BringMetheHeadofLeonLett

I've heard that, than you Les Nesman. ) for my brother who's battling the cancer right now:

I made a high school graduation video a while back-; 10 bucks an hour- turns out it was popular, I made the entire High School think this was a great song-

I can't - it'd be a trademark infringement- and for the love of Jehozafatts, I obey the law.

Just got a Danish... delivery of this 45 in the mail today. It's got Dogs Part 1 on the other side. I have no idea why they didn't release Dogs Pt.1 and Dogs Pt.2 on the same 45, but they didn't as far as I know. This is what was on side 1 - one of the best Who songs ever made, Circles:

Enough wodka and it starts to feel hot!

This is what grunge sounded like before the I heart Radio (they do not) company, ClearChannel, got their ugly corporate mitts into out broadcasts. They turned it into more stadium rock (Pearl Jam), because it was easy. This is Mudhoney:

Also a great tune-

Just saw Mudhoney tonight... I can't praise a band higher. They should be what we look back at and say, 'That was grunge', but they're not. They are grunge, without all the commercialized hype, and they are still gorgeous. This is the Electric Prunes:

This is for Muppy- no listening to it you pervert men:

I'm beginning to question the common knowledge that sub-par NFL quarterbacks have a knack for coaching. It sounds nice on paper, they spend their careers studying the game, tell the actual really good quarterbacks what they're picking up from the opposing defense... never get much head-bangin' from actually playing the game. Poof- coaching material. Truth is Ken Dorsey was a terrible NFL quarterback. I got invited to basically every 49er game during his time there by STH friends both because they loved me... and far secondary because they couldn't offload their tickets for a one-dollar scratcher. Those teams were awful in ways a professional sports team should never be awful, but friends were a blast and the tailgating was fun. I'll miss Ken Dorsey for that, but not his time with my Bills. Anyone got any idea why it's been pounded into our heads that random basketball players make for excellent NFL tight-ends, and backup quarterbacks are coaching gold? Because I don't. Ken Dorsey threw for 8 touchdowns and 18 interceptions in pro ball, and Bud Grant is the only person to play in both the NBA and NFL.

Me n the gal both liked The Light You Cannot See' on Netflix. Very lovely story, but maybe a small bit of over-production/trying too hard - which mildly broke the illusion at points. I'm becoming a big fan of Lars Eidinger, and he's a lot of terrible fun in this show. just discovered recently there's a Criterion Collection channel. To everyone's delight, YES, they do in fact still offer Ingmar Bergman's 'Seventh Seal', but tonight I watched 'Le Mans' with Steve McQueen. Released in 1971, it is a gorgeous film. The cars are amazing, but the racing cinematography is just perfection. What they did in the last 20-30 minutes of the racing scene just makes you realize what professionals can really do, and what an army of computer graphics people can only still approximate. The race scene from 50+ years ago, done with real cars, holds its own today- granted a few cuts in the crashes don't have the modern technology to smooth things out, but the photography often easily surpasses most GoPro's finest moments. Trading off some old-world cringy race PA system announcements vs. some cringy acting, and CGI reliance in Ford vs. Ferrari, 'Le Mans' is a better film, though both are fun if you appreciate auto racing that goes both left AND right.

Oh yeah, you thought that was bad...

"As a son of military parents, @steelers cornerback Levi Wallace presented banners to veterans and actives that will hang outside of Acrisure Stadium in honor of their service. #TNFforGood" As a nephew and son of men who jumped behind german lines on D-day, battled through Sicily, and a whole host of horrifying, frozen and rotten theaters in the wars to come, I'm proud that Acrisure could be there to help Levi Wallace present banners. Acrisure, the official sponsor of hell.

I concur- perfect signing for this team, and I totally like the way he's doing his career. That said, I expect balls to the wall until we hit the Super Bowl.

It doesn't get any smoother than that!

Sang this song with a bud- probably 58 tines- road-tripping on the way to our friend's wedding. By hour 3, or was it 6? we got a truck driver to honk along too

Hi- political novice here- would you mind expounding on 'a spending bill covering energy and water-related agencies'. I love water-related agencies... it sounds like average schlubs are really tackling the important issues that way. Can you please tell us how the Republicans are cleaning up our water and air as well- I just love science!

... and why is it I'm pretty sure the, 'Let's Go Brandon' contingent will be the most worthless Americans should anything happen? Oh yeah, because you will be bitchin' and moanin' and telling us all about how your Tahoe could've made it through that "I've got to get my daughter off to gymnastics class..." I just pray the Italians attack first.

Seems like as good a place as any to drop this - Charles Bukowski POLITICS At L.A. City College just before World War II, I posed as a Nazi. I hardly knew Hitler from Hercules and cared less. It wa just that sitting in class and hearing all the patriots preach how we should go over and do the beast in, I grew bored. I decided to become the opposition. I didn't even bother to read up on Adolf, I simply spouted anything that I felt was evil or maniacal. However, I really didn't have any political beliefs. It was a way of floating free. You know, sometimes if a man doesn't believe in what he is doing he can do a much more interesting job because he isn't emotionally caught up in his Cause. It wasn't long before all the tall blond boys had formed The Abraham Lincoln Brigade--to hold off the hordes of facism in Spain. And then had their asses shot off by trained troops. Some of them did it for adventure and a trip to Spain but they still got their asses shot off. I liked my ass. There really wasn't much I liked about myself but I did like my ass and my *****. I leaped up in class and shouted anything that came to my mind. Usually it had something to do with the Superior Race, which I thought was rather humorous. I didn't lay it directly onto the Blacks and the Jews because I saw that they were as poor and confused as I was. But I did get off some wild speeches in and out of class, and the bottle of wine I kept in my locker helped me along. I was surprised that so many people listened to me and how few, if any, ever questioned my statements. I just ran off at the mouth and was delighted at how entertaining L.A. City College could be. "Are you going to run for student body president, Chinaski?" "*****, no." I didn't want to do anything. I didn't even went to go to gym. In fact, the last thing I wanted to do was to go to gym and sweat and wear a jockstrap and compare *****-lengths. I knew I had a medium-sized *****. I didn't have to take gym to establish that. We were lucky. The college decided to charge a two dollar enrollment fee. We decided--a few of us decided, anyhow--that that was unconstitutional, so we refused. We struck against it. The college allowed us to attend classes but took away some of our privileges, one of them being gym. When time arrived for gym class, we stood in civilian clothing. The coach was given orders to march us up and down the field in close formation. That was their revenge. Beautiful. I didn't have to run around the track with my ass sweating or try to throw a demented basketball through a demented hoop. We marched around and made up dirty songs, and the good American boys on the football team threatened to whip our asses but somehow never got around to it. Probably because we were bigger and meaner. To me, it was wonderful, pretending to be a Nazi, and then turning around and proclaiming that my consitutional rights were being violated. I did sometimes get emotional. I remember one time in class, after a little too much wine, with a tear in each eye, I said, "I promise you, this will hardly be the last war. As soon as one enemy is eliminated somehow another is found. It's endless and meaningless. There's no such thing as a good war or a bad war." Another time there was a communist speaking from a platform on a vacant lot south of campus. He was a very earnest boy with rimless glasses, pimples, wearing a black sweater with holes in the elbows. I stood listening and had some of my disciples with me. One of them was a White Russian, Zircoff, his father or his grandfather had been killed by the Reds in the Russian revolution. He showed me a sack of rotten tomatoes. "When you give the word," he told me, "we'll begin throwing them." It occurred to me suddenly that my disciples hadn't been listening to the speaker, or even if they had been, nothing he had said would matter. Their minds were made up. Most of the world was like that. Having a medium-sized #### suddenly didn't seem the world's worst sin. "Zircoff," I said, "put the tomatoes away." "Piss," he said, "I wish they were hand grenades." I lost control of my disciples that day, and walked away as they started hurling their rotten tomatoes. I was informed that a new Vanguard Party was to be formed. I was given an address in Glendale and I went there that night. We sat in the basement of a large home with our wine bottles and our various-sized *****. There was a platform and desk with a large American flag spread across the back wall. A healthy looking American boy walked out on the platform and suggested that we begin by saluting the flag, pledging allegiance to it. I always disliked pledging allegiance to the flag. It was so tedious and sillyass. I always felt more like pledging allegiance to myself, but there we were and we stood up and ran through it. Then, afterwards, the little pause, and everybody sitting down feeling as if they had been slightly molested. The healthy American began talking. I recognized him as a fat boy who sat in the front row of the playwriting class. I never trusted those types. Sucks. Strictly sucks. He began: "The Communist menace must be stopped. We are gathered here to take steps to do so. We will take lawful steps and, perhaps, unlawful steps to do this . . ." I don't remember much of the rest. I didn't care about the Communist menace of the Nazi menace. I wanted to get drunk, I wanted to *****, I wanted a good meal, I wanted to sing over a glass of beer in a dirty bar and smoke a cigar. I wasn't aware. I was a dupe, a tool. Afterwards, Zircoff and myself and one ex-disciple went down to Westlake Park and we rented a boat and tried to catch a duck for dinner. We managed to get very drunk and didn't catch a duck and found we didn't have enough money between us to pay the boat rental fee. We floated around the shallow lake and played Russian Roulette with Zircoff's gun and we all lucked through. Then Zircoff stood up in the moonlight drunk and shot the hell out of the bottom of the boat. The water started coming in and we ran her for shore. A third of the way in the boat sank and we had to get out and get our #######s wet wading to shore. So the night ended up well and hadn't been wasted . . . I played Nazi for some time longer, while caring for neither the Nazis nor the Communists nor the Americans. But I was losing interest. In fact, just before Pearl Harbor I gave it up. The fun had gone out of it. I felt the war was going to happen and I didn't feel much like going to war and I didn't feel much like being a conscientious objector either. It was catshit. It was useless. Me and my medium-sized #### were in trouble. I sat in class without speaking, waiting. The students and the instructors needled me. I had lost my drive, my steam, my mox. I felt that the whole thing was out of my hands. It was going to happen. All the ***** were in trouble. My English instructor, quite a nice lady with beautiful legs asked me to stay after class one day. "What's the matter, Chinaski?" she asked. "I've given up," I said. "You mean politics?" she asked. "I mean politics," I said. "You'd make a good sailor," she said. I walked out . . . I was sitting with my best friend, a marine, in a downtown bar drinking a beer when it happened. A radio was playing music, there was a break in the music. They told us that Pearl Harbor had just been bombed. It was announced that all military personnel should return immediately to their bases. My friend asked that I take the bus with him to San Diego, suggesting that it might turn out to be the last time I ever saw him. He was right.