Sunday, November 11, 2007

Egads, I've been tagged!

Much like the side of a building in the ghetto, where crack flows like screw-top wine, I’ve been tagged. (Whoooo! Three stereotypes in the first sentence—I’m off to a great start!) The whole concept of tagging on the blogosphere is interesting. Allow me to illustrate the abstract concept of the tagger–tagee relationship with the help of an Aristotelian dialog:

“Hey, pal! I’ve just tagged you!”
“Tits, bro. What do I get?”
“You get to answer all these questions!”
“You gave me a test, basically, is what you’re saying?”
“Yeah, when you look at it that way, I suppose I did.”
“Well, check this out. I’ve just pricked you, dude!”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I just injected you with a syringe full of baboon malaria. Now we’re even.”
“Can I blog about this?”
“Well, I sort of assumed you would.”

And so it goes, from person to person, like a more horrifying version of that stupid tape from those Ring movies. What’s with that shit, by the way? Japanese people are afraid of pale, attention-hungry teenage girls? If that’s the case, we could have just dropped a chain of Hot Topic stores on them during WWII instead of those nukes. But I digress.

Prunella Jones—or Pru, as all the cool kids refer to her—tagged me a while back. Since I’m a fan of her blog, and I’m such a classy bastard, I decided to complete the tag rather than just ignore it like I’ve been ignoring all those dead Mormons someone’s been leaving at my door.

Since everyone loves lists (just ask the dildos in charge of programming at VH1), here’s a list of seven random facts about me. [Editor’s note: The veracity of Morb’s claims cannot be guaranteed.]

1: I’ve been in a lot of bands.

One of the bands I was in was fronted, unbeknownst to me, by an escaped mental patient. I only found out later when he disappeared and authorities from his institution showed up asking about him. Apparently he was violent and escaped after breaking a table over some people.

I was in a band, for a short time, with a guy who drove a hearse and made extra money participating in underground fights. He disappeared.

One of the bands I was in had a sort of joke mythology based around their various bass players, claiming they were all, once they joined the band, the reincarnation of a Tibetan monk. When I joined, I assumed that role. At one point I even signed autographs in Chinese.

2: I was a model student.

I graduated from college with highest honors, meaning I had a gpa of 4.0 and perfect attendance. When I graduated I got to wear two golden ropes. At the time I thought they just gave me those ropes because they were too cheap to pony up some Chucky Cheese tokens for my grades, but I later realized the gold ropes were to hang myself with when my awesome grades wouldn’t get me a decent job.

3: I like books.

I read a lot. In fact, the majority of my free time is dedicated to reading. I’m really just a book nerd, to be completely honest. Were I a rich man, I would probably have all kinds of first editions like that old Satan worshiper from The Ninth Gate. While my collection is humble to say the least, I have an out-of-print edition of Musashi’s Go Rin No Sho from 1974 that’s pretty sweet, and I just got a first edition copy of The Interrupted Journey (yes, that’s the book about the Hill alien abduction case from the 1960s).

I do like classic literature—everything from David Copperfield to The Canterbury Tales—but right now I’m really into collecting old, obscure occult and UFO/lost civilization/cryptozoology–related books. By the way, if anyone has a copy of Keel’s The Eighth Tower (1975) they’d be willing to part with for less than twenty-five bucks, please send me an e-mail. I could just order it from, but I don’t want to spend the amount they’re asking. I’m a smart shopper, goddamnit.

4: It’s not about me, but it’s a fact.

It is always better
to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning.
For every one of us, living in this world
means waiting for our end. Let whoever can
win glory before death. When a warrior is gone,
that will be his best and only bulwark.

5: I like alcohol.

I used to drink a gallon of whiskey every weekend.

6: I think this is funny for some reason.

7: I accidentally conjured some spooky shit one time.

I was minding my own business, reading a copy of the Necronomicon I found in the discount bin at the bookstore. Some of the incantations in the book are so ridiculous, I was reading them out loud and having a good laugh. I mean, “zi dingir enmeshir raa kanpa” sounds like a retarded hairlip trying to order Thai food or something. But, suddenly, to my surprise and irritation, someone was in the room with me. I was able to snap a picture with my camera phone.

Azag-Thoth: You conjured me, mortal?
Morbid Misanthrope: Excuse me?
AT: Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you’re just another loser dabbling in the occult in his mom’s basement. Because, seriously, I’ve seen more of that action than I’d care to admit.
MM: Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?
AT: Your own apartment? Thank the elder gods! Man, if I had to face one more overweight, cheetos-huffing Dungeons and Dragons jerk-off in a felt cloak his mother made for him, I … I just don’t know what I would do.
MM: You, uh, have an irrational fear of twenty-sided die, do you?
AT: Enough of this. You have conjured me, mortal. From the blackest depths of sleepless aeons I have heard your incantations and answered with my presence. Before I lose my temper and rip your tongue from your head, tell me what you want whith Azag-Thoth, the Blind Idiot God!
MM: I summoned you?
AT: Yes, with that ancient and powerful tome you hold in your hands.
MM: Dude, this is the Necronomicon.
AT: Verily, the key to unlocking the door that holds the hordes of unspeakable evil at bay.
MM: Right. It sort of says that on the back of the book, right under the discount price tag.
AT: Three dollars? Goddamn. Seekers of the book’s ancient power used to have to scour the darkest corners of the earth, search the blackest depths of their souls, and brave the dangers of the secret realms of the universe to lay hands upon it. Wow. Things have really changed in the last few thousand years.
MM: I suppose that helps to explain why so many basement-dwelling mouth-breathers were able to conjure you, doesn’t it?
AT: To be honest, it’s all a bit depressing.
MM: I guess the dark arts just aren’t what they used to be.
AT: You know, it’d make me feel a lot better if you had me rain some fire, pestilence, and madness on the earth. I’d settle for the neighborhood, though. Can I at least rain down fire, pestilence, and madness on your neighborhood?
MM: Be my guest, but there’s a meth lab next door and a creek full of homeless junkies talking to themselves and surviving on nothing but urine and toenails. I don’t think anyone would notice.
AT: Well, I’m here. You conjured me. I ought to do something.
MM: You can explain to me how a fictional book written by H.P. Lovecraft enthusiasts less than one hundred years ago is ancient or powerful.
AT: To make a long story short, it’s kind of like that Lovecraft story, “Pickman’s Model.”
MM: You mean how the subjects of the terrifying works of art Pickman painted came from reality rather than his own imagination?
AT: Essentially, yeah.
MM: That was a fucking cool story.
AT: Wasn’t it?
MM: Well, I suppose you are magic, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to bypass all my dangerous ninja traps getting in here.
AT: You mean those empty soda cans tied together with dental floss hanging from your doorknob?
MM: Hey, if you’re real, does that mean all those other ancient gods are real too? Like, do you, Dagon, Cthulhu, and Shub-Niggurath have a poker night or something?
AT: Cthulhu's been a big-headed prick ever since Metallica wrote that song about him. You can’t even talk to that asshole without going through his publicist these days. Dagon, well, he’s a big, gay bitch—like Aquaman with tentacles and shit. And I haven’t seen Shub since the supreme court ruled she had to drop Niggurath from her name because it was offensive to black people. The last time anyone saw her, she was swilling gin and threatening to kick Jesse Jackson’s ass with Al Sharpton’s foot. She pretty much abandoned her thousand young—a fuckin’ tragedy, that’s what it is.
MM: Sounds like the realm of the ancient ones is a car crash away from being a shitty episode of VH1’s Behind the Music.
AT: Thanks, asshole. I’m not sensitive about it or anything. You wanna make fun of all the weight I’ve gained in the last thousand years, too? Hey, maybe you can call my wife and make fun of my limp dick with her. I bet she’d love that!
MM: Wow. Sorry, dude. I didn’t think a blind, mad god would be so tender-hearted.
AT: You know what? Fuck you, pal! Okay? Just fuck you! In fact: Barra Ante Malda! Bam! The milk in your fridge is now spoiled, and all your new batteries are dead. How’s that for evil, you prick?
MM: It’s more rude than evil, really.
AT: Whatever, ass. If my whore wife comes looking for me, tell her I’m at Boston Market, eating meatloaf that isn’t all dry and shitty for a change!

And then he disappeared and I haven’t heard from him since.

That completes my obligations as a tagee, and because I’m such a goddamned rebel, I’m not tagging anyone. How’s that for anti-social behavior? Random fact about me number eight: I'm a dick.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Making the News

Crazed Man Terrifies Neighborhood
By Max Bojo
Associated Press (10-31-07)

Halloween is a magical day of the year, full of fun, harmless scares, and enough free candy to keep dentists in business for another year. When the sun goes down, costumed children hit the streets looking for nothing more than frightful fun and bagfuls of bite-sized candy treats. This year, however, in a small town about forty-five minutes away from San Francisco, one man bordering on deranged turned frightful fun into real scares.

At approximately 8:00 p.m. Halloween night, an as-yet-unidentified man verbally attacked and terrified tick-or-treaters prowling the neighborhoods just trying to enjoy the traditional Halloween festivities.

“He was screaming at my son like some kind of madman,” said Clara Padilla, mother of five trick-or-treaters present when the incident occurred. “He was flailing around and swearing like crazy. I haven’t seen anyone so enraged since my brother got deported when the police busted him shooting PCP into his groin.”

According to Padilla and other witnesses, as their group of trick-or-treaters crossed the street, someone in a car that had to stop for them began honking the horn repeatedly. Although it was too dark to tell what kind of car the man was driving, all the witnesses could clearly hear “blasting death metal” coming from the vehicle.

Suddenly, the man “leapt” from his vehicle “like some kind of demon” and started screaming at the group of costumed children. He was apparently impatient after having to wait for so many people crossing the street as he drove.

“The man was scary,” said little Jose Padilla, who was dressed like a vampire and was the first child the crazed man verbally assaulted. “He wasn’t wearing a costume, but he, like, looked all crazy. His eyes were all bug-eyed like my Uncle’s when he got arrested. He smelled like cigarettes.”

According to witnesses present, the madman screamed a string of obscenities and threats at the children, who were so terrified they could barely move.

“He said, um, ‘get out of my f—ing way, you stupid little candy beggars! Why don’t you buy candy like goddamned everybody else?’” said Lucinda Morales, another parent at the scene. “He was using such terrible language. I’ve asked everyone I know, and no one has any idea what a ‘twattergob-bobbing meat plunger’ is. I just can’t believe this guy was so mad at us for hanging around in the street. I mean, he could wait. We were just having fun, you know? It was Halloween and stuff.”

Witnesses say he also spent a good five minutes screaming about proper pedestrian-driver etiquette, including: “You a—holes look like you’ve never seen a car before. The concept is simple. I’m driving a two-ton death machine and you’re in front of me in the street. You pricks too good for the sidewalk, are you? It’s only by the f—ing grace of f—ing god that I even stopped. I could have plowed through you little DNA bubbles without feeling bad. In fact, I probably would have been laughing. I think that s—t’s funny as hell!”

He went on to insult the children’s costumes as well, reducing several of them to tears.

“He said I was the gayest power ranger he had ever seen,” said a nine-year-old present who wished to remain anonymous. “He told me I might as well just move to Vermont with my little homo vampire friend so my father can kill himself in shame sooner rather than later. He said they wouldn’t let gays into Clown College, so I had better keep it in the closet until the AIDS makes me look like a skeleton and everyone figures out what I’ve been up to. I don’t know what’s going on. I just wanted free candy!”

The unknown assailant also called a twelve-year-old girl dressed as a ballerina a “fat, sin-impregnated whore,” an eight-year-old dressed as a ninja a “f—ing poseur,” a ten-year-old in a wheelchair dressed as Frankenstein a “green gimp retard,” and a nine-year-old African-American child dressed as an NBA star a “racist joke too easy to make.”

Parents stood by in awe as the scene unfolded, all too shocked and afraid to move.

“I thought he was, like, on drugs or something,” said parent Charlie James. “It looked like his head was gonna pop.” In spite of his fear, however, Mr. James walked over to the screaming man and told him to shut up. At that point, the crazed man kicked Mr. James in the head, screaming “Look what he made me do? Anyone else want to get f—ed up? Huh? I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again!”

At this point, one brave child offered her bag of candy to the screaming, and now dangerous, man, hoping to pacify him. Surprisingly, this moving gesture only enraged the man further. He shrieked and kicked the bag out of the small girl’s hands, screaming “Trying to put me in a coma, huh? You’re not going to kill me that easily! I’ll kick you around like an organ-filled trash bag before I let you trick me! I’m a crafty diabetic with good eyesight!” [Editor’s Note: Sometimes diabetics lose eyesight due to the disease.]

He then hopped back into his car, tearing off at a high rate of speed, still screaming threats as he sped away.

“It was the worst Halloween ever,” said Clara Padilla, shaking her head. “What kind of person would threaten children like that? It’s just unimaginable.”

Crazed Man Strikes Again?
By Max Bojo
Associated Press (11-01-07)

After the neighborhood suffered a terrifying Halloween at the hands of a rabid madman, all anyone wanted was to try to forget about the horrible night and move on. Unfortunately, the scares weren’t over for the neighborhood just because Halloween was.

At approximately 12:30 p.m., lunchtime at the local middle school, a crazed madman—very likely the same man that terrorized children Halloween night—showed up and started attacking children as they ate lunch and played kickball.

School faculty was shocked to see a “grown man, wearing all black, and smoking cigarettes” hop over the playground fence and approach the playing children.

“Our first thought was that another pervert was after the kids, but soon it became apparent that he wasn’t a pervert—just a lunatic,” said Principal Blake.

The man was heard screaming obscenities and threats. School surveillance cameras caught audio of the incident even though the assailant was somehow able to avoid appearing on film. What follows is a partial transcript of that tape’s audio:

Crazed Man: (apparently grabbing the kickball) “Hey, you little bastards. It’s not so easy to play your little game with someone in the way, is it?”
Child: “What?”
Crazed Man: “Yeah, just like it’s not easy to drive home with a bunch of little retarded candy beggars in the middle of the street! How do you idiots like it?”
Child: “Leave us alone!”
Crazed Man: (apparently stabbing the kickball with a knife) “Suffer, fools!”

The crazed man then started kicking over lunch tables where kids were eating. He was heard laughing maniacally and saying, “Can’t enjoy your f—ing spaghetti without a table, can you? Well, I can’t f—ing drive with a bunch of imbeciles high on candy handouts blocking the way! This may be a public school, but you’ll learn something today, goddamnit! Even if you never learn to read! I’m talking to you, Jose Padilla!”

After breaking things, scaring children, and ranting for just under five minutes, the madman was gone as quickly as he appeared. The police are questioning witnesses, but so far have no leads.

Letter to the Editor
Anonymous (11-02-07)

This whole thing is just awful, really. Those poor kids. What a shame.

Anyway, I’m not excusing this "crazy" but undoubtedly handsome guy, but we can’t judge him until we understand his situation. Now, I wasn’t around when he was supposedly terrifying those kids Halloween night, but I was driving home from work at about that time. I did notice a lot of kids messing around in the streets. To be perfectly honest, it was infuriating.

Everywhere I drove I had to wait for caravans of people to cross the street. They were really taking their time, too. I mean, it wasn’t like they were just crossing and getting it over with. They were practically loitering in the street. (Loitering is a crime, so maybe this “crazed man” is really a kind of crimefighter—just a thought.) Some kids were even purposely walking in the street, blocking traffic because they think Halloween gives them a free pass to act like morons. It was maddening.

And the parents were no better. They weren’t watching their kids or anything. They were just walking around all slack-jawed and lackadaisical, letting Jr. do whatever he wanted. Man! How many kids did these people have? I counted seven or eight in some cases. That’s just irresponsible. (It’s like they bussed in a border town or something, but that’s beside the point.) Also, I doubt he called the black kid a “racist joke too easy to make.” He probably said something more like “Hey, try not to rape any psychotic girls out there tonight, Kobe.” I don’t know. Something clever like that. It seems like that would be more his style.

Anyway, perhaps this “crazed man” just had a rough day at the office and wanted to get home to watch TV. Let’s say, hypothetically, he wanted to catch the Ghost Hunters live investigation on the Sci-Fi network and enjoy a low-carb frozen dinner. These people, by rudely blocking the streets, were disrespecting him and ruining his schedule. I can understand being upset by that, I really can.

Who knows? Maybe he went a little overboard because he had just gotten a flu shot and was a little out of it, and maybe his blood sugar was low. We really just don’t know. He obviously had his reasons for doing what he did. And he didn’t hurt anyone. He did kick that one guy, but that guy started it really. It was self-defense.

And even though tearing up a school is an unorthodox way to do things, I’ll bet those kids never play in the street again. That’s worth something, right? If their fat, sweatsuit-wearing parents won’t teach them anything, someone should, right? And I don’t want to get going about the school system’s failures, but, come on, let’s be honest: those kids learned more in five minutes from the “crazed man” than they’ll learn at that school in the next five years.

Look, I’m not saying we should build this guy a statue or something, but when you really think about it, he probably did some good. And I really think we should all stop calling him “crazed,” “lunatic,” and “madman.” How does misunderstood genius sound? Revolutionary thinker? If it were up to me, the police would stop looking for the guy and just let the whole “incident” slide. It’s all over now. I’m sure he’s not going to do anything else (provided everyone respects pedestrian-driver etiquette). Let’s just all move on and let it go.