
That space was my hands forming a pulsing heart in my chest. You have seen it before. I love you. I wish that you could have heard my voice. I was going to surprise you and speak tonight. I was going to take you to a fancy dinner and over dessert tell you that I love you. I wanted my first words, in a very long, long time to be the first words you hear clearly.
Be careful with those in-your-ear headphones, the kind they use with i-pods. They seem harmless but they can really mess up your ears. Don’t sleep with them in.
Now, “Walking off a Building”, one last time for you my love.
Yours, Ed
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
For Sale
For Sale: Seth Millican
Available for almost any non-sexual employment opportunity.
The economy is tough right now. How much of the economy’s downturn is credited to the fact that all we ever talk about is how bad the economy is? I don’t have a lot of space here; you have to pay by the word in classified ads, so I don’t want to get going down that path.
Available for almost any non-sexual employment opportunity.
The economy is tough right now. How much of the economy’s downturn is credited to the fact that all we ever talk about is how bad the economy is? I don’t have a lot of space here; you have to pay by the word in classified ads, so I don’t want to get going down that path.
I am a portly (read: walking dead) 31 year old white male. I am married, so I am not looking for pussy here. I can think of thousands of ways people could benefit from my unique skills.
Some Examples:
- I’ll drive for bar-hopping college guys. They get the comparative boost of being next to me, and I loosen up the dames with jokes and gin. 20’s gangster accent extra.
- Designated Driver, I drink too, so it’s not a total buzz kill. I am willing to negotiate for radio control.
- Will buy anything for any teenager.
- Madden lessons anyone?
What, exactly, do you want me to prove? I am done listing all the things I can do for you. It should be so obvious anyway.
25 per hour, 35 on weekends. Comment on my bog.
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