Review Of "He Was A Quiet Man"

It wasn't too long ago that enjoying an independent film required accepting a few cut corners. It certainly wasn't the place to go to see state-of-the-art computer generated visuals, or to even see complicated camera work. ("Clerks" was released sixteen years ago, but putting it up against the "modern independent film" (urgh), it feels more like forty.) To make an independent film was to make something that the major studios wouldn't touch and the minor studios could not afford to bet their existence on. They were strange, in other words, and possibly a little too personal.

In certain aspects, "He Was A Quiet Man" feels like a throwback to the original spirit of independent films: it contains an unsettling story, too dark for most studios wanting to put bank on it, but it is consistently quirky enough to make it through watching at least one time. There are also enough baffling choices by the filmmakers that keep this from being the classic that could have been.

The film revolves around Bob Maconel, played by Christian Slater under a lot of makeup (and yet somehow still looks like the 80's icon). Bob is a headcase, hopeless romantic, and matchstick artist all rolled into one. As part of his workday routine, he loads a revolver at his cubicle, counting off and naming each of his victims, before chickening out and resuming his work. In a series of quick coincidences, though, he ends up looking like a hero when he kills another coworker who goes postal before Bob can. Suddenly, Bob has to cope with being happy with his social standing after years of misery, a task that proves much more difficult than his previous miserable existence. On top of that, a cute coworker shooting victim, Venessa Parks (played by Elisha Cuthbert, of "Old School", "The Girl Next Door", and the television series "24" fame), has an unusual request for Bob.

It's best to start with what this film does well, because the final score is heavily offset by its devastating flaws despite doing a lot of things right. To begin with, "He Was A Quiet Man" does not look like an independent film. The writer/director, Frank Cappello, is an accomplished CGI artist, and was able to offset the budget for the special effects by doing them himself. This allows for shots of airplanes, potty-mouthed goldfish, and an entire alternate ending sequence that required no extra participation from the actors after filming wrapped. With the majority of independent films willing to use any workarounds they can for fantastical images, it is refreshing to see a film not use any and just show off its imagination. The color schemes for each scene are also sharp and distinct. It's not on par with "One Hour Photo", but it's better than most films, indie or not.

The performance that the cast gives exceeds expectations, at the very least. Slater plays Bob perfectly--an unsettling presence when he needs to be, but also likable enough to feel for the character when the story requires as much. The bigger revelation, though, might actually be Cuthbert. Though often cast as a pretty face and/or the object of lust, she is actually a very energetic and interesting person with a lot of untapped potential, judging by sit-down interviews she has done (including keeping up with Conan O'Brien at his manic peak). The role of Venessa requires her to play the role of a optimistic blond as well as a pessimistic quadriplegic, and she rises to both occasions. This isn't the kind of movie to look for future Oscar winners, but Cuthbert shows that she deserves meatier roles than she usually gets, if nothing else. The rest of the cast is made up of office stereotypes and suburban WASP-types, with the exception of William H. Macy as the company boss, who manages to simultaneously inspire hatred and laughter from the audience (intentionally) with every line despite never raising his voice and never telling a joke. He's a snake-oil salesman, and nobody is fooled by his act, which is why the character works.

With all this going for it, "He Was A Quiet Man" might sound like an underappreciated classic. The few flaws that the film has, though, are almost fatal. The biggest issue is that it can't decide what it wants to be. It begins as "Taxi Driver", changes to "Queen For A Day" in the middle, and the last third resembles "Donnie Darko". Granted, each section of the movie works well enough in their own vacuums, but the final third rings false after a great second act. Cuthbert and Slater have a warped chemistry that works very well--too well, in fact, as the romance between their characters ends up being more interesting than Bob's psychology. The turn that the film makes in its last twenty minutes feels tacked on and predictable--incalculably harmful for a film that had been unpredictable up until this point.

That's not taking into account the ending of the film, which almost destroys the worth of the film. I'll avoid spoilers, but suffice it to say that the ending is such a confusing mess that I had to watch the movie again with the director's commentary on to figure out what had happened. It turns out that he was attempting to cram a series finale's worth of tied-up plot points and deus ex machina into about 2 minutes. The ending he eventually decided on is better than either of the 2 alternate endings presented on the DVD, but that is faint praise.

Cappello admits that there was a long period of time between writing the film and the film's production, and that he respected his original script the same way that he would respect a script written by someone else. That is a brave decision, and one that is hard to fault, but much of the film's worst flaws could have been fixed with extensive rewriting. As it is, the film's end feels like it occurs about 65 minutes into it, which is a problem since it is actually 90 minutes long. If I were to rework it, the film's second act would have been extended by 15 minutes, and the film's third act would have either been excised or rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable. In the end, the film does lots of little things right. It is just unfortunate that it does a few big things wrong.


Score (out of 100): 59

Review Of "Shenmue 2"

The Dreamcast is on the list of things that I need to buy when I have the money, time, and stability to start spending money on things that will make me happy (you know, after I make my first $1 million). It was a fast console that had a library games with gorgeous graphics and unique gameplay. In the summer of 1999, while I was visiting my late grandfather’s place in Florida, I played a demo of “Sonic Adventure” that was on display for 90 minutes—a full 85 minutes longer than anyone was supposed to use it. I got death glares as I walked away.

The game that got the most praise from the press (not the fake gaming press, who only come around when video games become really popular or when a video game fanatic commits a massacre) was “Shenmue”, which I never got to play because I was stuck with a Nintendo 64 and a PlayStation 2. (Poor me, I know.) The game was advertised as having a wide variety of gameplay, stunning visuals even when compared to other Dreamcast games, and an absurd level of detail. On a system that housed two 3D Sonic games worth a damn, the definitive version of arguably the greatest skateboarding game of all time, and fucking “Soul Caliber”, “Shenmue” was considered to be the Dreamcast’s killer app.

The Dreamcast failed, but that was Sega’s fault; after the 32x, Sega CD, and the Saturn, they had lost the trust of their audience, who were more than willing to wait for the PS2 and skip the Dreamcast. “Shenmue”’s sequel, “Shenmue 2”, was eventually ported to Microsoft’s Xbox console, with better graphics and fewer discs. It was initially hailed as being a better game than “Shenmue”. “Shenmue 2”’s praise, then, could be considered most of the reason why I don’t listen to many video game critics.

The story of “Shenmue” is a simple revenge story, so leave it to Sega’s crack team of crackheads to tell it in extremely confusing fashion. To be fair, “Shenmue 2” comes packaged with a 90-minute DVD of cutscenes from the first game detailing the plot, as well as a 20-minute summary of the first game on “Shenmue 2”’s actual game disc, so it can’t be said that there isn’t an attempt to get you caught up on the events of the first game. The story going into “2” is that Ryo (you) witness the murder of your father at the hands of Lan Di, who believed that your father screwed him over many years ago. Even worse, he took your father’s mirror (yes, this is placed on the same pedestal as your father’s murder). You drop out of school in order to pursue revenge. In your investigation, you find another mirror that looks significant (I imagine that there was something long-term planned here). Also, you learn that Lan Di has left Japan and has traveled to China. When “2” begins, you are under instructions to seek out Master Lishao Tao, who apparently has connections to both your father and Lan Di.

While there wasn’t a North American Dreamcast version of “2” produced, it’s not hard to say that the Xbox version looks better. Unlike Dreamcast ports of other games (“Grandia 2” to the PS2 springs to mind), the Xbox doesn’t suffer from any stuttering or blocky characters; it runs the game at the speed on the original console, with the visuals actually cleaned up a bit. Unfortunately, the game’s artistic end of the visuals doesn’t take advantage of those technical capabilities. Most of your time will be spent in or in-between gray buildings, which lend a sort of depressed feeling to the game. The game looks best when it is rendering nature, but it is dead-set on having you stick to marketplaces and industrial areas—in effect, it is doing the exact opposite of what it is best at, which could be considered the real story of the game. Character models are about what you’d expect from a game made ten years ago—the more important the character, the better they look.

The sound of the game is underwhelming, to be generous. The soundtrack is repetitive, but individual tracks set the mood well, making you feel as though you’re immersed in Chinese culture. The audio for the voice acting, to be generous again, is fucking atrocious. There is a distinct hiss that begins and ends with each line, as though their lines were put on tape and then fed through a trial version of low-end mixing software. I’ve played adventure games from 1993 that had better fidelity than “2”. To make matter worse, the actual acting is terrible. Every line sounds as though it was done in one take and the actor was given his/her script only a minute before it was recorded. It made me wish for an option to play the game in its original Japanese with English subtitles, but unfortunately, there was no such option available. This doesn’t even include the major disconnect with having obviously-Caucasian actors voicing obviously-Asian characters, but all things considered, that might be the least of the game’s problems.

You control Ryo from a third-person perspective behind him most of the time, but controlling him is a chore. Ryo can seemingly only turn when he is already in motion, as if he were a rusty grocery cart. If you are trying to go down a path that is directly to one of your sides, good luck reaching it without walking into a wall. Though you are often required to travel long distances to reach objectives, there isn’t a convenient map system in place (you have to buy maps that you can access when you pause the game), and it is often easier to just walk up to a pedestrian and ask them to lead the way to your destination. It is slow and insulting, but at least you’ll get there, which is a remote possibility when trying to get there by yourself. It isn’t helped by everything holding distinctly Chinese names. As long as you are localizing everything else, you might as well change the names to something that I can pronounce without having to hear the names said out loud first.

Making progress in the game is flawed. Ryo does not have a source of income for himself, so he takes odd jobs in order to make enough money to get to the next area of the game. In most games, doing jobs for money lets you use that money for powerups or equipment to better your character. Here, it is used to open up new areas. You are specifically told that you can only enter “that place” when you get $1,000. This wouldn’t be a problem if the games were interesting and engaging, but the games featuring you moving boxes around controls worse than when Ryo is just walking across town, with the other option having you host games of luck, which are advertised as games of skill for some reason. Seeing as how the games of luck will get you more money, you’ll likely spend a lot of time standing by a stupid Lucky Hit board, hoping that somebody stops and plays your game, and then hoping that nobody visits your booth after you’ve made something close to resembling a healthy profit. On top of all of this money grinding, you are given an ongoing timer. “Shenmue 2” only supports a set amount of time for you to complete the game, and if you take too long, you won’t be able to complete it. Granted, you are given so much time that you’ll likely never actually run out unless you make a concentrated effort to fail (making me wonder why there’s even a timer in the first place), but with the story’s built-in urgency, the games feel like a waste of time that happen to be mandatory. Sure, this is likely the best way for a person in real life with limited resources to travel from country to country, but I don’t play video games to do boring stuff that I could be doing in real life.

The real gameplay draw is the combat and the QuickTime Events. QuickTime Events, or “QTE” as they are called by nerds, are sequences in which the game tells you to press specific buttons quickly in order to make progress in a scene. These scenes are handled well, but the variety of the QTEs is ill-explained or hinted at. At one point, the QTE flashes a set of instructions in a matter differently than had been laid out before—making the sound of a sharp sword being unsheathed, followed by a flash of instructions—and it took me ten tries to figure out that I wasn’t supposed to wait for the instructions to finish flashing before pressing buttons. The combat is similar to that found in “Virtua Fighter”—quick encounters, focusing strictly on hand-to-hand, with minimal button presses. The game’s pacing kills these sequences, though. I actually counted two whole hours of gameplay between fights, and after a great chase scene near the beginning, QTEs didn’t make an appearance for almost as long. The time in between having fun was spent on explaining the plot, which consisted of a character saying “I think DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT is hiding at Genericwarehouse2!”, and Ryo responding “Then I should probably go find DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT. He is at Genericwarehouse2.” Granted, this kind of writing was par for course in 2001, but considering how some people refer to this game as the greatest of all time, I’m left spellbound at how boring 37.5 of my 40 hours spent on the game were.

But, oh, those last 2.5 hours. Eventually, the game gets its shit together and pits you in one awesome sequence after another. You can barely catch your breath before the next scene starts, which offers new challenges. Fights can be avoided through sneaking, but at this point, that doesn’t sound like a punishment. A boss fight occurs, and it is actually difficult. Then, when the game should be rolling its credits, you are treated to a beautiful epilogue set in nature, allowing the game the chance to look good for more than two seconds for a change (fields of grass and everything). Sure, it ends on an unnecessary cliffhanger, but it was a fun ride until then.

Honestly, if the last 2.5 hours weren’t as good as they were, I wouldn’t feel bad in referring to this game as one of the worst games I’ve ever played. As it is, I feel bad calling it a disappointment. The game’s presentation is faulty, the game’s story is overly simplistic (though you’ll likely get confused due to the lack of localization for the names and the nicknames that each character has), and you’ll spend more time hoping to progress than actually making progress. It is at its best when it remembers that it is a video game, which are rare moments sprinkled throughout until the last 2.5 hours. The entire “Shenmue” concept is strange, too. It is a story of revenge, so you know how the ongoing story is going to end before you’ve even finished the first game, but the “Shenmue” series was planned to span several video games and comic books. That the planned “Shenmue 3” has never seen the light of day is little surprise, but in case it ever actually gets made, I’m going to spoil it for you: Ryo is going to kick Lan Di’s head in. Shocker, I know.


Score (out of 100): 43

Downey's "Classics" Presents: This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a poem that was not written by Gertrude Stein. Enjoy.

"This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein"
by John Downey

The bard bard is only bard because he told bard stories that the king does not allow, as those stories are of the king doing bard activities like singing songs badly, and also bard activities, like killing people for no reason. The bard is only bard from the bar, though, as assassinations are bard. The bard now tells stories of how his liquid honesty got him bard from telling truthful stories, and how he must now spend his days telling untrue stories, like how good a singer the king is. The king doesn’t mind, since he is usually in the bar, laughing about how he bard the bard from the bar.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Veni Vidi BuKAW

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is unpublished work that he tried to get published. Enjoy.

"Veni Vidi BuKAW"
by John Downey

One day in late August of 2002, I was woken up by something that wasn’t my alarm clock. My alarm has a very distinct, piercing cut, strategically placed right next to my ear so that it is sure to do its job. Something beat the mechanism to its task, though.

It was a series of sounds. First, there was a long “eeeyaw”, as though someone was doing a bad impersonation of a donkey. Then, a string of 8 “yoinks”, straight from “The Three Stooges”. These 9 sounds were all stringed together in one seamless sequence, with a 2-second respite.

The sound was coming from the street, so I rushed to my window to find a large beast roaming the street. Its head was unspectacular, but its body was massive, though stocky. It walked on reptilian legs and wasn’t afraid to survey its surroundings, though its body language indicated confusion as to how it got there.

I summoned my stepfather. “Kevin,” I asked, “what in the world is that?”

It took him only a moment. “John, that is a turkey.”

Having a turkey walking around my block was strange for many reasons, though there were 2 that stood out to me. First of all, I was 16 at the time, and I was supposed to be well versed in what most animals look like (indeed, in what most of every basic life form looked like). That I hadn’t been readily been able to figure out what a turkey looked like was disconcerting to me. The 2nd reason that this was strange was because I was living in Andover, Massachusetts, where the demographics lean towards middle-upper class folk. Middle-upper class folk don’t associate with turkeys. I was told that the turkeys that had suddenly populated the area had been attracted by the recent construction done in Andover. I don’t understand it, either.

The reaction to the turkeys was typical by Andover standards. At first, they were ignored. Then they were acknowledged in passing. Then, when turkeys began attacking children at bus stops, the environmentalists went on the offensive, exaggerating the birds’ worth. How they were dealt with is beyond me—I know that one of them was killed, but the fate of the rest of them was never mentioned again.

They came, they saw, they were annoying as hell.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver"

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a review that he wrote as part of a contest. He does not agree with what he wrote here anymore, and the links don't work, but he still kind of likes it. Enjoy.

"Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver""
by John Downey

First of all, I want to thank my humble hosts this evening for allowing me to…ah, screw that shit; MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE HIZZOUSE, SAY HOOOO! …Okay, now everybody but Chet say HOOOO! …Well, fuck you, too.

Let’s get shit in order. Now, I usually (eventually) agree with most everything the CMG’s got to say about anything and everything, but Chris Benoit could have written a better review of “Sound of Silver”. And he’s dead. And even if he was alive, he would be too hopped up on testosterone to effectively pick apart “Someone Great”.
NEWELL: Well, I believe that this part is a direct reference to his dead best frie—
BENOIT: (shoots needle into ass) DAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT NO MAKE ME WORK OUT I GIVE YOU GERMAN SUPLEX FUCK YOUR ASS MAKE YOU HUMBLE! (puts on Timbaland’s “Kill Yourself”; gets evil ideas)

Yeah, a Chris Benoit review would require teaching a ’roided zombie how to use a keyboard, and HE would have done this shit better. I know this because Zombie Benoit (who can still wrestle, by the way; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2FzzOlNkSw ) is smarter than me, and I figured this shit out.

My issue with the review has a little something to do with the assessment, but first, let’s look at the score. Shit starts at 41%, since its closest sounding relative readily available to me, “The Third Hand”, was a pile of shit but still managed to get a 31%, so since “Sound of Silver” is at least 10% better than “The Turd Hand”, there you go. From there, we give it a 25%, since 14 of its 56 minutes—“Someone Great” through “All My Friends”—are so kickass, even the reviewer doesn’t deny them, and 14 divided by 56 equals 0.25, or 25%. Give it another 10% for being fun, and we’re up to 76% easy. That’s a whole 20% more than motherfucker gave it. Wassupwiddat?

Don’t worry, the Downdogger’s got answers. First, dude looks for something that ain’t there. He ends up talking about how this album could’ve been more fun, as though that was Jimmy Muller’s (or whatever the fuck his name is) intent all along. Hey, it might’ve been, but maybe not. I don’t know. As a straight-edge, I can honestly say that I fucking WANT that party album that ends with everybody waking up, realizing who they fucked the other night, struggle to stand to their feet, fall over while trying to take a piss, pour an entire gallon of milk all over the counter (with the exception of the tiny bit that goes into the glass), search their pants for a blunt only to realize that they’re not wearing pants, cut off the legs of the ugly sleeping bitch that is wearing their pants, and realize only after inhaling their blunt that some prankster has replaced the Virgin Mary with literal dog shit. Then I kick them in the balls and say, “Thought you learned your lesson LAST WEEK, motherfucker!” “Sound Of Silver” comes close to that shit, but misses by a lot, but it comes closer than any other album I’ve ever heard, and that earns it an extra 1%. But your dude’s all like, “Bummer, man,” and I’m all like, “STFU!”

And when the fuck did fun become so wrong? When? WHEN? Yeah, I get it, we’re all the boys in the corner, throwing spitballs at the good-looking douchebags who don’t know shit about shit, but you ain’t gonna get the girl unless you indulge in some of that shit. It’s like bobbing for apples in a bucket of shit: you don’t want to do it, but since you want to look better than that kid next to you with the “Kingdom Hearts” T-shirt and long hair that shows the dark side of too many “World of Warcraft” marathons ( http://3dotoday.classicgaming.gamespy.com/page%204/virtboxf.jpg ), you dive in anyway. You get some of that up your nose, and you get corn stuck in your teeth, but you get through that shit to get that fucking apple. And the chick is hot, and yeah. I forgot what my point was, but I’m pretty sure it was a good one. Did I mention that since your opinion is the lowest, it is automatically wrong?

Okay, maybe not, but the real shit sounds like this: according to your scale, a 56% is “slightly above average”. An album that doesn’t sound offensively bad and spends an entire quarter of its length being totally fucking awesome can’t be simply considered “slightly above average”. “Good, detracting problems” (65%-69%) sounds more appropriate for what Conrad (YEAH, I KNOW HIS NAME, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!) was trying to say. I’ve got my shit on a 77% through purely mathematical reasoning, which is what Amir would have wanted, and if he hadn’t been buried alive in an abandoned mine shaft in eastern Pennsylvania, he would be saying the exact same thing that I’m telling you now. In fact, he’d give it a 95%, and then you would be holding a contest asking people why “The Magic Position” should’ve been rated higher. (In case you decide to go with that idea, let me answer that right now: the Flying Dutchman and the Missionary have their uses, but after teaching my bitch how to perform the Magic Position, I’ve had no problems breathing out of my nose. Automatic 90% for making it easier for me to breathe.) So, mathematically, physically, literally, spiritually, sexually, and animality, “Sound Of Silver” does not suck more donkey dick than “Human The Death Dance”, which got a 3% better rating than “Sound Of Silver”. For that, I’ve gotten my buddy Goku to do some shit to Sage for passing out bribes. What, you ask? Why, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj37wpu_FDQ , that’s what.

Sincerely,
John Downey

P.S. Here’s a guy who can explain “Sound Of Silver” even better than I can. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0

YEAH, BITCH, THIS AIN’T A POSTSCRIPT, IT’S A GODDAMN RICK ROLL’D-ING! UNGH! FEEL THE POWER!

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Old Review of "The Re-Up" by Eminem and Most Everyone Signed To Aftermath At The Time The Album Was Released

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is one of the few music reviews he wrote "back in the day" that he still stands by, despite a bit of preaching. Enjoy.

Old Review of "The Re-Up" (2006) by Eminem, etc.
by John Downey

I reached a certain point in track 3 that made me realize that this album sucks. It is not a great album that has a few filler tracks. It's not even a halfway decent album. The whole thing sucks, for reasons that I'm hoping you'll listen to.

Doseone once said, in song, "Shove that gun up your ass." This was a direct diss towards Slug (of Atmosphere), since Slug had started to go from his "poet on the street with a thing for chicks" routine towards his present-day "this one's for the ladies" shtick. Earlier this year, P.O.S. rapped, "You're sick, homey, eat a gun (that's terrible)". Of course, this was in the same song in which he name-dropped Tyler Durden, went out for Bronson's part in the next Death Wish movie, and fired people because they enjoyed Fresca. Sage Francis's song, "Gunz Yo", made the correlation between guns and, well, take a wild guess, even more lucid, but still managed to have some pretty good lines in there. The point is that the connection between guns and a certain male organ is strong, and has occupied the minds of many skilled rappers. When done correctly, the correlation can shed light on some mysteries in life (ex: "Why have our guns gotten larger in size over the years?"), and also, offer some insight as to how the male mind works.

So, when Obie Trice said, on track 3, "My p**** is a mag, when I lift it hit you", over a beat that anybody with a decent drum machine could pull off in 15 minutes (but wouldn't, because it sucks), I had to turn off my CD player. I didn't find the line offensive; I found it insulting to my intelligence. If anybody is willing to argue in favor of the lyrical value of "The Re-up", all I have for a counterargument is Obie's declaration, as seen above. I mean, this is your big "We're Here" statement, and you bring that tripe to the table?

I did get around to listening to the whole album, by the way. I honestly wished I hadn't, since every beat here is terrible. It reeks of suggesting mood instead of establishing it, with "spooky" string arrangements and "gloomy"/s*** drums. Of course, since this is a "mixtape" (apparently, nobody at Shady has heard of the word "compilation"), production quality isn't the intended focus here; the presentation of the new talent that Eminem has acquired is. Thing is, I listened to the album the whole way through, twice, and I still can't tell most of these people apart. If they were looking to establish their own dynamic personas, they failed miserably. Take the single "You Don't Know", for example. In order to find out which rapper is Ca$his, the newest member of D12, we have to use process of elimation. "The white one's Eminem, the one who's asleep is Lloyd Banks, the guy with the charisma is 50 Cent, so that boring guy has to be Ca$his!" The concept behind this project was supposed to be a showcase of new talent, along with showing Eminem on top of his game, and yet, the only person on this album who comes out of this train-wreck smelling like roses is 50 Cent.

That's right, 50. No, I don't really like the guy, and no, his verses don't really have any worth from a lyrical standpoint. His enthusiasm, however, makes up for it. You can see him grinning from ear to ear as he manages to make each verse that he's on smell like hot s***, leaving Eminem in the dust with his pants down (then again, Eminem pulls his own pants down on every verse here, so that's no huge accomplishment). 50 is obviously still riding on the high he got from playing a young version of himself in the Get Rich movie, despite getting up there in years. It says something about either 50 Cent or Stat Quo, Ca$his, and Bobby Creekwater when a guy over 30 can sound better than a bunch of 20-somethings.

That said, there's going to be a lot of people who like this album. After all, it does offer a lot of "bangers" that dare you to doubt their seriousness (my hand's up). There's also going to be some people who are going to thank Eminem for being considerate enough to let Proof be on the album for all of 30 seconds, and who think that a remix of "Smack That" is a good idea. It's going to be the soundtrack to a lot of parties over the course of the winter and spring, so you might associate "The Re-Up" with good times. Well, you could be having good times while listening to "Hell Hath No Fury", "Audition", "Game Theory", "Mo' Mega", "Food and Liquor", and "Fishscale". None of those albums have any bad lines, and they have better beats, too. "The Re-Up" is one to skip unless you're a completist or a raver, in which case it's too late to save you either way.

Oh, and here's a weird connection: Doseone battled Emimem at Scribble Jam '97 in a consolation round (since Doseone had been DQ'ed for either shouting over Rhymefest or acting as his hype man, depending on how you look at it). Doseone used his time to curse out the Scribble Jam committee, while Eminem spit out a few more verses from his first EP and trying to pass them off as a freestyle, which he had been doing for the entire competition. Nowadays, Doseone has performed in many bands, released many albums, has many very loyal fans, and has plenty of outlets to release his creative juices. He is very secure in himself, since he's always acted true to himself and surrounded himself with good people. In contrast, Eminem starts off this album by questioning his legacy. Go figure.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Letter Ta Bin

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is an e-mail he made along with a mix CD for a friend. Enjoy.

"Letter Ta Bin"
by John Downey

(Tracklisting, without commentary, is at the bottom.)

1.) “They’re All Gonna Laugh @ You”, Atmosphere

Atmosphere is a hip-hop/emo-rap duo from Minnesota. Slug is the rapper, Ant does the production (i.e., the sounds that Slug raps over). At first, Slug was a great rapper with a crappy flow and Ant was a piece of shit producer. Then Slug’s cadence started to get better while his rhymes started to suffer, while Ant slowly became the greatest producer in emo-rap. This song is taken from the sweet spot in Atmosphere’s career: when Ant showed that he had something going for him, and when Slug hadn’t become totally populist*.

2.) “Drumsticks”, Doomtree

Doomtree is made up of, like, 9 members, 4 of which are producers. I won’t bother listing them all, since even I don’t care about all of them, and I like Doomtree. I’ll single out 2 of them for you, though, because I’m probably going to go apeshit over their work in the near-future, since they both have albums coming out in early 2009. The first is Dessa, who separates herself from the rest of the group by (a) being a female rapper and (b) being damn fucking good at rapping. (On another song off of Doomtree’s self-titled album, she spends 3 minutes ripping shit up in every possible way that an emcee can, including rapping in Spanish. The song’s called “Sadie Hawkins”, if you want to look it up. Or maybe I’ll just put it on the inevitable celebratory graduation mix CD.) The other one is P.O.S., whose previous album, “Audition”, I once referred to as one of the greatest punk albums of the past couple of years, despite being a rap album. He’s…good. He rhymes after Dessa, and he’s the only other member of the group I can be arsed to single out. It’s a problem that plagues the entire album; it’s good, but without being able to single out individual members for their contributions, it all feels so anonymous.

3.) “Paranoid Android”, Radiohead

Jarring transition in the mix, but file this one under “songs you need to own”. One website I read compared this song to “Bohemian Rhapsody”, and then said that “Rhapsody” is an inferior song. I won’t go that far (hell, I will flat-out disagree with that conclusion), but I can see how somebody would make the mistake of saying that. Easily one of the best songs of the 90’s.

4.) “N.Y. State Of Mind”, Nas

Jarring transition in the mix, but file this one under “songs you need to own”. Easily one of the best songs of the 90’s. (Huh. I could have sworn I already said that.) Since I don’t have any relevant commentary on this song, I will now point out that “Drumsticks”, “Paranoid”, and “N.Y.” were all sequenced as the 2nd track on their respective albums. On top of that, 2 of these songs were actually the first proper song on those album (“Paranoid” being the only song that was actually preceded by a song). I don’t know what the significance of that is.

5.) “Inherited Scars (live version)”, Sage Francis

Sage Francis used to write all sorts of awesome songs. Then his cadence got better, but his songs started to suck*. That’s why I love his live album, “Road Tested”. It was recorded after Sage learned how to rap properly, but he is covering the best songs in his catalog, “Inherited Scars” being among them. Also, no samples (cuz I know how much you hate samples); this was recorded using actual instruments. My only complaint is that Sage does a little call-and-response throughout, but the crowd isn’t good enough to catch all of it. I mean, they’re pretty good, but when Sage goes, “What’s with the choice of words”, the crowd is supposed to respond with, “And the body parts you decided to tag them on?” I can’t hear them say that. Urgh.

6.) “Born To Run”, Bruce Springsteen

Another “song you must own”. Irrelevant commentary: Springsteen spent 6 months writing this song. Even more irrelevant commentary: when my mom was flipping through radio stations and came across this song, I ordered her to keep it on the station, then proceeded to sing along with all of the beauty of a dog asserting his authority to all other nearby mutts in the neighborhood. I have never heard my mom laugh that hard at my own shortcomings before.

7.) “Explosivo”, Tenacious D

Some people don’t like Springsteen. Some even call him “the Devil”. Well, how about a song WHERE THE DEVIL ACTUALLY SHOWS UP?! YEAH! ROCK’N’ROLL, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

8.) “Devil’s Pie”, D’Angelo

Yeah, uh, from Satan summoning to “Devil’s Pie”. I’m witty. It’s also the start of a 3 song set of J Dilla-influenced music. J Dilla was a hip-hop producer from Detroit who made soul music (not just hip-hop songs that sampled “soul music”, but shit that actually had SOUL. Like, James Brown type of shit). During the recording of “Voodoo”, the album on which “Devil’s Pie” appears (on the SECOND TRACK!), J Dilla would should up in D’Angelo’s studio and show off stuff that he was working with Erykah Badu on. The second J Dilla would leave the studio, D’Angelo’s producers said, “We need to do exactly what he did, but with live instruments.”

9.) “Give The Drummer Sum”, Black Milk

Actually, this song is not very Dilla-like at all. I mean, Dilla’s signature siren can faintly be heard before the drums come in, but after that…holy shit. Black Milk worked with Dilla in the rap group Slum Village, but this is so far beyond any Dillaness that…fuck it, this shit is so sick, it’s actually kind of disgusting. Black Milk is a shitty rapper (great cadence, but he ain’t got shit to say)*, but I could fart on this track and it would sound fantastic.

10.) “Love”, J Dilla featuring Pharaohe Monch

And here’s the man himself. This was actually released on his first posthumous album (he died of lupus in early 2006), but I’ve heard that 75% of that album was completed by the time he died, with this song being the most Dillatastic track on it. Here’s another story about Dilla: ?uestlove says in the liner notes of this album that people would actually call Dilla on the phone with a tape recorder ready to go, and when Dilla’s voicemail kicked in, they would hit “record”, since Dilla often left hints of what he was working on as his voicemail message. That’s fucking sweet.

11.) “Clint Eastwood”, Gorillaz

The sound of so many middle-school dances, right here. Another “song you must own”, though I will admit that this is probably the least-essential song that I’m giving that label to. Oh, and a new Gorillaz album is coming out soon, according to stuff I’ve read online. Remember, it’s been 4 years since the last Gorillaz album, which was released 4 years after the previous Gorillaz album. Gotta love bands that release new material on such a consistent timetable.

12.) “Dang”, Buck 65

I preferred Buck’s work when he sounded like Elmo (I heard from somewhere that he was actually employed by Sesame Workshop as the voice for “rapping Elmo”, but I haven’t been able to confirm that anywhere, though I can confirm that he performed a song called “Grocery Store Rap” on the show), and also when Buck stuck to making hip-hop stuck in the present day. This is one of the better tracks from his most recent album that is stuck in the 1950’s. The first proper song on the album is called “1957”, and it starts off by quoting Ginsberg’s “Howl” but then proceeds to list off a couple of things that didn’t happen in ’57 alongside a whole bunch of things that did happen in ’57. Also, “Dang” has a better beat.

13.) “Good Friday”, Why?

I’ve almost put this song on so many mix CD’s, but all it takes is for me to listen to the first line of the song to know that the person I plan on giving the mix to is not going to appreciate it. The rest wouldn’t understand the humor in this song. I’m not sure that you’ll understand it either, but I’m pretty sure that you’ll still laugh.

14.) “Pigeon”, Cannibal Ox

This is the dorkiest inclusion on this mix, for reasons that are so very obscure. Here goes: I was looking through a list of samples used throughout the album that this song appears on, “The Cold Vein”, to see just what kinds of jazz El-P, the producer of the album, used to create his vision of a cold world. (El-P is the son of a jazz musician, which is a fact that makes sense when you look at how some of his songs are structured, and also makes no sense, since El-P makes rap in the vein of Public Enemy.) There’s some clear irony in what he used as samples—“The F-Word” samples “All Night Long”, “Painkillers” samples “Love And Happiness” (okay that one doesn’t fit but it’s funny to me!)—but “Pigeon” contains a sample that actually made me start laughing out loud. See, “Pigeon” contains a sample from a song by jazz bassist Jaco Pastorius. This song, I’ve learned, is now a bass guitar standard, with covers existing by several other famous bass players. The name of this song? “Portrait of Tracy”**. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of this song, so I figured a song that sampled it would suffice. Like I said, dorky.

15.) “B.O.B.”, Outkast

“Song you must own”. I just can’t think of any other 5-minute long, momentum generating rap songs with 2 emcees who complete their verses halfway through the song. And has a guitar solo.

16.) “Sing-Along”, David Cross

This is funny. ’Nuff said.

17.) “Wamp Wamp”, The Clipse featuring Slim Thug

This beat probably shouldn’t exist in this universe. It’s so dark. And cool. And, like, damn. I raved about this album when it came out 2 years ago, but it sold like shit. That happens with most music that I like.

18.) “(Nothing But) Flowers”, Talking Heads

I have completely forgotten why I put this song on the mix. It’s a great song; that’s all I can use to justify its place here. I might be starting to lose it.

19.) “Locusts”, Invincible featuring Finale

In the main event of the Ring Of Honor show, “Bedlam In Beantown”, Kevin Steen wrestled Necro Butcher in a Boston Massacre match. There was no real interest in this match (before it started, anyway); people were paying their $20 for this show mostly to see the American debut of a flashy Japanese wrestler, and to see an ROH World Heavyweight Title match, which is almost always a good time. In a press release before the show, though, ROH informed its fans that they would be putting the Boston Massacre match on last so that anyone who wouldn’t want to see it could leave before the match started without missing the rest of the show. That’s kind of what I’m doing here. This song is kind of depressing, so you can listen to the entire rest of this mix in a good mood and then not listen to this song (even though it would have fit in with the Dilla trilogy perfectly). Since it’s the best original song I’ve heard this year, though, I wouldn’t recommend it.

1.) “They’re All Gonna Laugh @ You”, Atmosphere
2.) “Drumsticks”, Doomtree
3.) “Paranoid Android”, Radiohead
4.) “N.Y. State Of Mind”, Nas
5.) “Inherited Scars (live version)”, Sage Francis
6.) “Born To Run”, Bruce Springsteen
7.) “Explosivo”, Tenacious D
8.) “Devil’s Pie”, D’Angelo
9.) “Give The Drummer Sum”, Black Milk
10.) “Love”, J Dilla featuring Pharaohe Monch
11.) “Clint Eastwood”, Gorillaz
12.) “Dang”, Buck 65
13.) “Good Friday”, Why?
14.) “Pigeon”, Cannibal Ox
15.) “B.O.B.”, Outkast
16.) “Sing-Along”, David Cross
17.) “Wamp Wamp”, The Clipse featuring Slim Thug
18.) “(Nothing But) Flowers”, Talking Heads
19.) “Locusts”, Invincible featuring Finale

*: In retrospect, that's a bit harsh.
**: The joke is that my friend's name is Tracey.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: I Laugh At Innocence

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is an essay he wrote for a class. Enjoy.

"I Laugh At Innocence"
by John Downey

The popular view towards youth bases its conceptions around babies and teenagers—babies being innocent, teenagers being wild creatures to be tamed/allowed to express themselves/jailed/feared. The idea of what a child is should, in theory, be somewhere in between, moving away from innocence but not quite a hellraiser. All it takes to destroy that theory is to spend time around actual children, at which point one has to accept that children are much more complex than we would like to give them credit for. Or go insane. Either option works, really.

Children listen to the Jonas Brothers, play Pokemon video games, and watch “CSI”. On one side of the classroom, kids are talking about the Hannah Montana repeat from the other night; on the other side, their classmates are talking about what Triple H did to John Cena. They all play together, despite their differing tastes that have already started to develop. There is no pattern for estimating their tastes. Two sci-fi based CGI-animated films aimed towards children were recently released: “Monsters vs. Aliens” and “Battle For Terra”. Both received similar critical praise, and they were released within a month of each other. “Monsters vs. Aliens” debuted #1 at the box office, and is the 3rd highest-grossing IMAX movie of all time, behind “The Dark Knight” and “Watchmen”. Meanwhile, “Battle For Terra” debuted at #12, having the 3rd lowest opening for a CGI movie in wide release. It is those kind of numbers that make movie executives go to church.

Some children I worked with were asked to draw pictures that reminded them of their loved ones. One girl drew an assortment of items related to her grandfather, including a few items of clothing, his appearance, and other expected elements. There was one thing that she drew, though, that I honestly couldn’t figure out. I had my mental guesses, of course (calendar? library card? trivia pursuit card?), but eventually, I just asked her to identify this object.

“SCRATCH TICKETS!” she answered.

One boy in the same classroom drew typical manly items in relation to his brother, such as knives, guns, and dead people. (This might make one think that he has a violent brother, but his future illustrations offered casual death wishes to such offenders as sheep and the sun.) The teacher was able to censor these images in their infancy, but when it came time to draw these collaborations on a large poster, this boy immediately drew a large handgun.

“Were you allowed to draw that two minutes ago?” the teacher asked.

“It’s a water gun,” he answered. He proceeded to add water squirting out of the end of what is perhaps the scariest squirt gun known to mankind.

Yet another girl was attempting to think of details concerning a neighbor’s dog, who she had often played with. The teacher tried to help. “When was the last time you saw it?”

“I dunno. It was a couple of months ago.”

“What does it look like?”

“It was a puppy, but it might’ve grown up.”

“Well, maybe you should start focusing on something else.”

The girl’s jaw hit the ground. How dare this teacher tell her that she should change subjects!

Downey's "Classics" Presents: This note is a long OOOOOOOOH, CHEESEBURGERZ!

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is how I make fun of my own reactions to thing. Sort of. Enjoy.

"This note is a long OOOOOOOOH, CHEESEBURGERZ!"
by John Downey

(Enter John Downey carrying a stool. He is dressed in semi-formal attire, though he is missing a tie. He places the stool right next to the brick wall, which is barren except for the noteworthy door and the large neon sign that says "LIVE NUDES". John clears his throat.)

JOHN: Screw me once, shame on you. Screw me twice, and motherfucker, shit's going down in Chinatown.

(John whips out a clicker and a long retractable rod. He clicks the clicker once, and a light is projected onto the wall next to him.)

JOHN: The MCLA Dance Company.

(He clicks the clicker again, and the light shows a picture of a bunch of people wearing Dance Company T-shirts and smiles on their faces.)

JOHN: Looks like a good place to hang out, and to get your name out there to the community. But don't be fooled, because under the surface...runs something really bad.

(He clicks the clicker again, and the light shows a group photo of the current members of the E-Board.)

JOHN: The E-Board. I've had my differences with them in the past, but for the most part, I've agreed with the tough decisions that they have to make.

(He clicks again, and the same picture is shown, except with crudely drawn Hitler mustaches and devil horns drawn on them.)

JOHN: Until now.

(John looks as though he is about to pace around, but then realizes that he's still standing on a stool, so he just looks around, shrugs his shoulders, and continues talking.)

JOHN: Last Sunday night, I participated in the Dance Company audition process. Before it began in earnest, though, the auditioners, myself among them, were told to formally request the number of dances that we wish to be put in. I requested 3. I was put in only 1 dance. This is grounds for treason and MCLA deserves to be burned to the ground.

(door flies open)

JAY: WHERE DA G'S?!
JOHN: Jay! My older brother! What are you doing here?
JAY: Looking for the next girl that's gonna scream "OH JIMMY!", that's what. What are you doing here?
JOHN: I'm making a speech to my huddled masses.
JAY: Ummmmmm...there's nobody here.
JOHN: My audience is the Internet.
JAY: Urgh. Hold on.
(takes long puff from blunt)
JAY: Okay, assface, what's the problem this time?
JOHN: I got put in only once dance for Dance Company, when I wanted to get put into three dances. My solution is to inflict much physical and emotional harm onto the E-Board.
JAY: Okay, first off, fuckface, are you sure that it was the E-Board's decision as to who would end up in which dance?
JOHN: Actually, I'm pretty sure that they had very little to do with the casting. The choreographer for each dance selected which people he or she wanted for their dances.
JAY: So where does the E-Board come in?
JOHN: When I don't get put in 3 dances.
JAY: Shitface, maybe only one choreographer wanted you in their dance.
JOHN: So?
JAY: SO WHERE DOES THE E-BOARD COME IN?!
JOHN: It's evil. It's injust. It inconveniences me. Smells like E-Board to me.
JAY: "Inconveniences" you? By making you concentrate on only one dance this semester?
JOHN: Jay, look--
JAY: Shut up, cuntface. Get your fucking facts straight, and think about the importance of this semester's performance before you go back onto your dick-wagging celebration.
JOHN: You mean the fact that the MCLA Dance Company is going to perform at Mass MoCa, the largest museum for contemporary visual art and performing arts in the country?
JAY: Yeah. You think that maybe they don't want just the ones who are willing, but are also ABLE?
JOHN: Oh shit. You're starting to make sense.
JAY: Damn straight, cockface. Hell, I would imagine that some people wouldn't be put in any dances, period. Wouldn't surprise me one bit.
JOHN: But--
JAY: AND LOOK AT YOU! You're a white boy with two left feet! You should be thankful that they don't fire you out of a cannon during intermission! People might actually take pictures of you if they do that!
JOHN: Speak for yourself, pumpkinhead.
JAY: Speaking of which, what's the song you're going to be dancing to?
JOHN: Well, it's so cool, I'm not even going to tell you.
(pause)
JAY: Ba bah. Bwa bah ba, ba....
(takes long drag from blunt)
JAY: Much better. Look, be thankful for what you've got, and stop cursing out people for looking out for your best interests. And where's my fucking Thursday shirt?
JOHN: I don't know.
JAY: Ah, fuck it. I'm gonna go watch "Gilmore Girls" on DVD.
(exit Jay Downey)
JOHN: Well....ummm...
(long pause)
JOHN: JEFF HARDY FOR PRESIDENT!
(long pause)
(John gets off of stool, and picks it up.)
JOHN: Quaseem's going to want this back soon...
(exit John)

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Can I Ghostwrite for Killer Cam

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is something I posted on a forum dedicated to a hip-hop video game. It was supposed to be stupid. Enjoy.

"Can I Ghostwrite For Killer Cam?"
by John Downey

See for yourself. WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MAY BE HARMFUL TO PEOPLE WITH WORKING BRAINS.

"Tying my shoes takes a lot of effort
Go to Sesame Street and go get Big Bird
To tie my shoes for me cuz I'm all over the streets
Like Tim O'Brien, Orson Scott Card and W.B. Yeats
Ain't no other rapper with a flow like mine
They try but I get 'em with a knife made out of pine
Cones, they're nature's gift to us
I get told to shut up at town meetings cuz I ain't allow to cuss
I wake up to the sound of Regis and Kelly
All my enemies are like my dinner: they're in my belly
Cuz I'm a cannibal whenever the hecks I feel like it
I always cry whenever I watch Emma Thompson in "Wit"
For April Fool's Day I wear Barney underwear
And run through across town so that I can wrestle a bear
And that's life on the streets through the eyes of me
I see as far as I can see
The streets...DIPSET!"






...I am SO sorry.

Psychics suck

My e-mail inbox is stuffed with crap. It's the bad side of having a shitton of free space. Here is one of the many e-mails I have received from psychics, which have been consistent since I signed up for one as part of a joke in 2004.

"Dear John,

I've written you twice before about a completely unique way to fulfill your fondest wishes and find the everlasting spiritual comfort you deserve. John, I’m concerned I haven't heard back from you yet. Have you received my previous letters? I really don’t want you to miss out on such a simple and rare opportunity to put your wishes into action and your worries to bed. So please read on.

So often in life, John, timing is everything. And it’s particularly important that you act now, in time for the New Moon, a powerful and influential phenomenon for the month of November.

Starting on November 9th, the date of the New Moon, you can experience something miraculous that literally works as you sleep. That’s how powerful it is. As a Taurus, it can help you to wake up to brand new incredible opportunities in your life -- perhaps a windfall of money, life-changing luck, and even a newfound courage and ambition to do your heart’s desire...

JOHN, DON’T MISS OUT ON CHANGING YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE -- AS SOON AS NOVEMBER 9TH!

As you know, I am always looking for opportunities for you that will help you to tap into the greatness that I know awaits you. John, I have found something so truly extraordinary that I knew you would want to hear about it immediately!

I know that you already know about the fountain of happiness and good fortune that can be possible with the guidance of your own personal angel spirits. But I have found a way for you to call upon the Archangel Raphael -- he belongs to a very special class of angel who can call on other angels to help you transform your life. I wouldn't have believed it myself, except that I have witnessed these very transformations in friends of mine, and I so want YOU to enjoy this very same abundance, prosperity, and success.

Why November 9th? Because this is the date of the New Moon. You probably know that the highest spiritual energy for success occurs at the New Moon, and this November’s New Moon is an especially powerful and unique time for positive change, luck, and love. And the November moon, also called the Frost Moon, is an even more potent time to have your wishes fulfilled and attract the wealth you deserve.
That's why, John, it's especially important that you pay close attention to what I'm about to say.

LET THE SPIRIT OF THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL WORK HIS MAGIC FOR YOU...

Angel spirits can positively shape your life, and are available to everyone all the time, but only if you are able to access them. And, John, I have discovered something that will help you to connect to this angel guidance at this auspicious time of the New Moon -- it's called The Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit. This enchanting Wish Pillow Kit lets you communicate your fondest dreams and desires.

The most amazing thing about the Wish Pillow is that it is so SIMPLE AND EASY TO USE -- all you have to do is go to sleep and let it work for you!

Here's how it works -- your beautiful Wish Pillow is made with 100% silk, with a specially sewn pocket and a picture of the Archangel Raphael on the front. Why silk? Because, John, silk is a rich natural fiber which has long been associated with personal transformation and wealth.


Along with this pillow, the Invocation Kit contains 3 Archangel talismans printed on parchment paper representing the 3 most important Angels of Abundance under Raphael -- Omael, Lelahel, and Leuviah. I will also send you 3 magical prayers to help you to invoke these angels. But I'm getting ahead of myself!

The most important thing to remember is that angels are celestial beings that exist in the spirit realm, beyond our conscious mind, so it's best to invite their power when we are going to sleep -- the conscious logical mind has to retreat from the stress and strain of the day, in order to communicate with the spirit realm. Only then are you truly open and free to receive guidance and knowledge from the angel spirits.

WRITE IT DOWN, SAY IT ALOUD, AND GO TO SLEEP.
JOHN, IT'S THAT SIMPLE!

When you consciously picture something you desire, be it wealth, more joy, or greater success, and when you WRITE IT DOWN AND SAY IT ALOUD, you are tapping into the most powerful means of bringing it into existence -- and getting visible, tangible results.

What you'll do is write your wish down on the parchment talisman and say the prayer DIRECTLY BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP. I don't think I can stress enough just how important this is -- as I said, the mind is most receptive to angelic intervention at this time. This is an ancient magical practice that has been proven to work, and I've seen just how powerful this technique has shown itself to be in countless lives.

ON NOVEMBER 9TH, ASK FOR YOUR FONDEST WISHES...
THE ANGELS WILL HEAR YOU AND DELIVER!

To bring greater prosperity into your life, you should use the Wish Pillow to invoke Raphael, the Archangel of Abundance and Fortune. Raphael is capable of generating wealth and miracles, and is associated with fire and the capacity to enjoy life to the fullest. He is the guardian of the Tree of Life, which provides an eternal bounty of fruit.

Raphael, an Archangel, a higher class of angel, will help you to contact the 3 Angels of Abundance -- Omael, Lelahel, and Leuviah -- who watch over 3 different aspects of abundance in your life: prosperity, good fortune, and success. Each Angel has his own special ancient talisman, which is the way you can invoke their spirits directly.

These mystical talismans contain the names of the Angels in both Hebrew and magical "fire letters", so-called for their special power of being visible both to the physical and astral planes of existence. Hebrew is the ancient language which appeared for the first time in the 10 commandments. Add to this the inscription of the fire letters, the alphabet of angels, and you basically have a direct line to the ears of the angels...

The Angel Omael -- Angel of Prosperity

Direct your wish to the Angel Omael when you need blessings of material needs, for he will help to bring you the richness of your innermost desires. This Angel can also provide the strength that you need to banish any negative influences you may have, and bring positive love and fortune in its place.

The Angel Lelahel -- Angel of Good Fortune

When you are in need of luck, the Angel Lelahel is the perfect angel to direct your wish to -- this angel's lucky influence will help you in any endeavor. Lelahel brings harmony and beauty to life, and will help you to experience the true joy of living to the absolute fullest.

The Angel Leuviah -- Angel of Success

The Angel Leuviah is helpful for when you want to turn your dreams into reality, and will help you overcome any obstacles that might stand in your way to achieving stunning successes in all your ventures.

Once you have written each wish, read it aloud, along with the special prayer to the particular angel you are invoking, and then place the wish in the pocket of your Wish Pillow, contemplating it as you fall asleep on the cloud of the angels' beneficent and enchanted good will.


SPECIAL ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL MEDALLION --
MY FREE GIFT TO YOU!

I am so eager for you to experience the benefits of the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit that I am including a FREE gift just for you, John -- this exquisite Archangel Raphael Medallion! Carry it with you so that it works its powerful magic for you all through the day.

This magical combination of elements -- the pillow, the 3 Angels of Abundance talismans, the 3 Angel prayers -- along with the Archangel Raphael Medallion, all come together to give you the most potent spiritual advantage I have yet to see! You can harness this magical power on November 9th, the date of the New Moon, the most supernatural time of the year! And this is why I couldn't wait to tell you about the Wish Pillow, so that I can pass this supreme opportunity for more wealth, good fortune, and success than you ever dreamed possible!

Don't waste another minute without this powerful tool -- who'd have thought that all you have to do is go to sleep to have all your dreams come true!

REMEMBER, NOVEMBER 9TH IS YOUR DATE WITH GOOD FORTUNE

To make it as easy as possible to use the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit on November 9th, you can review and use it FREE and without committing to anything. Then, only if you are completely satisfied, after 30 days your card will be billed at the exclusive price of only $19.95!

Naturally, this comes with a Lifetime Guarantee, which means that should you ever at any time feel that you are dissatisfied with the Wish Pillow, you can return it to me, be it a week, a month, or even 10 years from now, with no explanation necessary, and receive a FULL REFUND, which includes the shipping and handling fee. Of course, the Archangel Raphael Medallion is yours to keep, no matter what.

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE, JOHN!

I am so confident that by using the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit, all your treasured wishes will be realized. I have written you a letter which explains exactly how to use the Kit to your utmost advantage. As November 9th will be here before you know it, I beg you not to delay in clicking the button, John! I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that this could change your life in ways you can't even imagine right now.

Your friend,

Iam Batshitcrazy"

The text speaks for itself.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Greatest Philosophy One Can Abide By

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is something kah-razy he wrote three years ago in the heat of the moment. Enjoy.

"The Greatest Philosophy One Can Abide By"
by John Downey

I've thrown out a challenge to a biotch that is steppin' on my turf. It's one thing to beat the shit out of me. It's happened before, and with my big mouth, it'll probably happen again--maybe even by the time you read this. I've also had to deal with people who are better than me in every way possible. But this shit is fucking PERSONAL. But first...a family portrait.

Most of my closest (well, closer) friends know about my father's exploits. There's a very good reason why I talk a lot about the dude. In his 50 years, he managed to pack in a lot. He ran a gang, grew (and smoked) pot, worked hard at everything he tried to, and (if all of his stories are to be believed) was a consummate ladies man. Why wouldn't I talk about a dude like that?

There's another reason why I usually talk about my dad, though, and that's because the rest of my biological family is fucking boring. My aunt's family is a perfect example of this. She's a school teacher who takes the family to church every Sunday. The kids say their prayers at all of the appropriate times. Swearing is forbidden. Despite having 5 kids, they only recently got a Gamecube, in an era in which hand-eye coordination is almost as prided as actual smarts. If the Downey/Moores are the Simpsons, then the Harveys are the Flanders.

Lil' Katherine Harvey has always stood out from the bunch, at least in my eyes. She's the first one to do any sort of crazy jump or stunt. (She does better flips than me on a trampoline, and I'm fucking crazy with that shit. Think about THAT.) She has also stood out in pretty much every sport she's ever done. Thing is, though, she's not sure which sport she wants to specialize in. She's tried a whole bunch of different things, from soccer to cross-country.

Uh oh.

Gimmick infringement.

I'M the runner in the family.

I'M the fastest motherfucker on two feet.

I've got so many track shit with the word 'Varsity' on it, my brother steals some of it just so that he can look good. (It works out, though, since he hasn't seen his Thursday shirt in 7 years, so I ain't mad.)

And I'm going to visit the Harvey residence over Christmas break.

At first, I was afraid that the spunky second-born was going to challenge me to a race. Then I realized, "Downey, what the fuck do you have to be afraid of? You can't just pussyfoot around this kind of an issue! Are you afraid of that bible-thumping little hoochie?! Hell no! That's not how we do it down in Delaware! MAN UP!"

So, when I head on down to Penn in 3 weeks, Downey ain't gonna be Downey. Hells no. He will be one running machine. Hell, he'l be able to keep pace with a Durkin brother for TWO laps before collapsing in a heap, gasping for air. Meanwhile, Katherine's gonna be all like, "Kind lord, please give me the strength to make my dear family proud in the course of this race." And I'ma be all like, "BITCH, I SHOOT KITTENS! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING PRAYING TO GOD! I AM GOD!"

S'right. Man up. It's not just a saying. It's a way of life. If your face is on fire, man up with some coldass water. If some girl dumps you, man up and push her in front of a bus. If some weird-looking little man looks at you for a millisecond too long, man up and knock his fucking teeth in. There's no time for critical thought here. Life'll pass you by. As long as you don't get hurt, who the fuck cares?*

Feel free to leave premature congratulations in the comments box. Or "suck a fuck"s. S'all good.

*Warning: "Man up" is not for everyone. If you do not regularly exercise, or are currently on an inhaler, consider finding a compromise to conflicts. Women who are pregnant or may become pregnant who use "man up" may suffer from a miscarriage and should consult their doctor before participating in any rumbles. Men under 150 pounds may subscribe to "man up", but only after purchasing an instrument that can draw blood, such as a knife, chair, cheese grinder, or fork. "Man up" has not been approved by the pussyfuckers at the FuckDatAss, but who gives a fuck? I don't. MAN UP!

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Latest 7

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is how I spent an entire year of my life. Enjoy.

"The Latest 7"
by John Downey

I don't get that wet in the shower.
Four miles, rain in yo face,
And likely have to do it all over again.
THE JOYS OF GOING TO A COMMUNITY COLLEGE.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Quaaludes, Probably

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is...something. Enjoy.

"Quaaludes, Probably"
by John Downey

You don’t think that this creature is calling for attention, do you? Hey, let’s read its mind, see what we can dish up. There is no ‘animalistic fallacy’ here, you just can’t speak BIRD. She looks down—
What? You thought that it was a male bird? How silly of you—
To see the desert that separates herself from all that she holds dear in the world. Call me optimistic when I say that this hurts her, because that means that she’s capable of feeling happiness. Should she wait her for her friends to come? WILL her friends come? Should she stay on her perch and wait for her friends to come, hailing them when they approach her line of sight? Does she even want to see her old friends again? Maybe she should become friends with the earthworms and mice, making friends out of prey, always being able to hold something against them.
Maybe her friends are hiding from her in the trees. That’s what she’s scanning for. Some of her friends don’t have the backbone to tell her that she can be painful to be around, that she makes too much of a scene, that she’s been known to scream from rooftops when things don’t go her way. Standing on a perch hurts her, because that’s proving her ‘friends’ right. But maybe they aren’t in the trees, and that rustling is just a bear, or maybe it’s food that she could use right now. What if it’s not, though, and one of her loves flies by when she’s not looking? On that note, she stays where she is, and reconsiders all possibilities every 5 minutes, until her feet can’t take anymore and she has to leave her perch.
Drama queen.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Various Orphaned Work From Senior Year Of High School

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is various orphaned work from Senior year of high school, way back in 2004/2005. Enjoy.

Seeing as how this is only the year 2419, and we monkeys are the dominant race in existence, it was quite a shock when one day I looked out my window and saw what had to have been a genuine member of the homo sapiens race, extinct since 2006, when George Dubya killed every human on Earth after he learned that he actually lost the 2004 election. I barely managed to say, "Holy man!" before fainting back into bed.

When I came to, the homo sapien, more commonly referred to as a 'human', was still picking grapefruits out of my backyard. I couldn't call the police—not since the Homegrown Botany Ban of 2405—and I couldn't harm him since my most effective weapon was a dull blade (due to my status as a mandrill—SUCH RACISM!!!). Instead, I decided to observe him.

He took one look at my broken bike seat that was specifically designed for my hindquarters, dropped trowl, and…

***

Despite its taste and arousing smell, most adults drink coffee to wake up in the morning. Usually, adults are willing to harm themselves to a 'greater benefit'; job they hate, children that whine, cars that suck, etc. So why drink good coffee? They could just as easily swallow coffee beans and hope to get the same effect. (It does. Tastes like Cocoa Crispies, too.) Or, even better, stick coffee grounds in their mouths, then some hot water, swish it around in your mouth, and then swallow. That is a surefire way to get somebody going in the morning! That, and an alarm clock equipped with tasers. Those would be cool, too. And if those tasers were programmed to be active when the snooze button is pressed.

***

Sandra's hands were clasped. I looked at them and considered my brother, his thoughts whirling with possibilities, moving deeper and deeper into the secret, and I knew that his heart was about to get crushed. "Um, I'm already going out with somebody," she finally said.

My brother sighed and said, "Oh, okay." (If only he had left it at that.) "Just out of curiosity, who is he?"

"Her name is Katie."

You should have seen his jaw drop. I mean, I could feel for him, but really, it was just too funny. Sandra apologized for having to tell him this way, but that really didn't do anything. He just stood there with his mouth wide open. I think a fly flew into that big, gaping hole.

After she left, he walked over to me and asked why I was laughing so hard. All I could spit out was, "So, is she into you, or…" That was all I got out. Really, seeing that kid get mentally floored was something I've waited 15 years to happen.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asked.

"T'YEAH!" was my answer.

***

The room smells like perfume. It is a lovely smell, and somewhat nauseating, too. Amanda dropped her perfume, and it spilled and broke on the floor. Better than Lysol? Perhaps. But its hard to put perfume in your brother's room. God, that smells bad. His room, I mean. It smells like big brother. Which is bad. I mean, even when he comes out of the shower, he smells like a big pile of elephant crap, if elephant crap were stuck to human armpits and attacked by an army of skunks. Apparently, the ladies love it, though, since he always has a girlfriend. At first, I was weary of my brother dating my classmates's sisters; then, after seeing the sort of specimen he really chases after, I started wishing he would go back to dating my classmates's sisters, because some of those chicks were nasty.

***

I believe this was commenting on a comment made by Henry David Thoreau, who liked to live a simple life. Of course, I (intentionally) miss the point that Thoreau was probably trying to make.

I think this dude is saying, "Getting money and a family is bad; telling the truth is good." I never understood this Jacque Thoreau guy. Wasn't his specialty about the living creatures in the sea? So, he should've stuck to talking about fish and left the 'meaning of life' stuff to the psychiatrists. I mean, let's say that you marry a rich woman, and have 5 children; by definition, you are evil!

***

HOW TO PICK UP A GIRL

Obviously, the joke here is that this is not how you pick up a girl.

1) Choose a girl to hit on. (ONE choice here; hitting on two at the same time usually results in both of them being turned off and three is only for professionals with at least 6 years of experience.)

2) Introduce yourself, THEN ask her name. Order of operations is crucial here.

3) Engage in stupid conversations about stuff—how she's doing, how her sister's operation went, how her parents disowned her, etc.

4) LOOK INTO HER EYES. This part is tricky, since you probably did not pick out your target on the basis of how pretty their eyes are. But maintain eye contact as much as possible; it will make you look like you give a crap.

5) Compliment her on her worst feature. Seriously. It makes them feel good.

6) Talk about your sister as if she's the best person in the world, then show her the picture that came with the wallet. I don't know why this works, but it does.

7) Ask if you want to continue this conversation elsewhere…

HOW TO MAke WORLD PEACE. Step #1: Make everyone stop fighting. Step #2: Make sure nobody ever fights again. EASY!

***

What happens when you realize that your stream of concensiousness (or however it is spelled) piece sucks ass while in the middle of it? See below for answer.

Have it, save me from the unwilling, white flag, lets have it now. Go quick now, run away, far away from here, so you shall never have to feel it again. Its stopped, how wonderful. The past is now here to bite us on the ass. Its come; we forgot it, that's why its here. Shredded paper does not shred memories, unfortunately. We win and lose at the same time. We're here, we're now, we matter in the moment, but not for long. We died, that's what happened to everyone who lived. He is up there, laughing at us. Is he up there going, "I wonder what would happen if a turkey becomes president?" Watch out for 2024; Gobble BeCaw is favored to win the election. He has no beard, wait, does he, or does he look like Jesus? Heck, is he a she? Ha ha, the Bible could be SO wrong. Peace and quiet. Aah. I am all alone in my gray room, no windows, just a light from the TV and some grub at my feet. I am content. Withdrawal could be a means to an end. I'm going crazy; is that a voice I hear? No, just a jackal, c'mon sox! I'm funny; yes I is. Who cares what everyone else thinks?

***

One night at the local pub, Robert and Ted were having beers when a nice-looking young woman walked in.

"Damn," said Robert, "I gotta get me some of that."

"Dude," said Ted, "that's the mayor's daughter."

"So?"

"You try to hit that, you're gonna get your thing chopped off."

"You're just a pussy, Ted."

"Hey, if you want to try, its your funeral."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence. And by the way, you don't need your dick in order to live, DUMBASS."

Rob walked over and told the bartender to put her drink on his tab.

"Um, thanks," she said.

"Yeah, well, I can't stand it when a lady has to pay for her own vodka," Rob said.

"This is water."

"Right! Vodka and water! The two things that women should never have to pay for."

"What about dinner, and limos, and wedding rings?"

"…My name is Robert."

"Tracey."

"So, are you enjoying your water?"

"Well, I haven't tasted it yet."

"Well, that looks like good water. MMM-hm!"

"Yes…water usually is."

"Isn't it?"

"Well, unless it breaks, like it did for my best friend."

"Oh my. How did that happen?"

"She didn't shoot the guy when she should have."

"Oh, what a pity. I do hope she's alright."

"She's doing well, except for that whole 'have-to-stay-at-home-all-the-time' thing."

"Well, I do hope she eventually grows out of it. She shouldn't stay inside just because of one embarrassing incident."

She stood up. "I have to go."

Rob got up. "May I have your number?"

"Sure." She gave him the number for the local poison control center. Then, she left.

Rob walked back over to Ted. 'So, am I good, or am I good?" he asked.



"Up is like down when it damn well feels like it!" said the professor.

"The solution was hydrochloric acid; the problem was, therefore, an ugly face!" yelled out a student.

***

Goodness gracious. MAN some videogames are stupid, and also very entertaining at the same time. In this case, I'm referring to Rumble Roses. It certainly has an awesome pedigree—the developer (Yuke's) has been making wrestling games for 5 years, and its publisher (Konami) has revolutionized the way videogames are made and played for the last 15 years or so. Still, the game is laughable, but at least intentionally so. You see, the only characters in the game are female. Oh yeah, and there are only two kinds of matches: 1-on-1 (no pun intended) and Mad Mud match. It plays well, but there is no way to wrestle a serious match. The second I get absorbed in it, someone sticks their ass in their opponents face, or some outrageously bad dialogue comes spewing out. And the jokes range from "Cowgirl has bigger teats than my sheep!" to "I'm ready to fight! Just one question, though: how'd you get such a big rack?" The game is fun to play, and I didn't waste any money in getting it. But I should mention that Konami's latest game for its flagship series, Metal Gear Solid 3, will be released on Friday. When I get that game, I imagine that I will forget about ladies throwing each other around in piles of mud.

***

Turtles actually have lots of fun. They run laps, sip water, and wiggle their little tails for their own enjoyment. Its kind of hard to tell when they are happy, but you can tell just by when the turtle looks you in the eyes, stares…and BLINKS. That's a dead giveaway right there. The thing is, turtles are incredibly stupid—the side effect of having a brain the size of one of my fingernails. Therefore, they are very easily entertained.

***

The FLOA (Flag Lovers Of America) were marching for their cause—racists on dialysis—when an apple clocked one of them upside the head.

"Who goes there?" said the Head Flagger.

"It is I, the King of the Mountain, Towylette Byrd!" responded the tall, apple-throwing man. When the Head Flagger started giggling, the big man yelled, "Its French and I was named after my father, STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!!"

"Um, King Toilet," said the HF, "Why are you throwing apples at my lot? We are mere protectors to a good cause."

"You do not have the proper permits to be on this land. Go away, fools."

"Ha! Like you possess our combined hypnotic powers!"

"Ha! You are a band of merry travelers waving around pieces of paper and think that counts as power?! Try me, weaklings!"

"Very well!" And the lot danced around and signed LEG US THROOG YOUR LAMP, POOL. (They needed some work.)

"Ha! I would just as soon kiss a Chihuahua and believe that I was suffering from a primal form of animalistic fallacy!" said Burd.

"Um, the animalistic fallacy is mistakingly believing that animals have human emotions," replied the HF.

Burd threw another apple at them.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Latest 3

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is...uh, who knows. Enjoy.

"The Latest 3"
by John Downey

Bells hit the ceiling, telling me the weather,
And that we need to get better insulation for the roof.
There's no chiming, just pitterpattering drums,
An indication of the pulse of the household.
In the kitchen, Richard's promoting violence as a way to peace,
And his son, Shannon, listens with eager ears.
There's a step-aerobics stepstool around here somewhere;
It's probably being used as a doorstop.
The lights work better after a swift knock.
The TV has a black bar on the left of the screen, but otherwise, it's fine.
The playroom lives up to its name.
The house is an unsightly bright red; Richard's going to paint it over the summer,
Or whenever it stops raining, whichever comes first.
The trip to Skate 3 is postponed for another day.
I climb back up into bed and stare at the ceiling,
Wondering how long this eden is going to last.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: INTENSELY PERSONAL BLOG!

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is the last blog post on his MySpace "blog", written over a year ago. Enjoy.

"...INTENSELY PERSONAL BLOG!"
by John Downey

Note: all details that could end up biting me on the ass have been removed. Names have been replaced with letters of the alphabet for clarity.

So I met a ____ named (A) at the _________ of the ______ ____, and I knew right away that I _____ ___. My thinking on these matters, though, is that they usually do not work out in my favor, so I tried to put it out of my mind. But (A) kept _______ __ all over the place! I did _____ and (A) was _____, I did _______ and (A) was ______, heck, I even did _____ and (A) was _____! And I never do _____, so that's pretty big for me. Anywho, (A) gets a ______ named (B), who was a mix between a _____ and a ______ (no, not the little dudes you stomp on in Mario games). Whatever. People make mistakes, right? (See plenty of my other blogs for examples.) Thing is, though, (B) ____ her _____ by ________ on ___, and then _______ ___, which is the shittiest fucking thing in the history of everything. Worse than dead puppies. This _______ (A) for a ____, but (A) seems more ___________ in what I ____ to ___. She even ______ to ______ ________. Thumbs up, right? Well, I _____ (A) to __ ____ me __ ___ _____ _______ ______, and she ____ _ ____ ______ ____ ____________ _____ __, which is more than she gave one dude, but a __ is still a __. But then I was ____ that ______ ___ ____ __ ___ _____, since ___ __ was _____ to __ _____! Which leaves me...where? I'm not in hell, but it's hell getting to heaven from this point.

So, yeah, what should I do?