This week in a nut-shell...
- Linen Job is hugely frustrating, but alright. Micromanagement by some crazy lady is no fun at all. But this is good training for the multitude of bad bosses I'm sure to encounter throughout the years. Unless I get into the film industry. And then I'll never have to worry about shitty upper-management again...Ever...
- Seeing the Flaming Lips at the Greek Theater was a spellbinding experience. Wayne Coyne knows how to tell people to shut up and enjoy life better than most followers of the cloth, and I'm pretty sure he knows how to rock much harder than most people wearing any kind of clothing. But man...awesome show. Awesome.
- Ween as the double bill? Pretty sweet. The Liars? They made me want to choke someone. A screaming, fucked-up dude in a sweaty t-shirt who can't play guitar or sing or keep rhythm or show off any stage presence backed by two hipster assholes on drums does not music make. From now until the day I die, I will be able to go to concerts with shitty opening acts and tell my friends, "man, this band was terrible, but at least they weren't The Liars."
- All sorts of partying is happening this week all over the city, so everyone is everywhere at once. I'm vetoing the planned Char's 22nd B-day extravaganza and postponing it until next Saturday. All those in the area who happen to read this and want to go should give me a call on the ol' cell phone (415)370-3869. A party will happen. Fun will occur. That's a promise.
- Fuck JJ Abrams and his co-writers. They synthesized crack cocaine into a TV show. The name of the drug is Lost, and I'm hooked, you filthy peddlers. What a fancy coincidence that the junk addict on the show is named Charlie, huh? OR IS IT?!?!?!?!?
Behold:
So Chuck Rayne was fighting a terrorist on the wing of a 747 that was taking off out of a major International Airport. The fight was evenly matched until the terrorist reached into his back pocket and pulled out another clip for his empty AK-47. Chuck Rayne barely had time to react and jump out of the way before the bullets whizzed at him at supersonic speed. In a flash, Chuck Rayne maneuvered himself over to the Terrorist along the wingspan and punched him square in the jaw. The terrorist, shocked, held on to the gun and continued to fire, sending a wild torrent of bullets in every direction--including the direction of the jet engine that whirred underneath them. The engine EXPLODED, sending a wall of fire into the air. Miraculously, neither man was harmed by the fireball. The passengers could only look on in horror as their plane was consumed by hellfire. The pilot--a rookie named Chad--was so terrified at the sight of his flaming plane that he shit his pants and passed out on the flight controls, steering the plane to the left--directly toward the main terminal.
If that wasn't bad enough, the weight of his limp body fell on the accelerator...so now the plane was speeding up...and speeding up FAST.
Both Chuck Rayne and the Terrorist held on to the wing for dear life, but Chuck Rayne was unafraid. He looked at the terminal and realized that the plane would narrowly miss the terminal--and he could use this to his advantage. As the plane raced along the runway, veering to the left as it did so, Chuck reached over with a free hand, seized the Terrorist, and threw him off the wing at the exact moment the plane made its turn away from the terminal building. Carried by the inertia of the takeoff and the throw, the Terrorist hurtled through the air like a trashbag full of elephant shit. He hit the main terminal window--and crashed through it. He hit a baggage truck--and flew through it. He flew through three flight attendants and two pilots drinking coffee in the waiting zone, tearing them to shreds. Finally, he landed with a THUD in front of a senile old man who, at that moment, realized his copy of Angels and Demons was written in Greek, NOT American.
Moments later, Chuck Rayne arrived and inspected the damage. The Terrorist was a thin red paste held together by half-torn remnants of clothing. Chuck smiled a smug smile.
The paramedics arrived and looked at the Terrorist. One said to the other,
"Jesus... this man needs a doctor."
To which Chuck Rayne responded,
"No, he doesn't. His condition's...terminal."
Thank you.