My Country 'Tis of Thee

I do love living in a country where even bilious texts like "Left Behind" and "Liberty and Tyranny" can be sold, although I regret living in a country where they're number one best-sellers.

Customer Quote

"What's the difference between a hardcover edition and a paperback edition?"

You Can Do It, Vince!

I need to stop clinging to people like a lapdog. I need to just say "Fuck it" and take bigger risks. I need to be less withdrawn.

Above all, I need a drink. That'll make those other things easier to accomplish.

Anyway, I'm in The City right now. On the subway, I passed by a man wearing a huge, diamond-encrusted crucifix. Ugh. What is this? "Pimp My Christ"?

Diamonds -- yeah, just like the ones Jesus had stuffed in the pockets of his fine silk garments, right?

Sheesh.

Walang hiya

My parents were born and raised in the Philippines.

I have yet to visit.

When my cousins Jason and Janine and I were children, we were resistant to the idea of going. A country full of people who spoke and acted like our parents? The Philippines might as well have been named Hell.

The fact that our uncle's head became a resort for lice and had to be shaved bald during one of his visits didn't exactly have us tugging at sleeves, chanting, "Take us there, take us there!" Land of our ancestors be damned.

Now that I'm in my mid-20s and with a greater understanding of and pride in some aspects of Filipino history -- although admittedly, I'm not a huge fan of the cuisine -- I'd more than curious to go. Thing is, I don't have the money, the time, and, most importantly, my fear of riding in planes has increased rapidly over the years. (The plane ride to the Philippines is consumes the greater part of 24 hours.)

My maternal grandmother's sisters visited the US in 2006. They exuberantly promised me that if I ever visit them, they'll kill several of their goats and roast them for me.

My father told me if we go together, he'll "select a bride" for me.

No thanks to both offers.

But I'd still like to visit. I'll just have to take lots and lots and lots of Thorazine in order to get there.

Anyway, I'm already brushing up on the slang. In case you're interested on how to say "son of a bitch" in Tagalog:

http://www.tagaloglang.com/Basic-Tagalog/Tagalog-Words/bad-words-in-tagalog.html

Song of the Day is "Going to Pasalacqua" by Green Day:

Correspondence with M.M.

A few days ago, I sent a rather loquacious -- perhaps embarrassingly so -- e-mail to a writer who I esteem highly, earnestly expressing thanks for an article he wrote last year on the acting trade. As mentioned in a previous post, I've been considering auditioning for community theater productions sometime after the conclusion of my internship in June. Just for fun, you know? I'm a bit of a chickenshit, though. Easily discouraged. Yet his funny article supplies me with confidence every time I read it.

Anyway, I received a response to my e-mail:

"Dear Vince
St. Patrick bolloxed up a perfectly nice pagan country but the damage is done so no use complaining The acting trade is great fun if you can stand the constant rejection . When you get the job its all worth while . It doesn't matter whether you are small brown big white male female fat thin blonde asian black these days as all are part of the fabric of our society . Its still racist but less so and if you have a desire go for the acting life . Learn all you can about stagecraft as its the basis for all acting and the most important thing is listening to the other guy its not acting
You also have a great way with the words so dont neglect that part of your life

Thanks for writing Vince
Malachy"


Okay.

For an aspiring writer to hear from an accomplished writer whom he admires that "You also have a great way with the words" ...

Got to say, my spirits are higher than you can possibly fathom. I do hope that it was actually him who responded and not his webmaster, though.

And even if that's the case, I take some measure of comfort in knowing that someone thinks I'm a decent writer.

Governors

I don't care for Jon Corzine. I don't care for Christopher Christie.

So come the 2009 New Jersey gubernatorial election, I'm most likely going to vote for the Green Party or write in either Dollar Bill Bradley, Richard Codey, or The Toxic Avenger, that great Jersey hero of superhuman size and strength (Lord knows some of that is needed to fix up the shit plaguing The Garden State). It's an uphill battle for Corzine. But maybe the Democrats will be able to pull through.

And in the 2010 New York gubernatorial race, incumbent David Paterson will most likely be squaring off against New York City's former mayor Rudy Giuliani, who I hope will refrain from naming "9/11" as his running mate. It's an uphill battle for Paterson as well. Governor Giuliani. Hey -- it's infinitely better than President Giuliani.

My predictions are more often than not wrong, though.

Sometimes I Think ...

... that in my case, Puberty said, "To hell with this shit, I quit."

Fuck "Twilight"

Okay.

I was among those working at The Store during the "Twilight" Movie Midnight Release Party.

And it really sucked. Oh, yes: pun intended.

It garnered far more customers than I'd anticipated, the greater portion of them being squealing, bitchy prepubescent girls who I'm guessing would offer only a blank stare if I were to ask them to name the author of "Dracula". I think the only person more aggravated than myself was Maria, who had the unenviable role of Master of Ceremonies for this vile event. By the end of the night, she looked like she was two degrees short of driving stakes through some hearts. Thankfully, she maintained her composure and won't soon be referred to as Prisoner 349000.

There were several activities in which the Twilight fans could participate. A scavenger hunt and quiz, which one girl got irritated at me for not helping her with. Look, even if I did know the answers to that lame quiz, I still wouldn't give them to your Cullen-loving ass. The winner of that activity upon receiving the prize (some picture from the film) scrunched up her face and replied: "That's it?" I wanted to make a snide reply to the disappointed zygote, but refrained from doing so.

There was also a debate, which I'm guessing contained such controversial questions such as "Edward Cullen: Hottie or a Nottie"?

Anyway, I'm too tired to get too in-depth. Will revise and add some more tomorrow.

Dipshits

"The time is now 10 PM and The Store is closed" is not slang for "The time is now 10 PM and The Store is still open."

Put down the "Better Homes" magazine and go to your actual home. Get the fuck out.

Apart from that, the shift wasn't terrible. I wasn't bothered too much while working on my assigned tasks.

I had neither green beer nor green pancakes to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, though. Unfortunately, there's this stupid rule about not getting drunk while at work. Chugging a Jameson while on the clock is a termination-worthy offense. You can't even do it during your break. You refrain from imbibing until after you've completed your shift. Next they're going to say that I can't take a ten to snort cocaine off the belly of a prostitute in the bathroom.

I think I'll pen a letter to Corporate asking them to rectify their draconian rules.

You know, I've been drinking a lot more since I started working there in January 2008. It's not a terrible place to work (unless you want, you know, a living wage) but there's this pervasive gloom which I think affects everybody there. That place is sapping our spirits. Maybe that's the impetus behind my increasingly frequent drifts toward alcohol. And speaking of drinking, I started reading that book "The Last Lion: The Fall and Rise of Ted Kennedy." I like it thus far.

Anyway, the Song of the Day is "Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand" by the Primitive Radio Gods. A song which reminds me of that one time when I was standing outside a broken phone booth with money in my hand.

I Hope ...

... that those AIGholes choke on their caviar.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

MATT: You should go to Ireland. The land of your people!
ME (sarcastically): Yeah. Uh-huh.
MATT: Just follow the rainbow ...

You dick. Haha. :)

Today is St. Patrick's Day. In Illinois, the Chicago River is dyed green to commemorate the holiday. Hell, if it's green water you want, come down to Jersey. Our water's already green. And all year round.

To accompany the glass of green beer I more often than not partake on this day, I think I'll indulge in some green pancakes as well.

True story here:

Back in the second grade, my teacher had announced to the class that come St. Patrick's Day, we'd be having green pancakes in celebration. To say I was excited would be an understatement.

The next day, at storytime, my teacher was reading us a story about leprechauns or clovers or some shit related to the holiday. Bored out of my wits, I'd kept pulling on the Velcro strap of my sneaker. My teacher stopped reading, flashed a glare at me and asked: "Vincent, is that you?" I didn't reply. She repeated the question and I nodded by head. Then she said those heartbreaking words:

"You're not having any green pancakes."

"YOU PUFFY CUNT!" I yelled.

Okay, I didn't actually call her that. I didn't even know what "cunt" meant at the age of seven.

Later while sitting at my desk, watching my classmates acquaint themselves with their delicious-looking green meal, seeing them lick syrup off their spoons and exclaim to each other "These pancakes taste so GOOD! Mmm-mmm-MMM!", I struggled my hardest to not surrender to tears. I even pretended like I was enjoying myself too. "These imaginary pancakes taste so GOOD! Mmm-mmm-MMM! The way the air just melts in your mouth!" When my teacher offered seconds to students, I walked up to her with my empty plate in the hope that she'd had a change of heart. Alas, she did not. Fucking poor excuse of a Catholic school teacher! Jesus would've given me a pancake, damn you! She sent me back to my desk, every one of my classmates staring at me and my plate full of humiliation.

So no green pancakes for me. I did not eat them, Sam I Am. I just sat there, stewing in anger, wishing Freddy Kreuger would come in and slice my teacher's face. Why, yes, I'd love some red pancakes!

Anyway, that plate of St. Patrick's Day pancakes is overdue. There's some green steak in my fridge, though I don't think that its color has anything to do with commemoration of the holiday.

Song of the Day:

One of The Little Guy's Big Goals

"Learn How to Swim" has been among my New Year's Resolutions for about ten years now. I swear, though, that by the conclusion of 2009 I'll have at long last achieved that goal. I'll be a swimming machine. Whip myself back into shape. There'll be screams when I take off my shirt -- and not the "Bride of Frankenstein" kind this time.

I'll be the next Michael Phelps, yo.

Except that when I smoke weed, don't expect any fucking apology.

Time to find the nearest YMCA. Song of the Day is Loudon Wainwright III's "The Swimming Song":

FRIDAY, MARCH 13, 2009 ... AN AWESOME NIGHT

So how fared Friday, March 13, 2009?

Well -- I returned home at 2 AM or so the following morning, sticky with sweat, lightheaded, legs sore, physically depleted to the point of nearly dozing off in the bathtub.

And with a huge grin on my soul.

To my friends: that was the best time I've had in far too long. Many drinks. Many laughs. Many more ahead, I hope. It's beyond the grasp of my poetic powers to delineate just how awesome a night I considered it to be. So thanks a million, guys.

Hours prior to my first and fingerscrossedfingerscrossed not my last Pogues concert (I wish to Christ, I wish to Christ that I see fifteen more), we walked around The City and visited the Hard Rock Cafe and Planet Hollywood. At Planet Hollywood, I had a picture taken of me standing by a frame containing the vest worn by Matthew Broderick in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I remember someone describing himself as a Cameron who was trying his hardest to be a Ferris.

Same here, man. Same here.

At the Roseland Ballroom, I rocked out like I've never rocked out before. My voice was hoarse only four songs into the set. The irrepressible and, of course, intoxicated Shane MacGowan -- whose mind has produced some beautiful lyrics capturing the pain, anger, and glory of the Irish experience -- was I guess in as top form as he can be nowadays. The outpouring of adoration for that brilliant boozer as he first stepped onto the stage was tremendous. And may he continue to vex Dead Pool players for years and years and years to come.

Here's a video from that night. Not my video. Found it on YouTube. I've been watching it over and over again, reliving the experience:



I didn't snap a photo from the front as I'd hoped, but I managed to snap some decent pictures. At least I hope they're decent. Have to see how they develop.

I felt a bit winded at one point of the show, but I didn't collapse. Nor did I get crushed amidst the exuberant mass of humanity. I didn't get Mufasa-ed. Nobody had to scrape Vince off their Nikes. I suffered no injury, although I did lose my newly-bought, Obama-themed winter cap.

I was surprised to see that I wasn't the only dark person at the concert; the other one seemed to have as wonderful a time as I did.

Once again, thanks to my friends. And, of course, thanks to The Pogues.

Pod Person

Yesterday I finally became one of the Pod People.


So yeah: fare thee well, Discman. There's nothing left to say.

The Pod slimmed my bank account by $217 or so. Got a black-colored classic, which can brook up to 30,000 songs. 30,000! Not bad at all.

AND TONIGHT IS THE CONCERT! I hope all goes well. On that note, the Song of the Day is the very first Pogues song I ever had the pleasure of hearing: "If I Should Fall From Grace with God."

The song is also quite fitting what with this being the Lenten season.

You know, the way the evangelical right talks about them, you'd swear that God and Jesus were neoconservatives. Which I doubt, although these evangelicals have them on speed-dial so maybe they're telling the truth. If that's the case, then I fell from grace a looong time ago. And considering the amount of respect neoconservatives have for habeas corpus, I probably won't even be given a chance to plead my case before St. Peter once I've shuffled off my mortal, pimpled coil. I'll immediately be punted into the pit of fire.

But whatever. I'll be in good company. Maybe I'll get to converse with Paine, Mencken, Twain, Sinclair Lewis, among others. As far as I'm concerned, anybody who hasn't engaged in heresy isn't worth a damn.

Anyway, here's the song:

In less than 24 hours ...

... I'll be at the Roseland Ballroom. Concert starts at 8:00 PM. I hope to have a kick-ass time.

Matt says that maybe, just maybe, some girl will try to hook up with me there. Riiight. A soused Irish lass with a penchant for Jameson and short, geeky Asian guys.

I'm most likely not going to consume much alcohol. I won't be, to paraphrase a line from a Pogues song, a drunken fuck on a Friday night. I'll probably end up having just one beer. And should I have that beer, it'll be before the concert because I'm not paying nine dollars for one at the Ballroom.

One beer at the concert would cost me more than I make per hour at my current occupation, sad as that is.

I was informed that in a less economically strapped year, I would've been granted a small raise. Gee, without that extra six or so cents an hour, I won't be able to make a down payment on the Bugatti Veyron, the most expensive car in the world. Guess I'm going to have to settle for the Pagani Zonda C12 F, number two on the list. How humiliating.

Woe is Vince.

Harsh economic times we're living in. I do hope that I won't ever be standing in the subway singing "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?" to passersby.

And the Song of the Day is "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?", the Tom Waits version:

Muntader al-Zaidi, 3 for 2 ... and possibly 150 for Madoff

Iraqi Journalist Muntader al-Zaidi garnered fame for throwing both of his shoes at President Bush during a press conference in Iraq. Today he was sentenced to three years in prison for the incident. Poor guy.

Hopefully, he won't complete the sentence. Much like Bush.

Get it? Ho, ho, ho. Horribly corny joke aside, here's that classic moment:



Also: uber-swindler Bernie Madoff plead guilty to his crimes and faces up to ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS in prison. Wow. He may have entered the courtroom wearing an expensive Rolex, but he departed with a different, far less fashionable kind of "bling" on his wrists.


Greedy douchebag.

Gotta say: Madoff kind of brings out the Robespierre in me.

Filet-O-Fishes, 2 for $3

At McDonald's for a limited time, Filet-O-Fishes are two for three dollars. And I sure as Hell have been taking advantage.

I love Filet-O-Fishes. Absolutely love them.

Yes, yes -- I'm aware that it's not healthy. And perhaps I'm consuming the remains of somebody from those "Have You Seen Me?" segments in the news. Perhaps.

But man ...

Stuffing your belly full of Filet-O-Fish sandwiches drenched with ketchup and tartar sauce? It makes life worth living, though every bite probably abridges it by three days.

Vacation Time and The Upcoming Great Weekend

I informed The Boss that I'll most likely be expending my allocated two weeks of vacation time in June, following the conclusion of my internship. I'm thinking of taking a trip to Los Angeles. Maybe I'll try to audition for a movie, haha. I may not be the next Ian McKellen, but maybe I can be the next McLovin'.

Or maybe I'll go to Vegas, where prostitution is legal. Not that I'd take advantage of this. I'm just stating that prostitution is legal there. Yes, you can actually pay for sex and not be penalized under the law. Just saying. So have your fun, Congressman!


(Somehow I doubt she's offering her thoughts on the Peace of Westphalia with a carful of historians. More like offering a Piece of of Wendy. Ho, ho. Pun intended.)

Or maybe I'll just go to Mississippi instead and have people can gaze at me in wonder for having brown skin and, you know, shoes.

I'm still unsure of whether I'll be trekking via car, train, or plane. But I do know that I need a break from this house; I need a break from Jersey. Like Stella, I need to get my groove back.

I look forward to it.

And I'm very much looking forward to this weekend.

FRIDAY NIGHT: awesome friends, awesome music, shitty booze.

SATURDAY NIGHT: same as above, hopefully. Considering I don't perish in the Roseland Ballroom.

As horribly schmaltzy as this sounds, I've got to say: I may be accident-prone, but I'm not such an unlucky person. Some actually think well of Vince -- who'd have thought?

Cheers, mofos. The Song of the Day is also the Greatest TV Theme Song Ever:

Chicken Soup for the Horny Teacher's Soul

There is an installment in the famed "Chicken Soup" series entitled "Chicken Soup for the Wine Lover's Soul", which is a nice gift to give wine-loving friends if you're too damn cheap to buy them actual wine. The only thing better than drinking wine is reading about it, right?

If you're a former or current teacher, you'll be able to purchase that book at a discounted rate sometime next week. Yep, it'll be "We Love Teachers Week" at The Store and all its Sister Stores throughout the country. Almost every item, including movies and CDs, will be discounted.

So partake, middle-school educators! Get yourself something nice. And don't forget to also get something extra nice for that student in your class who you've been screwing during recess. (We have the latest Naruto!)

Yeah, another teacher/student sex scandal is in the news. This one occurred in Utah.

It's like an epidemic.

I'm thankful that none of my middle-school teachers ever came up to me and said something crazy like, "Vince -- I want you to clap the erasers, wash the blackboards, and lick my pussy clean."

Ugh -- it's repulsive to even think about. Washing the blackboard? Now that's just fucking wrong.

Pogue Ma ... huh?

This Friday and Saturday evening, The Pogues shall be performing their glorious fusion of traditional Irish folk and punk rock at the Roseland Ballroom in New York City. I shall be among those present at the Friday gig. You'll be able to identify me quite easily: the brown guy.

Anyway, there's a fairly good chance that I won't make it out of the Ballroom with functioning legs or even a heartbeat. However, I've vowed to myself that if I have to climb, if I have to crawl, I'll make it to the front of the stage, or close to it, and snap a photo of Shane MacGowan and the boys.

I told this plan to Matt, who replied, "It's your funeral."

Well, you can fucking bury me at sea where no murdered ghost can haunt me.

Haha.

Actually, no. But on the chance that I do die, here are some of my real wishes:

- My small collection of DVDs and books will be divided among my cousins and friends. They can work out who keeps what.

- No flowers.

- Play Green Day's "Minority" and "Time of Your Life", The Pogues's "If I Should Fall From Grace with God", and John Williams's score to "Jurassic Park" and "Superman" sometime during my wake.


Song of the Day:

I was watching ...

... "What a Rush" Limbaugh's CPAC speech on YouTube.


Blowing smoke out of his mouth as Michael Steele blows smoke up his ass.

Jeez.

I should attend a wacky neocon gathering just to see what it's like. I imagine very disturbing. Will there be cocktail hours?

"What do you drink, sir? Type A or Type AB?"

I'm guessing that at the end of the night, these Bible-thumping, Boeing-humping folks all gather in one room and circle-jerk to clips of Shock and Awe. Either that or their hero President Reagan, who presumably survived Hinckley's gunshot because it wasn't laced in Kryptonite.

Anyway, I didn't -- or rather couldn't -- watch Limbaugh's speech in its entirety. He threw a lot of red meat to the wingnuts, and no doubt had a lot of red meat himself later in the night. He mentioned how "Ronald Reagan used to speak of a shining city on a hill" and how our current president "portrays America as a soup kitchen in some dark night in a corner of America that's very obscure."

Um, I'm sorry, Rush, but are you high? Um, scratch that.

Obama's oratory about America is so inflated with love that it's borderline nauseating. His rhetoric makes diabetics slip into comas. When waitresses ask customers how they want their coffee, they reply, "Oh, two creams and a couple sentences from Obama's speeches." I don't even think Obama talks about Michelle Obama as nicely as he talks about the good ol' US of A. If there's one thing I can say about this guy, it's that he's optimistic. When he talks about hope and how we're the ones we've been waiting for, I'm convinced that he actually believes that bullshit!

Limbaugh also claimed that Obama "wants people in fear, angst and crisis, fearing the worst each and every day." What, did he raise the Terror Level Alert to Orange when his approval ratings dropped or something? Didn't Bush essentially say while campaigning for endangered congressional Republicans in 2006 that the terrorists would win as a result of a Democratic takeover? The bellicose Limbaugh said that, "President Obama is so busy trying to foment and create anger in a created atmosphere of crisis" and that "he is so busy fueling the emotions of class envy that he’s forgotten it’s not his money that he’s spending."

By the way, Rush -- this "created atmosphere of crisis"? Yeah, it was your boy W's administration along with the oh so fiscally responsible Republican-held Congress which, for the most part, created this atmosphere. Borrowing money to pay for tax cuts for millionaires and to fund two wars in the Middle East? Didn't exactly have the results you expected, eh? This coming from guys who called on everybody to sacrifice, but wouldn't even raise taxes to at least pay for soldiers' benefits. Am I wrong on that? If so, let me know and I'll retract it.

And better Obama fuel emotions like, say, homophobia. I know gay marriage is supposed to have apocalyptic consequences, Mr. Limbaugh, but I just don't believe that guys tying the knot in Massachusetts bears any responsibility for the crappy state of our economy and the results from our foreign policy. And by the way, with all this talk about the sanctity of marriage: which one of your three marriages had the most sanctity?

Limbaugh adds that "liberalism is not just a psychosis or a psychology, not an ideology. It's so much about feelings, and the predominant feeling that liberalism is about is about feeling good about themselves and they do that by telling themselves they have all this compassion."

Are you kidding me?

Liberalism is so much about feelings?

This from the party which brings up amendments on flag burning around election season? Yeah, that's not a issue about feelings. We all know the horrors of flag burning and how many lives it has destroyed. I asked an American flag what it thought about members of its community being burned. But it didn't comment because, well, it's a fucking flag.

Anyway, my opinion on Limbaugh can best be summed up in a quote from Jeff Goldblum's character in JURASSIC PARK: "That is one big pile of shit."

Speaking of JURASSIC PARK, it has The Greatest Film Score Ever. In my humble opinion.

Community Theater

In college, I enrolled in a drama course titled "From Page to Stage." The students were divided into four or so groups, and every week each group was given their own play to read, abridge to ten minutes, and perform in front of the class. And our friendly but frighteningly exuberant professor applied stipulations. For example, one week we had to convey our stories without speaking. And one week, we had to perform our stories naked. Okay, I'm kidding about the last one.

Anyway, it was a fun experience, and a few weeks after the course ended I bumped into the professor in an elevator. He said I was quite humorous and exhorted me to either take more theatre courses or audition for school productions. "Maybe," I replied, all the while thinking, "Aw, fuck that shit."

However, I'm now reconsidering. I've actually been looking at auditions for community theatre productions. I mean, it could be fun. And I'm feeling spiritually unfulfilled. Perhaps this'll be a step in the right direction. Or it could end up being the most humiliating experience of my life. Still -- I should take the risk. I'm a very shy, nervous person. But I'm trying my hardest to heed the words of Franklin Roosevelt: "... the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." And actors, even crappy ones, get laid all the time. Which will be a welcome change of direction. Maybe in a few months I'll be quoting the words of another president I like: "It tastes good."

I'm also thinking of writing a screenplay about a character based on me. And I already know the actor best equipped to play Vince:


There's some resemblance between us, right? Haha.

And The Song of the Day is "Hook" by Blues Traveler:

Ted Kennedy, K.B.E.

Addressing a joint session of Congress, visiting Prime Minister Gordon Brown, whose popularity back in Britain is only slightly above head lice, paid tribute to the achievements of Senator Ted Kennedy (D-MA) and announced that Queen Elizabeth II "has awarded an honorary knighthood" to the lone survivor of Joseph P. Kennedy's boys. Since he's not a British national, he can't bear the title "Sir", but he will be referred to as Ted Kennedy, K.B.E. (Knight of the British Empire).

Oh, turn it down, Teddy! You're a republican! An anti-imperialist! Your knees touch the ground in deference to no monarch, although your knees have probably touched many a bathroom floor due to Crown Royal Whiskey.

Say "Thanks, but no thanks" and add a "Oliver Cromwell can kiss my big Irish ass" for the fun of it.

Oh, well.

Anyway, some suggest that Prime Minister Brown is hoping that President Obama's immense popularity will boost his own standing. I highly doubt it. You're done, Mr. Prime Minister. Contrary to what Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews will tell you, Obama's not Jesus and he can't bring things back from the dead.

Prime Minister Brown's oppositions are David Cameron of the Conservative Party and Nick Clegg of the Liberal Democrats.

Here's Cameron:



Here's Clegg:



And here's Brown:


Basically, it's a race between GQ, Men's Style, and Fangoria.

The Power of Vince Compels You

On February 19, I decided that considering my inherent holiness, I should just become a reverend. And so I joined the non-denominational Universal Life Church online.

Reverend Vince -- and, yes, I do have credentials, available for viewing upon request.

So:

If you're a female citizen of Malaysia and are seeking to stay in our country by marrying a horny, desperate American, I'll more than gladly officiate your nuptials. I charge only ten dollars plus gas money.

If you're a dopey sixteen-year-old who didn't heed the warnings of fornication sans prophylactics in health class, and whose parents are now compelling to get hitched in order to staunch the tears of unhappiness cascading from Christ's eyes: just send me a line. I'll also baptize your forthcoming bundle of joy.

I also have the power to absolve sins, apparently. I think I can perform exorcisms too a la Bobby Jindal. In case you didn't know, Jindal participated in an exorcism of his college girlfriend. Well, hey -- telling your uptight Christian girlfriend that you need to expel a demon from her body with prayer and a laying of the hands is a crafty way of copping a feel. So bravo, Bobby!

It also appears from his rebuttal last Tuesday that Jindal succeeded in exorcising his charm.

PS -- I forgot to impart in a previous post an equally voluminous thanks to Malachy for driving my drunken ass home from The Office on the night of January 1, 2009. Not only that, but he was ever so kind enough to drive me back to my car the following afternoon.

Sorry for any embarrassment caused, haha. Thanks again, my good friend. And the ship hasn't sailed yet.

Crud

As my aunt said to me a few months ago: "Vince, you're really ugly." Geez. Merry Christmas to you too, haha. Maybe after I'm finished with this entry, I'll don plaster wings and horns and affix myself to the perch of a cathedral.

I snapped this photo while on break at The Store. I was feeling far more agitation than my expression indicates. Head was throbbing and stomach was unsatisfied with a dinner of Kraft Easy Italia Marinara pasta (I'm guessing the flavor is sold separately). Ah, well -- that's what I get for practicing thriftiness. It only cost me a dollar, so at least I didn't feel too cheated. On the plus side, my book orders arrived: The Iron Heel by Jack London and Candy by Terry Southern.

Anyway, I'm back home now. I'm weary, but at least the headache has vanished like ... well, certainly not like my pimples, haha.

And I'm eating Celeste. The pizza brand, not an actual Celeste.

The Song of the Day is "I Wish" by Skee-Lo, hahahaha:

Cats and Dogs

Two weeks ago, the Clintons' cat Socks was put to sleep. Fare thee well, Socks. I wonder if Bill's now on the lookout for new pussy. Ho, ho, ho.



I'm not a big cat person.

When I eventually get my own place (in the far, far future), I'll get a dog. No, not for dinner, you racist bastards. For a pet. I want a brown daschund, which I plan to name either Paine (after Thomas Paine) or Nero (after Nero).

Song of the Day is "Far Behind" by Candlebox:

Lollipop Guild

You've seen The Wizard of Oz, right? Due to my height, my friend sometimes jokes that I'm a representative of the Lollipop Guild.



Tonight while cleaning up the store, he cracked: "What would you tell me to do if you saw a yellow brick road?"

I retorted, "I'd tell you to follow it to the Wizard so you can ask for a brain."

Ho, ho. Not a bad comeback, in my opinion.

Song of the Day is SR71's RIGHT NOW: