He needs a quiet room
With a lock to keep him in
It's just a quiet room
And he's there
I wasn't quite done writing down below.
But my last couple posts have been heavy.
Really heavy.
Heavier than Spinal Tap's "Big Bottom," which was three bass players and a drummer.
It doesn't get any heavier than that.
(^^^^that is my niece, Lucy. she is probably my favorite person. she called me tonight and screamed into the phone, "I LOVE YOU UNCLE JOEY!!!")
Have you ever just made it up as you went along?
Because, you know, why not?
I was thinking about a comment by ej a few weeks ago.
He suggested that I offer "The Dude Experience," as some kind of vacation package.
24 hours with the Dude.
Wake up.
Get some donuts.
And then just proceed from there in an orderly fashion.
First, place the mask over your own face.
Then grab the mask next to you, give it a tug, and then loop the tube around the throat of that motherfucker in front of you..
Why?
Why you gonna have to choke a bitch like Wayne Brady?
Why?
I'll tell you why.
Because the stewardess denied you The Full Can Of Diet Pepsi, and poured you the little jigger-and-a-half, like a third of a can, over those three, pathetic, stick-your-tongue-through-the-hole ice cubes.
You're flying home on Sunday after a wedding.
Hungover.
Half-asleep.
Desperate for liquid.
Any kind of liquid, even if it is 2.7 ounces of diet pepsi over some ghetto ice cubes that Northwest Airlines probably outsourced to Canada.
Fucking NAFTA.
And, sure as shit, that fucker reclines...
And your pathetic shot of liquid foams over and you get diet pepsi on your pants.
Right in the crotch.
And you're sitting there,
With a wet crotch,
And a sticky fucking tray,
And you're lapping at that retarded ice cube with your greedy tongue like it's the last strip of bacon at Dachau.
(Oh, save your emails. I am secure. In my home in the 7th Circle of Hell, with Satan chewing on my femur. Right where I belong)
Anyway, forgive me for getting pissed.
Because, hey...
If I choke him, well,
That's just more oxygen for me.
He plays an old guitar
With a coin found by the phone
It was his friends guitar
That he played
It was such a heavy day for me (not to mention that nightmare) that I decided to scratch that exhibtionist/voyeuristic itch and post my solo, unplugged, acoustic, rock opera ...
He's never been in love
But he knows just what love is
He says nevermind
And no one speaks
He thinks he drinks too much
Cause when he tells his two best friends
"I think I drink too much"
No one speaks
No one speaks
No one speaks
He plays an old guitar
With a coin found by the phone
It was his friends guitar
That he played
When he plays
No one speaks
No one speaks
When he plays
No one speaks
P.S. Lyrics in italics from "Friend of a Friend," Foo Fighters, off the acoustic side of their album referred to in the previous post. Hmmm. I wonder who that song was about? Anyway, it is one of six great songs on that album, and one of three that make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
P.P.S. Friday. Ah, Friday. You are my muse. Friday, let me count the ways. Electric with possibility. You can check out mentally at lunch on Friday. As you damn well should. Because Friday is a sultry, sweaty, sand-stuck-to-her-back-kind-of-girl. Hat's off to Friday, the undisputed heavyweight champion of Days. Saturday may be the Gorilla in the corner, but by Saturday, you've settled into your groove, flowing down the river with the current, definitely enjoying the fuck out of the day, but, compared to Friday?
Well, I think Carly Simon said it best, "An-tic-i-pay-shun. An-tiss-i-pay-yay-shun is makin' me wait."
(I understand that fully 95% of the "unique visitors" to the dude abides will not know what the fuck that last sentence meant, but someday, someday, they'll find out about the clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee,)
P.P.S. I don't know about you, but I feel very secure...
Y'know...
In my manhood.
P.P.P.S. Are you not entertained?
Because if this hasn't been the best 3.5 minutes you have ever spent...
at work...
... on friday ...
... ... well, g'head and tell me ... ...
... ... ... because i'd like to know ... ... ..
But my last couple posts have been heavy.
Really heavy.
Heavier than Spinal Tap's "Big Bottom," which was three bass players and a drummer.
It doesn't get any heavier than that.
(^^^^that is my niece, Lucy. she is probably my favorite person. she called me tonight and screamed into the phone, "I LOVE YOU UNCLE JOEY!!!")
Have you ever just made it up as you went along?
Because, you know, why not?
I was thinking about a comment by ej a few weeks ago.
He suggested that I offer "The Dude Experience," as some kind of vacation package.
24 hours with the Dude.
Wake up.
Get some donuts.
And then just proceed from there in an orderly fashion.
First, place the mask over your own face.
Then grab the mask next to you, give it a tug, and then loop the tube around the throat of that motherfucker in front of you..
Why?
Why you gonna have to choke a bitch like Wayne Brady?
Why?
I'll tell you why.
Because the stewardess denied you The Full Can Of Diet Pepsi, and poured you the little jigger-and-a-half, like a third of a can, over those three, pathetic, stick-your-tongue-through-the-hole ice cubes.
You're flying home on Sunday after a wedding.
Hungover.
Half-asleep.
Desperate for liquid.
Any kind of liquid, even if it is 2.7 ounces of diet pepsi over some ghetto ice cubes that Northwest Airlines probably outsourced to Canada.
Fucking NAFTA.
And, sure as shit, that fucker reclines...
And your pathetic shot of liquid foams over and you get diet pepsi on your pants.
Right in the crotch.
And you're sitting there,
With a wet crotch,
And a sticky fucking tray,
And you're lapping at that retarded ice cube with your greedy tongue like it's the last strip of bacon at Dachau.
(Oh, save your emails. I am secure. In my home in the 7th Circle of Hell, with Satan chewing on my femur. Right where I belong)
Anyway, forgive me for getting pissed.
Because, hey...
If I choke him, well,
That's just more oxygen for me.
He plays an old guitar
With a coin found by the phone
It was his friends guitar
That he played
It was such a heavy day for me (not to mention that nightmare) that I decided to scratch that exhibtionist/voyeuristic itch and post my solo, unplugged, acoustic, rock opera ...
He's never been in love
But he knows just what love is
He says nevermind
And no one speaks
He thinks he drinks too much
Cause when he tells his two best friends
"I think I drink too much"
No one speaks
No one speaks
No one speaks
He plays an old guitar
With a coin found by the phone
It was his friends guitar
That he played
When he plays
No one speaks
No one speaks
When he plays
No one speaks
P.S. Lyrics in italics from "Friend of a Friend," Foo Fighters, off the acoustic side of their album referred to in the previous post. Hmmm. I wonder who that song was about? Anyway, it is one of six great songs on that album, and one of three that make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
P.P.S. Friday. Ah, Friday. You are my muse. Friday, let me count the ways. Electric with possibility. You can check out mentally at lunch on Friday. As you damn well should. Because Friday is a sultry, sweaty, sand-stuck-to-her-back-kind-of-girl. Hat's off to Friday, the undisputed heavyweight champion of Days. Saturday may be the Gorilla in the corner, but by Saturday, you've settled into your groove, flowing down the river with the current, definitely enjoying the fuck out of the day, but, compared to Friday?
Well, I think Carly Simon said it best, "An-tic-i-pay-shun. An-tiss-i-pay-yay-shun is makin' me wait."
(I understand that fully 95% of the "unique visitors" to the dude abides will not know what the fuck that last sentence meant, but someday, someday, they'll find out about the clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee,)
P.P.S. I don't know about you, but I feel very secure...
Y'know...
In my manhood.
P.P.P.S. Are you not entertained?
Because if this hasn't been the best 3.5 minutes you have ever spent...
at work...
... on friday ...
... ... well, g'head and tell me ... ...
... ... ... because i'd like to know ... ... ..
posted by Joe at
9:59 PM
9 Comments:
Canada don't got no ghetto ice cubes ya hoser. That post made me greeeaaatt. Have a great weekend yourself!
k, that was supposed ta say, either, "that post was great" or "that post made me smile". It didn't actually MAKE me great.
Bravo!
Loved your solo acoustic version of I'm On Fire.
Northwest blows...even in first class.
I sure enjoy hearing you play. I suspect there's a video there, but for some reason, I can't see it, only get audio.
I like your version, very melodic interpretation. IMHO though, the G flat minor is the "money" chord (comes after the D, if I'm hearing your audio right). It gives the song its plaintive quality. Try it sometime and see what you think: Make an Em, but move the whole works up 2 frets and bar the second fret.
(And the only reason I know what the fuck a G flat minor chord is is because of Hal Leonard's book, Incredible Chord Finder. It rocks.)
I only want to take you higher.
P- you're right. I was missing that change.
Which is no surprise, since I can't even tune a guitar without electronic assistance...
i am on fire. i like to tell that to men when i am seducing them. i should do a day in thelife of-- wakeup, be hungover think of weird things to do--do them--drink. and do as much as you can in bed. seriously.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
This is how my 24 hours as the dude vacation package would go:
Hang out with your buddies, especially that sexy little Bells.
Drive around in your little car honking at college co'eds.
Have India massage me all day.
Cruise around on that bike with the milk crate on the front. I'd put stuff in that milk crate. Maybe your cat.
Help Destiny clean the house.
And there you have it. My 24 hours as the dude. Please note that all that scary, heightsy, extreme sporting has been omitted.
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