Hi. How are you? How’s it hangin’? What’s up? What’s good? What’s goin’ down? Whatcha up to? What’s new? Is old-school new? Not if you’re from the school of hard knocks. If you’re not, I’ll knock you up upside yo’ head.

Language. It’s all around us. It defines who we are. Without language, we would truly be nothing. It’s the only which way we can surely communicate. Despite all the changes the world has seen…..from caves to computers……words have remained a constant. Within this system of communication I find a sort of interweaving beauty. The rhythm of letters, the flow of sounds, the particular cadence and mysticism of putting the syntax of a sentence together.

English teachers and literary professors concern themselves with verbose eloquence, but the particular area of interest and fascination for me has always been slang. Lingo, common vernacular, urban poetry. It was worth noting that as I read The Inferno by Dante the researcher noted in the preface that Dante wrote some of the portions of his epic and majestic work in the vulgar plebeians’ language. Most artistic works, and his holds true even today, are written in the “proper” upper sense of expressions, completely ignoring how the average layman voices his thoughts. So it’s odd to think while we think of classic texts as representing how a certain culture spoke or thought, it was simply the nobility they represente. Thousands of crass, uncultured barbarians go unrepresented, their voices silenced in the echoes of time.

We forgot about language and words in our everyday life. When we call a friend or send out a text to family memebers, we do so but without considering the implications and consequences. Every day, at every day moment, we utilize language without ever stopping to really analyze this chief mode of bonding that we use. Oftentimes, it’s not even what you say, but how you say it. To adopt a calm and collected method of expressing aboslute rage and disgust is to get your message across more and to have a more sizeable amount of sympathy for your plight. We admire someone like Barack Obama even though he repeats a message said many times before because of the particularly articulate manner in which he speaks of our worries and concerns.

So join me, if you will, in taking a tour through the particular buzzwords and catchphrases we employ in everyday life to describe universal experiences. When you announce to others you’d like to “pop bottles” an immediate wave of pleasure and fun overtakes the atmosphere.  As we drink alcohol, the words used to describe different levels of altered conciousness vary, with interesting implications. After a drink or two, we could be said to be “buzzed”. Down a few more and one could be getting “tipsy”. Whereas buzzed carries a conotation of a light, static feeling, tipsy implies leaning over the edge; about to fall over the cliff of sobriety but not quite there. As the night wears on one becomes “drunk”. This seems to be the medium standard for inebriation. If one is feeling adventourous, you can range from anything to “fucked-up” to “shit-faced” to my personal favorite “to’ from the floor up”. (I personally have never arrived at that state, although it sounds a bit intriguing.) These terms invoke a complete loss of control over bodily coordiantion (and perhaps bodily functions as well, though we won’t step into that for now).

Heavy metal is another breeding ground for an interesting variety of terms. They haven’t necessarly invented their own sense of speech, as the motif of anger and complete removal from society seem to suggest an apathy for creating any sort of inclusive culture. still, as one peruses their albums and analyzes their lyrics, one can see the common themes of “death”, “blood”, and “kill” come up. The music and scene as a whole seems to focus on anger and the mortality and vulnerability of the human body. Quite a morbid fascination if I do say so myself.

Another teenage subculture that seems to have created its own language is hip-hop. Indeed, this is the one area that is unique because it has fashioned a completely new way of life outside of cntemporary America. It seems rap isn’t just a form of music, but a mindset in and of itself.

What’s facinating to note is the role temperature plays in describing how valuable or noteworthy something is. If you like something, it can be termed “fire”, “hot”, but can also be “cold”. It’s cool to get ice. Hip-hop almost seeks to defy typical social conventions. In a sense, it’s a form of transgressive art to go beyond and against the usual norms. A rapper’s particular mix of vocal delivery and allusion is said to be “sick” or “dope”. Why one would aim to be sick is beyond me.

Women play an integral role in the hip-hop culture, oftentimes being objectified. Hoodrats, chickenheads, shorties, hos, bitches, these all ideally flock to the pimp, the playa, the playmaker. Hip-hop places an integral importance on the concept of light-hearted merriment and jesting. The person in the group who is clownin’ is often held with a certain amount of respect and admiration.

Friendship and interpersonal bonding is also another focus of the streets. Just look at how many terms there are for one’s colleagues: your homie, your dawg, your boy, your padna. Your nigga is a word only reserved for the closest of comrades. When you’re spending time with your peers they are your peeps, posse, your entourage. In times of hardship and conflict the need to reachm out to others is valuable, and hip-hop realizes this.

Ideals of autenticity are of the utmost imporatance in rap, as well. Keep it real, real recognzies real, word is bond. When we see a white guy from a rich neighborhood with cheap bling and a Roc-a-Wear shirt, we say he’s a wangsta. Fake, phony, punk, pussy, all insults tossed at those we feel are presenting a hollow holagram in some way or another. To be from the hood is to get street cred. Despite the strong desire to attain wealth and status—to be a balla, floss chedda, stuntin’—-it’s also important to remember where you came from and remain “ghetto”. This odd and conflicting duality is something one can notice in hip-hop. Despite that gangsta rap’s beginning came from the crack-addled streets of Compton and N.W.A. was about being poor and trapped in a cycle of nihilistic violence, we now see T.I. discussing buying unbelievable amounts of alcohol and how affluent he is. The two artists, though, have the same swagger and the same hostile and tough outlook on life. I think this idealization of the American Dream, this goal of being rich and living the high life, actually stems from the real-life conditions of most of the people who grow up and listen to this music.

Drugs are also another complex phenomenon that is accorded a good deal of semantic recognition. As the experience is so collective and mind-altering, we reserve our verbal resevoir for this particular area of life. You can see this in talking about LSD. Acid, drops, blotters. Trippin’, this accurately sums up the intensity of the effects of the intoxication. We say someone is “gone” to describe how it completely takes over the mind. MDMA, meanwhile, is called “rollin’” to describe the gradual melodic feeling one feels come over them.

On the other hand, marijuana’s less gradual and powerful effects are revealed through the slang used to pinpoint it. To get high, blazed, stoned, smoked out, what one can feel from these terms is more of a mellow and calm emotion. Chronic can be reggie. One looks for purple haze but only finds schwag. If you wanna hotbox you gotta light up. Just try not to get crunk. Indeed, crunk is almost like the hood’s version of Zen. It’s a state of being never quite explained but when you’re there you’ll understand it. Getting crunk is only reserved for the most brave of psychonauts, those who want to transcend everyday experience and undergo a bewildering sense of well-being and unihibited confidence.

Western culture’s laid-back and casual attitude comes through in just everyday terms. Do you wanna hang out? Or we could just chill (again, those themes of temperature). Whenever people ask me that, it makes me think I’ll go over to their house and melt against the walls. We don’t truly “hang”, we might stand or sit down but if we were we’d be up against the wallls together. Although that would connote being hih-strung and frustrated together, which would be undesireable. You may want to go out with your friends. Go clubbin’. (Ah, but should those poor seals suffer in the name of our merriment?) We wanna get wild, party, bring the house down. It’s curious to note when we socialize we almost desire complete destruction in each other’s company.

So next time you ask me if I’d like to hang out, no thanks, I’d like to hang in. While that may not seem cool, people have told me I’m hot, so it’s all good, unless you consider me a bad boy, in which case I may have to man up and get some girls. You never know. Word up, which I can say cuz I’m down with it.

I feel he can be, up to a point. This is a big reason the Invasion failed. Instead of being willing to push guys that made it big in WCW, he fed them to his pet projects that he hand-crafted in WWE. What resulted was one of the worst storylines in professional wrestling history, all because Vince is a fragile man with an even more frail ego. DDP and Booker T, both immensly talented wrestlers who enjoyed a surge of popularity nce they were pushed in WCW, mere made to look like jobbers and chumps when they got to the big stage.

My mind always keeps coming back to Justin Credible as I ponder this topic. Sure, he wasn’t setting the world on fire as the next incarnation of Ric Flair. But, aside from a select few prodigys, who is? In ECW, with the help of Paul Heyman and a manufactured atmosphere (he did everything short of having Credible beat an old woman to death on PPV) to get what would arguably be termed over in heel heat. Fast forward a few years later as ECW goes out of business and both companies scramble to sign anyone not named Simon Diamond. Justin Credible gets paired with the black hole of fan interest himself, X-Pac, and barely gets face time on RAW or Smackdown in the coming months. A lackluster run, to say the least.

As the annual Hall of Fame inductions approach, we see this as well. While I have doubt Vince truly respects and wats to give back to the wrestlers that made him the millionaire he is today, it’s only if they’ve had his back all along as well. I concur with Bruno Sammartino that the WWE HOF is only who Vince wants in it. He takes care of Stone Cold and Bret Hart (he really didn’t have any choice there, though, did he?), but the Macho Man (more on that later) and Sting have curiously been left off of it.

I understand the need for loyalty and how personal one can take things at times, as I can be the same way myself. But as a businessman, Vince can’t let his emotions rule his actions. Because he feels so close to Stephanie and Triple H, he’s let his daughter book Smackdown before and given his son-in-law god knows how many runs with the title. And we’ve seen how both have panned out in the long end.

I also get this suble and sneaking suspicion that Vince will only push fresh talent if they’ve slaved away in his farm system at first. If they strated off in anotehr company and made their name there, forget it. You might as well envision them particpating in angles where they end up in a chicken suit and nice, cushy spot in the mid-card for eternity. He strikes gold every so often with this method (Randy Orton, Edge), but for every Shawn Michaels there’s a dozen Hedenriechs out there I could show you (don’t remember him? My point exactly). This is why Undertaker will always remain at the tp of the card and be potryaed as an unstoppable monster well into his 40s while CM Punk wins titles but is always potryaed as a weak fluke champion.

I have a confession to make. Total Nonstop Action is, by and large, one of my favorite promotions to spring up in recent memory. Oh sure, there’s WWE, with its fancy production values and big-name wrestlers. There was WCW, with its revolutionary stance, although watching it wither away in its atrocious dying says was like having to put down a beloved puppy. ECW, par for the course, set the tone for what I desired in wrestling as a kid and what I do now: energetic and exciting matches, interesting wrestlers I could either freely support or repel, and an underground, almost exclusive sort of feel.

But this TNA, man, it’s got me. The critics can say what they will. It’s not perfect, but, well, nothing truly is. TNA offers a product unique from the big guys up North: fresh storylines, new wrestlers and characters (for the most part….we’ll get to that one later), a look and feel to the camera that sets them apart from the competitor, an obviously rabid and dedicated fanbase. Heck, even their ring is something I’ve never seen before in a major North American promotion!

So, that’s why it pains me to see how it’s turning out. Now, before you go digging your Triple H armband out the closet and proudly waving the Age of Orton, ready to join me in another round of Jarrett-bashing, keep in mind I write the following from the heart and soul of a true TNA fan. But, I must say what I have to say, for the company’s own good.

What the flip is going on with the Impact! shows right now? They make about as much sense as walking in on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in the middle of the movie. It seems Vince Russo has raised his ugly head and is ready to taint another brand with his unique sense of postmodern poison. Christ, did you not get your rocks off enough with silly gimmicks like Beaver Cleavage and “That 70s Guy” Mike Awesome?

Of course, not all the blame can be laid on ol’ Vic Venom. We have to take into account the overall contributions of Double J and Dixie Carter, respectively. I’ll admit it, I wasn’t always 100% on board. While I read the Internet reports, I never once bothered to buy the weekly pay-per-views. Sad to say, I was one of the doomsday prophets who thought it was a pie-in-the-sky flavor-of-the-month whatever-other-contracted-words-you-wanna-throw-in (ok enough of that) alternative to Vince’s show that would die out in six months.

But a funny thing happened. A few years later, the little entrepreneurship that could got itself a TV deal….on ESPN, no less. It was on a Friday afternoon, no less. Hey, they can’t all be the Simpsons right outta the gate, now can they? I, being a diehard wrestling junkie with little to no previous experience with TNA, decided to tune in. Keep in mind it was my junior year of high school, so an end-of-the-week 3′o clock timeslot was a big sacrifice on my part.

To my suprise, I found I enjoyed the show. While I was lured in by a few former stars I recognized (B.G. James, the Master of the Stroke himself…..wow, after seeing how that sounded, he might wanna conisder adopting another moniker), what really struck me was the new blood on the undercard. I’ve never been one of those fans who was impressed just because some obscure former IC champ who used to wrestle in the first hour of RAW happens to wrestle in the main event somewhere else.

This new guy, his name was A.J. Styles, I remember being taken by him. His preppy look, the way he seemingly soared through the air with no abandon but plenty of skill. There was the Fallen Angel, Christopher Daniels, with his solid mat skills and enigmatic and dark gimmick of the Fallen Angel. Chris Sabin was the cocky X division champ. He reminded me of a younger Chris Jericho, with his cocky smirk and self-assured, you-know-what eating grin.

As I take this trip down memory lane, it angers me to see what it’s become. Yes, it’s gotten a faaaar better deal with Spike TV on a much better night. Kurt Angle and Mick Foley now wrestle alongside LAX and Alex Shelley. This has brought them a new audience and some mainstream recognition, but at what cost? Seeing the Dudleyz (oh crap WWE legal’s at my door….sorry guys) Team 3d on my television screen is cool but this isn’t 1998 anymore. The novelty’s wore off and as good as Brother Ray and Brother D-Von are, they’re slowly being exposed for what they are: slightly old, aging, somewhat broken-down and overexposed.

They seem to have fallen into the trap that professional wrestling usually does: they think featuring established veteran talent at the expense of fresh and invigorating rookies will jump start the ratings. Hulk Hogan may pop buyrates at first and get your cousin who’s not as into WWE mentioning it. But, in the long run, we’ve all seen he screws over talent and won’t put over anybody else. Why put up with egos and lame, done-to-death wrestlers when it’s proven they just drag down the product in the end?

They had a chance to right their wrongs and avenge their sins with the recent Main Event Mafia vs. The Frontline storyline. For once, this was an angle that seemed to have some thoght going into it, one that took months of careful planning and well-done details (if I do say so myself) to execute. At first, it had a good head of steam heading into it and, for once in a good while, TNA seemed headed in the right direction. They might finally give the young stars who helped build up the company a fighting chance and award them with some titles.

So why is it, with the latest Thursday offering, I see Sting fighting Kurt Angle in the last angle? Do they completely miss the irony of having two former WCW/WWE stars duke it out in what was originally a reflection of the real-life grievance of older farts being hired and pushed at the expense of up-and-coming athletes? While Jay Lethal and Consequnces Creed wander around the tag team scene and Sonjay Dutt and Petey Williams wander to the unemployed line, Kevin Nash and Scott Steiner get precious screen time and precious feuds? Someone care to tell me what went wrong?….

Greetings, boys and girls (hey, what the h-e-double hockey sticks ae you kids doing viewing this blog? Get the f&#k outta here. This ain’t WWE, no PG rating here!). Today (like my hosting site ROFL LULZ) I thought I’d discuss something of interest to me. No, not videos of women sticking Sprite bottles in their twats, though those are nice to view when it’s a Sunday night and I’m bored and crying myself lonely.

No, I thought I’d bring up a wrestler more divisive and polarizing than Hillary Clinton in the middle of a yin-yang symbol. That man’s name is John Cena. With one mention of this main-event performer, you’re likely to either hear screams of approval or snide snickers of befuddlement (whatever that means). This depends on whether your’e asking a 6-year old mark covered from head to toe in his latest merchandise or some fat and balding nerd that’s sitting behind a computer screen with his homepage being 411mania. But let’s cut past both ends of the spectrum and take a true look at the man they call the Dr. of Thuganomics (I’m assuming “they” are Bob Backlund, Jesus, and Will Ferrell in a tutu eating a corn dog…..that’s just what I always imagine the default committee on anything to be.)

As my good and always helpful friends at Wikipedia (and Lord knows they’re never wrong) have let me know, John Cena debuted on June 22, 2oo2, responding to an pen challenge from Kurt Angle. From there on he wandered around the mid-card, a bland and directionless babyface, until one fateful Halloween broadcast he decided to impersonate Vanilla Ice and delivered promos in rhyme. The rest is history.

After that, he developed a hip-hop gimmick and became a ruthless and interesting heel. I remember these days the best, as he delivered numerous and infamous disses to the likes of the Undertaker, Eddie Guerrero, and none other than Brock “Yeah, I’m in UFC now and still alive” Lesnar (Is that a tattoo of your mother on your back? Priceless!). As the times turned, the fans began to respect his smart-ass style and charismatic sense of humor. Soon, the WWE found themselves with their backs against the wakk. With nowhere else to turn, they were forced to turn the young ghetto rookie face.

This, ladies and gents, is where the shit hits the fan. After a while John Cena lost what some viewed as his edge and increasingly pandered to the fans. The tides turned and the masses who so passionately voiced their opinion of him as he slandered John Ritter once now violently turned agains him. To say the crowd is split 50-50 on him is to make a slight understatement. Try as he might, Cena just can’t win over everybody. Da champ is n a slow rebound with popularity but is it too late too soon?

So, you’re asking, what’s my take on John Cena? Half and half. Here it comes: I don’t think Cena is Hitler incarnate like some in the IWC will have you believe. In fact, overall, I’d say I like the guy. He’s decent in the ring, his moves are getting more fluid and more crisp as he seems to feel more comfortable in his on-camera role, and he has solid mic skills and a modest presence. On top of that, the guy’s got an undeniable work ethic and a passion for the business rivaled by few. With Randy Orton making a bi-montly attack on the fans/hotel room and Hulk Hogan and Bbby Lashley and others (overpaid prima donnas former WWE stars) walking out the business, Cena seems like one of us: a fan who’s more than thrilled to get his time in the spotlight.

The IWC will always shit over whoever is the biggest face. They will suck Chris Jericho’s dick and skeet themselves over whatever undercard heel that’s being so tottally misused doodz they will never recognize the greatness of a main event good guy. It has always been the geek’s burden to cheer for the bad guy because they can relate to them: unliked, unpopular, out of step with the general public, a bit snide and overconfident, always arrogant and more assuming in their abilities than they truly are. These are the same people that when John Cena was just coming up on Smackdown, circa his brilliant 2003-2004 run, were pegging this kid as the next hot new thing and whining that he got always got jobbed out to Rikishi and Brian Kendrick. Now that’s popular and fighting for the side of all that is wholeseome and virtuous, it’s of course become the cool thing to rag on him and hate him.

But……and you knew this was coming……but I have a few qualms myself to pick with him. For all intents and purposes, John Cena is that dreaded b word (no, not /b/, although I’d consider that a dreaded thing as well): bland. Hnestly, sometimes when I watch him in action, I ask myself: “Why should I care?” Yeah, he puts on the FU…I mean, Attitude Adjustment (man, they’re really trying to shake off that whole Attitude era thing, huh?). He cuts promos about how to stand up and be a man and how he’s going to defeat someone and take his title. Yeah, when his rap theme hits he bounces around the stage like Jerry Lewis after taking one too many tabs. Yrah, he throws his hat out to the crowd and extends his pinkies. But why? Essentially, he has no motivation. When you look at it from a certain angle, he’s a bit of a one-dimensional, static character.

I’m nt one of those pricks who insists he develop some convoluted backstory ala Kane to explain his motivation. And I don’t think he should start speaking in poetic pentameter like Raven. Too often people try to complicate matters, and we need to remember this is not off-Broadway, this is wrestling. No less than I wince as I type that, because I wholeheartedly beleive there is a time and place for deep, complicated art. But with wrestling, it plays at our most base and direct emotions: anger, retirbution, revenge, fear, hostility. As such, it should be kept relatively simple. Yet not too simple.

I look back fondly at “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. This wasn’t a persona of convoluted Beckett-ish proportions: this guy wa simply pissed-off (emphasis on the pissed-off). There was a sort of “shades of grey” to his rather seemingly basic personality: he was enraged, he was tough, he was rugged and individualistic, he didn’t give a damn, and he did things his way. Or the Rock: he was a smooth-talking, articulate, jock comedian. While he was obviously cocky and conceited, he did it in such a self-assured and confident way that we couldn’t help but support him.

See? This is how wrestlers get over and connect with the audience. They have easily identifiable and distinct modes of thinking and being without bogging down the audience with multiple heel/face turns and cheesy and unbelievable origins (from the Bottomless Pit? Are you f’n serious?….) When I hear “My Time Is Now” blaring throughout the arena and the solider wanna-be comes charging down that ramp, I just don’t feel any of that with him. The blame’s not entirely on John Cena’s shoudlers, either. Some of it lies with the bookers (or creative or whatever the fuck Vinnie Mac wants to call them this week.)

John Cena is an  interesting hybrid of two past shining stars of WWE’s decades: Hulk Hogan in the 80s (that’s right, I mentioned him, go comfort yourself by cradling with your puroseu tapes, money boy) and Stone Cold in the 90s. He has Hulk Hogan’s do-gooder attitude and overly positive and optimistic (some would say a bit too optimistic) rapport with the fans.But he also has the Texas Rattlesnake’s loner attitude and rugged confrontations with authority. He’s like Superman going to a strip club. I’m sure WWE was hoping the “a little from column A, a little from Column B” formula would work for today’s era. sad to say, it hasn’t quite caught on.

This brings us to the most notable and controversial aspect of John Cena’s run. Not all of the fans in the audience are so quick to welcome John Cena with open arms. There are those in the crowd that *gasp* boo him! Not cheering for him, for God’s sakes! wrestling’s top cash cow! I think, in hindsight, and ironically enough, the Attitude era and the rise of antiheroes like D-Generation X and ECW contributed to this.

Fans are gonna cheer who they wanna cheer. Plain as day, simple as that. Keep in mind Stone Cold got to the top because WE wanted him there. They heard the chants of “Austin 3:16″ at all the events and then, and only then, did they give him the greenlight to be a World Heavyweight champion. The fans are the ones who wouldn’t accept the Rock’s original run as a face, forcing storylines to changes and causing him to turn heel (his new run which, in turn, caused us to cheer him and become face….what a strange world it is, eh?). After the nihilistic angst and cynical brutality of the NWO, Chris Jericho, and almost watching people getting embalmed on live TV, we’re not ready to go back to a normal guy who wants to win bouts the clean way because “it’s the right thing to do”. So perhaps WWE has shot itself in the foot by raising the stakes too high.

So what would I propose to do to freshen up John Cena? Well, I hate to jump on the smark bandwagon, but I say turn him heel. Sure, you’d lose out on a few T-shirt sales, but think about how interesting this would make RAW and freshen up the storylines. Besides, he’s getting rejected anyway, play on this (satisying your customer’s demands is a basic principle in business management and economics, after all). Have John Cena gradually acknowledge this and build it up, as he soon grows tired of being a corporate puppett and claims he’s ging back to his street roots. Have him bring back the bras knuckles and the padlock chain. Let him freestyle on his opponents before a match as well. Let him loose. I, for one, miss his early heel run and thought his white thug persna was a very underrated character creation.

I, along with many other novice pundits (boy, there’s a paradox if there ever was one, huh? Like a gay republican. Or a smart blonde. I kid, I kid…), wanted to and thought we would see an Orton/Cena double turn at wreslemania. Orton’s anotehr interesting young buck and he’s been getting his fair share of begrudging acknowledgments of popularity from the crowd. Alas, that was not to be. My hopes were dashed when Triple H made the hero’s return last week and dashed out to be the big, blustering hero and save his wife, in the role of the prodigal husband. Oh well. Vince McMahon now seems intent on telling us who to like and who to cheer for, instead of letting nature take its course and lisetning to his audience. We don’t want a superhuman babyface crammed down our throats.

All that being said, I generally do like John Cena and look forward to his matches. He has his moments when he’s funny but he also skirts the line into being cheesy (the “JBL is poopy” promo anyone?). It’s obvious he grew up as a fan of this business and loves the crowd, considering he grew up as one of them. It seems WWE wants him to, once again, be not only a wrestler but an all-around, well-rounded pop culture icon. As good as he can execute a bodyslam his acting skills leave a little something to be desired (then again, with a scrip like The Marine, I don’t even think Robert de Niro could salvage that one). Everything considered, he’s light years ahead of the fat chump that taunts you and can barely land an elbowdrop at your local indy fed (Disclaimer: I hold nothing against fat chumps busting their ass in backyard leagues. I realize all wrestlers, no matter how big or how obscure, bust their asses night in and night out for he thrill of it. Seeing as how my skinny ass has never stepped foot in a wrestling ring, I simply tried to—-and ultmately failed—-to make a funny joke.)

If worse comes to worse, he can always go back to his Prototype gimmick. Hmm, an emotionless, cold robot. Wouldn’t be much of a stretch for him. (Aaah, sorry, had to go for it. Again, I’m quite a fan and I actually like him. Just don’t think he’s the best thing since sliced bread…..or chapstick, for that matter. That shit’s pretty cash.)

(Just a note: The following will not make any sense. I just want to take a dip in the surrealist pond and try an experiment in completely free automatic writing. For the unitiated, automatic writing is writing down exactly the first thing that comes to mind, with no mental barrier or block. I just feel like releasing the id from within me and making a crazy-ass post. So, this may be a bit hard to read. So don’t take any of this seriously. This is just pure mayhem. AKA, don’t call the cops or alert the FBI about some of the stranger or more violent content in this post. I’m not serious and I don’t mean anything that I write. Enjoy.)

So here we are. Lonely leprechaun road. I want to destroy and murder and dismember everything. I will kil a deer and crawl inside of its body. I feel the skin, bathe in its gooey entrails, drink its blood, become one with it. I will violate its dead carcass and eat its eyeballs. With a bowie knife I will gingerly carve up its body into little pieces and attach hooks into my flesh. I will hang these tiny morsels on the hooks and walk around my neighborhood naked, saying hi to my neighbor Mr. Gomez as I do so.

Pain is for four times the pie. Once, when I was ina rowboat with Walter Mondale and that guy on television, you know, that dude that’s always on the infomercials, we stopped at Macy;s and I bought three chasmere sweaters and pairs of socks, only to exchange this for gym shorts. The carrot arrives for shutdown at eleven. One more time, grandma. Return the videoape, said the minotaur, and no one gets hurt. But ol’ Skippy didn’t listen and instad his foot turned into a mountain of fungus that yielded millons and millions of pennies. We have found noneof these but plan to microwave them at the hot baking exodus of the dawn.

Also, a few more instances. Only once, in the apocalypse, wil you know.

The asparagus is gone, sir

Check your shoes to see if there is enlightment in them. If so, contact your local news stations and they will give you forms and goldfish to fill out. Banana quantums are for nutmeg enthusiasts, on inviydyfu uipoyegns.

For instance, there is an obcure video of Pat Sajak turning into the devil and defecating all into the mouths of starving Ethiopian immigrans. When you feel your brain is one fire and you go to srcatch it, only light beams will shoot out, like what you see in pictures of the Buddha where there’s all that glowy stuff around him. G.I. Joe was a rather interesting television show that explored he impact of American foreign policy on countries overseas. The sad part is it was misinerepreted as a shallow kid’s show and, thus, never given a proper time slot and the due respect (I feel) it should have received.

Left the earth for the family

All alone in my head, grilled cheese sandwiches

Mask added to mud equals happy boy

Portugal /ˈpɔrtʃəɡəl/ (help·info), officially the Portuguese Republic (Portuguese: República Portuguesa),[3] is a country on the Iberian Peninsula. Located in southwestern Europe, Portugal is the westernmost country of mainland Europe and is bordered by the Atlantic Ocean to the west and south and by Spain to the north and east. The Atlantic archipelagos of the Azores and Madeira are also part of Portugal.The land within the borders of today’s Portuguese Republic has been continuously settled since prehistoric times. Some of the earliest civilizations include Lusitanians and Celtic societies. Incorporation into the Roman Republic dominions took place in the 2nd century BC. The region was ruled and colonized by Germanic peoples, such as the Suebi and the Visigoths, from the 5th to the 8th century. From this era, some vestiges of the Alans were also found. The Muslim Moors arrived in the early 8th century and conquered the Christian Germanic kingdoms, eventually occupying most of the Iberian Peninsula. In the early 1100s, during the Christian Reconquista, Portugal appeared as a kingdom independent of its neighbour, the Kingdom of León and Galicia. In a little over a century, in 1249, Portugal would establish almost its entire modern-day borders by conquering territory from the Moors.During the 15th and 16th centuries, with a global empire that included possessions in Africa, Asia, and South America, Portugal was one of the world’s major economic, political, and cultural powers. In the 17th century, the Portuguese Restoration War between Portugal and Spain ended the sixty year period of the Iberian Union (1580–1640). The 1755 Lisbon earthquake and, in the 19th century, armed conflicts with French and Spanish invading forces and the loss of its largest territorial possession abroad, Brazil, disrupted political stability and potential economic growth. After the Portuguese Colonial War and the Carnation Revolution coup d’état in 1974, the ruling regime was deposed in Lisbon and the country handed over its last overseas provinces in Africa. Portugal’s last overseas territory, Macau, was handed over to China in 1999.

Thankfully Obama’s stimulus plan has been approved. The country is practically on pins and needles, the proverbial college dropout waiting on a hammock for their parents to0 deliver them a check so they can go buy ice cream and Ramen noodles.

It wasn’t without its roadblocks, though. In a sad state of how little we’ve progressed, Republicans in the Seante stalled and tried to vote against the bill. Their reasons ranged from “It’s wasteful spending” to “Jesus told me to do it”. I love how Repubicans are always the first to throw stones at Democrats for accusations of big money wasting even though they’re the first to ensure tax cuts for the rich and cut loans for the auto industry and other industrial powerhouses. Hmm, wonder which of the two is royally trashing the economy….

It’s quite frustrating that we got promised bipartisanship and an end to the divise, red-state vs. blue-state mentality with Obama’s administration and some some old farts in Congress aren’t willing to play ball. I can’t tell you how disgraceful it is hat our nation is headed into one of the worst econimic recessions in recent memory, that tons of people are getting laid off, and that the bleakest of days are ahead, and all politicians are worried about is continuing their grown-up version of cowboys and Indians.

Does nothing bother these people’s conscience? Are they so wrapped-up in their solipsistic shell of “my ideology is better than your ideology” and their paydays that they risk the nation’s financial security just to show up the other guy? Why do those in power insist on always nitpicking with each other instead of reaching a common ground for the good of the public (I’m not president or anything, but I do believe that was the original point of government…)

The Democrats really aren’t putting much effort into countering this hostility from Republicans. As usual, they react with all the strength and defensive sturdiness of a substitute teacher busy on his cell phone during class. Obama could have pushed hard for this bill to go through and emphasized its urgency to everyone. Instead, he threw his hands up in the air, said “Oh well”, and might as well brought a Magic 8-Ball to press conferences to decide if the bill gets passed or not, because that would be slightly more effective than his passive style.

There will be those that say this bill is flawed because it will not immediately jolt the country. I’m not sure how these critics conceive of legislation and economics, but we’re not a giant fast-food restaurant. These things, being large and important pieces of documentation (not even getting into its actual real-world execution), will take time. I mean, shit, look at how long it took for the thing to just get PASSED. Would you like to get a million dollaes, take a trip to Wall Street, throw up in the air, and say, “Okay, make this work, guys.” The only person that quite possibly do that is Lil’ Wayne, and, well, I don’t see him getting into politics any time soon.

Besides, it’s better if we put into meaningful programs like the National Endowment for the Arts and education (yeah, that’s kinda important to fund….just sayin’) instead of putting a giant fan in front of a sack of money and seeing what sticks on the wall. The economy will take time to fix this way, but as they say, good things come to those who wait. It took us a while to get to this low point…..you don’t think it’ll require patience to see it turn around? Have you ever seen the videos where all the soccer moms rush into a Toys R’ Us on Black fridat at 3 in the morning? We’ll see the sociological equivalent of that if we go for the quick fix route. You wanna see that happen on a national scale?

I gotta say, you guys search for some weird shits. Some of the hits my blog has gotten come from Google searches of “I’m tired of reality” and “shit I’m tired of living.” You cats are some odd ones, I tells ya. If you’re actually dperessed or suicidal, why not off yourself instead of killing time on the computer?

Disclaimer: The Anry Cynic does not condone or endorse suicide. He prefers you live a happy, fufilling life where you smile every minute and drink Sangrina ’till you pee yourself.

So, one thing that’s been on my mind today is the proiferation of advertising, and specifically, corprations in modern-day life. As I write left-wing tirades, I stare at the ads above my posts {John Cena has an IQ of 110? WTF? How is some wigger wrestler smarter than me?}. I think about how I desperately try to have this blog included in any and all search enegines (not sure why Amish people need their own version of Yahoo, but whatever), I am falling into the trap of being a company whore.

The rise of corporations in today’s society is an alarming and disturbing trend. With monopolies going on in almost every market, this rarely allows competition from small mom-and-pop stores. As well, they exploit their employees by woprking them insanely long hours and paying them piss poor wages. Not to mention they bulldoze precious land to make way for their establishments and parking lots. Let’s not even mention how they have kids overseas make their shoddy products for inhuman pay. As well, they contribute to the overall decline in intellectual thought and individuality in North America. People are so blinded by the thought of easily affordable shoddy clothing and what’s hip in music, they give money to evil empires and enable the rise of these disturbingly powerful and sociopathic institutions.

Ahem. My editor has told me what I just written is unacceptable for publishing. Okay then. Let’s move onto another topic. How about puppies? They’re so cute and cuddly (andeveryaggervatingmotherfuckingboredgrandmahaspicturesofthemontheirblogforgodknow what reason). That’s a safe topic. Why, if you’d feel so inclined, you could get a puppy for your kids (or retard slave that you keep locked in the closet…hey, I’m not judging you), at….

(Located behind that shoe store with the red paint that that smelly bum always seems t hang out at)

Ok, look, screw this, this isn’t working. I really wanted to talk abut how we’re losing our sense of expression and art by becoming human billoards for major companies. I mean, really, when you’re watching the Superbowl who gives a shit about candy bars? Who wants to get innundated with images of products when trying to enjoy their lesiure time? D you really want to hear about

The thirst quenceher! Oh wait, that’s

But Snickers are still good, so eat those too

When you’re busy robbing stores and need that little pick me-up to get you away from the cops, choose Gatorade! Enough enzymes and proteins and other scientific sounding stuff to give you that added ahletic edge when maybe, coulda, possibly committing grand arson on the Congress building.

But, to get serious, we need to fight against this proliferation of consumerism. It’s killing our spiris and reducing us to dull automatons, with no need to think for ourselves or question the system. Whenever somebody tries to demonstrate against the status quo of capitalism, like grafitti or culture jamming, they’re nevitably shut up in an Orwellian fashion. Because money is power and you have to pay to get your message out there, the big businesses out there will always have their voices heard over the art school student with a spray paint can who lives along the subway tracks.

This constant activism and tiring sense of renegade defeatism can leave one feeling drained. So drained they might get hungry. Well, in between all that protesting, why not stp to get a bite to eat at….

What do they offer, you ask? Why, fine gourmet cuisine like

Yum! Quite appetizing, if I must say so. Don’t worry about the pains in your chest and stomach! That’s your body’s way of adjusting to sheer fucking deliciousness.

Hmm, I think there might be too many pictures in this blog and not enough meaningful writing. What do you think, Mr. Whiskers?

“I think it’s pretty freakin’ cool.”

Well said, sir, well said. Well, to close things up, we have to boycott products from these megalithic megalomanics, much like Martin Luther King and his followers did during the Alabama boycotts of the civil rights era. They may control us for now but we can speak with our wallets. Why should we be concerned, you ask? Because anyone trying to start up a small business or who doesn’t agree with the money-driven attitude will be silenced. Because they are enjoying unheard-of levels of control and prestige, and doing nothing good with it. Except of course, your fine friends at Wal-Mart, always offering low prices, always!

Oh, snap, wrong picture, my bad.

There we go. Although if you’re white trash you already know where the local Wally World is at by now.

*There. Was that what you wanted, editor? I plugged the hell out of those stupid companies.*

*Perfect. Oh, shit, are we still on here? Cra……

Just a begining note: I’m tired and kinda blah so if this seems half-assed or phoned-in please excuse it. 

So last week I finally had the fortune of finally catching Juno. I was bored at home and flipping around through he OnDemand thing on my tv and I stumbled across this movie. I’d heard about it and decided to check it out. I like to wait until the hype for a movie dies down and I can get my hands on it.

Wow, did this blow me away. I was expecting some half-hearted comedy or some hip indie garbage. What sucked me in was the emotional plot and the overall love story(s). The characters could have easily been one-dimensional caricatures but what I loved was that they were fleshed-out and felt like real people. They could have gone the stereoetypical route and had Jennifer Garner’s and Jason Bateman’s characters with her as the evil suburban housewife and he as the independent rocker good guy suffering under the marriage. However, under closer examination, Garner does a good job by appearing earnest and rightly befuddled at the eccentrics around her and Bateman is reduced to seeming immature and like he can’t let go of the past.

Inevitably people will still be talking about Ellen Page’s character years from now, and rightly so. While at first she honestly came across as too abrasive and sarcastic, throughout the course of the movie she grew on me. She strikes me as a girl seeminly very mature for her age (I’ve actually hung out with a million girls with her) but at the end of the movie, it’s revealed her knowing irony is a defense mechanism for her insecurity and fears. I thought this particular touch was a nice move as it helped the viewer relate to Juno’s character all the more.

Whle the movie smacks of realism regarding the adolescent experience, there are some parts that felt fabricated for the experience of making this an “alternative comedy”. For instance, would two girls really be allowed to eat in the trophy case? And while bth parents do a fantastic job, they seem a bit too laid-back. I know, for one, if I ever knocked up a girl my parents would WHOOP my ass, as would a lot of kids go through. But that’s just my nitpicking.

I liked how there were sill some questons up in the air throughout the movie (like Michael Cera’s character’s ambivalence and Garner and Bateman’s rcky relationship), but the happy ending kinda ruined it for me. I woulda liked a more sour anticlimax to fit the tone of the movie. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. Good movie, though. I give it a thumbs up. At least better than half the crap Hollywood usually shoves down our throats (horror “re-imagining”, anyone? For God’s sakes, the originals were awesome, leave them the fuck alone!)

The Superbowl is now behind us. I live in New Orelans and our football team, the Saints, is everything to us. I find that, in fact, sports are everything to a lot of people. Everyone from the professors at college to the garbageman who swings arund every Tuesday are rabid athletic enthusiasts.

In my younger years I used to look down at this noion of a bloodthristy country of barbarians obsessed with competition. But, as my mind has expanded and I’ve become more accepting of things, I find myself getting into sports. Sure, I’m a true-blood professional wrestling fan, but it’s only within the last year that I’ve gotten into UFC and football.

My fellow friends of the artistic inclination will judge sports and say they’re for jock brutes. Not so, counters I. Through games we find the story of life being played out. We all feel tension in life, as if there’s an invisible aversary trying to hold us down. Sports offer a cathartic release for the pent-up emotions of agression and rage. It is a healthy and safe form of violent therapy.

Humans have always been naturally competitive. In our time trudging around on this galactic rock we always try to see who’s better, who’s faster, who’s stronger, who’s smarter. When guys chug Budweisers and erupt in an orgy of cathrasis as their favorite basketball team wins, i’s a way to stake their territory and claim their manhood.

The motivation to get into sports can be beneficial to one’s health and life, obviously. When we see Reggie Bush on the television screen and bitch about how he missed a pass, he forget about the excruciating amount of training he endures, the strict diet he sticks to, the insane sense of pressure he’s under, compared to us couch potatoes and armchair coaches. The focus athletes must hone in on is almost comparable to a Zen-like state: they must think two steps ahead, concentrate despite rather adverse conditions, and work through pain like nobody’s business.

Sports are also an interesting way to see the kientic theory of energy in action. I remember going to a Hornets basketball game with my brother last year and the sense of movement on the court really caught my eye (keep in mind this was the first basketball game I’d attened since I was a small child). As well, it teaches teamwork and communal ideas since it is not the outstanding individual that is recognized, but the collective as a whole. This requires awareness of where your comrades are at during all times, as well as maximizing each other’s strengths and minimizing each other’s weaknesses.

So, far be it from me, an intellectual and philosopher, to criticize this sense of organized macho vitriol. There is a time and a place in our culture for antagonistic bravado. Remember that along with writing and science, sports was one of the first activities displayed by homo sapiens. The Olympics first arose with the Greeks and athelticism was considered next to godliness. Much like today, their top competitors were revered and the public took great pride in their festivities. The only difference is, the losing football players were sacrificed or killed.

Tom brady should thank his luck stars we don’t still have that today.

-I’m tired.

-I’m tired of not having a job. I’m tired of applying to every place I can thnk of. I have an adress, I keep my hair short and I’m reasonably clean-shaven. I’m a white male from the suburbs with no criminal history and I go to school. Despite this, no companies have called me back.

-I’m tired of being broke . I’m tired of not eating on campus and ducking social plans to save money. I’m tired of having to worry about paying the toll fee and put gas in my car.

-I’m tired  of being an unsucessful writer so far. I’m tired of feeling like I am legitametly talented in this field but getting no where because I have no contacts. I’m tired of listening to Eminem or Kurt Cobain voice these frustrations but seeing them get somewhere because they knew somebody or got a big break. I know I could publish a book is someone just took a fucking chance on me already.

-I’m tired of trying to reach out to people and getting rejected. People tell me to be more social but when I try to break out my shell I get fucked ovger and it just makes me all the more misanthropic.

-I’m tired of the few friends I have turning out to be flaky weirdos who cnacel plans because they always have mental breakdowns. I’m tired of the image of the outcast being romanticized in art and in movies when in reality if you hang around those on the fringes of the society they will screw you over.

-I’m tired of felling like I’m the only sane one left in the world who gets it.

-I’m tired of people using humor to cover up their own insecurities.

-I’m tired of everyone ignoring all the fucked-up shit in the world and developing pyschological blocks with the tragedy that’s right in front of them.

-I’m tired of flirting with girls and having it go nowhere. I feel I am reasonably good-looking and girls usually inititate contact with me. But when I return their advances, they seem to get all weird and our sense of communication isn’t frayed. Far be it for me to be arrogant, but I’m supposedly a “cute” guy, why can’t I get chicks? Women are frustrating.

-I’m tired of feminists reading abve statements like that and just blaming us guys for it. I’m, in general, tired of the left-wing making me feel guilty for being a white male even though I hate all forms of prejudice and try to eradicate it, and they invent some twisted reasoning by saying by opposing it, I’m enabling it. Or some reverse psychology bullshit.

-I’m tired of seeing the Hollywood, millionaire lifestyle and not living it. I honestly know that’s where I belong and I’m so dissastisfied with this bland, medicore way of being, but I realize I’ll never get there.

-I’m tired of trying to bare my soul but never finding the right words to express them. Whenever I read other writers or see other entertainers, I always go, “Wow, I suck.”

-I’m tired of being intelligent and capable of going somewhere but slipping through the cracks through social circumstances. Since my family is poor and dumb and the school system is overrun with bureaucracy, I constantly get rejected and shit on and yelled at even though I try my hardest to be a nice, decent person.

-I’m tired of reading comments on Youtube videos of Pearl Jam videos and everyone’s like, “Yeah, I feel Eddie Vedder’s pain in this video”, but in real life I can’t seem to find any of hese people.

-I’m tired of living in a world of fantasy because my real life sucks so bad.

-I’m tired of people judging me just because I’m eccentric and not afraid to say these things. Throughout history, the public has always judged those who are different–Albert Einstein, Alfred Jarry. Genius is only revealed in hindsight, maddeingly enough.

-I’m tired of living in this house. I’m tired of my mom being a crazy, controlling bipolar bitch. Everyone seems to have happy relatonships with stable parents. Mine is just a fruitcake who has freely admitted she sees the world in “black and white terms”. But I have no other choice but to live here since I’m young and still haven’t gotten on my feet yet. This is not ahealthy enviornment for me to live in.

-I’m tired of feeling like everyone else is in on the latest style or trend and I have somehow just missed the boat. On the flipside, I’m tired of everyone walking around looking exactly the same and silently following whatever’s in style because they’re mindless sheep.

-I’m tired of America getting raped in the ass by politicians and yet being too spineless to do anything about it.

-I’m tired of believing in G.G. Allin’s message but being too scared to go crazy with my life.

-I’m tired of covering up all these feelings by abusing alcohol and amphetamines.

-I’m tired of the stupidity of 99.9% of the population. They seem so lost and scared and willing to believe ANYTHING they’re told. They’d rather watch some dumb blockbuster movie than pick up a bok every once in a goddamn while.

-I’m tired of how stereotypical our mode of expression has become. I sincerely feel every possible thing that could be said,done, or thought of has already. In this age of simulacrums, we don’t actually feel anything, but rather go along with prototypical forms. Like, you ever fill out a form? That’s what I feel existance has been boiled down to. If you break up, you listen to sad music and mope and write an angry MySpace blog. If you’re rich you wear fancy suits. We’re just putting the pegs in the holes, people….

-I’m tired of wasting my time trying to figure out the deeper philosophical meaning behind things and getting nowhere. This takes up too much of my time and mentally drives me insane. But I feel if I don’t do it now, no one will.

-I’m tired of never quite expressing myself how I want to. I type all this but it’s not really how I feel at all. This is just scratching the surface.

-I’m tired of being depressed and angry all the time and never getting to get it off my chest to others. I’m tired of thinking I should cheer up, and maybe even getting to that point, and then something happens that makes me crash worse than before and reenforces my pessimism. Why should I be happy when all the signs are pointing in the oher direction?

-I’m tired of some people being more physically gifted than others. I’m tired of walking into the gym and seeing big swoll assholes that are obvously juicin’ and I have to struggle just to break 110 pounds. I’m tired of being scarwny and having gotten picked on as a kid because of my biological inequalities.

-I’m tired of people telling me I’m so cool and awesome and yet never feeling truly appreciated.

-I’m tired of people telling me they want to have a big house party or get friends together or “live life” and then when I push them to it they chicken out and just leave me more frustrated than before.

-I’m tired of ex-girlfriends not communicating with me, cheating on me, breaking up with me, then a year down the road texting me to say they miss me when I already hate them and have gotten over them.

-I’m tired of realizing I’m going to have to get things done on my own.

-I’m tired of this post not coming close to the epic epiphany I wanted it to, and sucking so bad as a piece of writing. I’m also tired that this will seem like embarassing admissions on my part and that, in the end, no one will even read this or truly give a crap about it.

-I’m just simply tired.