Evolution of Cock-Sucker to Dead

Alright. Stay with me. We are discussing some very difficult theories. And it is not necessarily simple to convince our population of their factual base. Now, we have all heard the name Charles Darwin, whether it be your science teacher discussing the revolution spurred by Darwin, or your sunday school teacher denouncing the mere thought of evolving from fish-lizards. If you’re more of a creation-myther than a brilliance-recognizer than you should stop here. You will not enjoy this. You will end up with a dumb look on your face. Stop. Go back to start. Collect two-hundred dollars.

Ok. Back on track. Darwin proposed a theory of evolution. He suggested that god did not have a direct impact on the existence of humans. He inferred that the dogs that don’t go to heaven, in fact have as much of a chance of getting there as Pope John Paul III. 

Darwin’s Theory, stated that mutations in genes that are beneficial to survival will maintain throughout the species and will eventually become a new life-form entirely. This explains the gradual development of multi-cellular organisms from single-celled organisms without nuclei. He said many other things, like death is a part of life, and we should all go around and fuck everyone, but we’ll save those for another day when I happen to ponder the implications of Darwin’s statements, again.

And now we’re to the real point of this post. I believe that in the beginning of homo-sapien (they’re humans for the layman), that all men were capable of performing fellatio (wordpress.com does not include the word “fellatio” in their dictionary of words, which is strange because I thought “fellatio” was the “pc” way to discuss giving head) on them selves. This is where Darwin comes in. Self-satisfaction lead to a lot of “me” time (honestly, the guys just sat at home and sucked their own dicks and never had to leave, so they died).

Women had to go around and find males that did not have the ability to suck their own dicks. And now, no one is capable of blowing them selves, save for Marilyn Manson, and other awesome dudes like that. This also developed into the reason that men now have to listen to women speak. Prior to the death of the cocksuckers there were only grunts. Language had to develop so men could explain that all they really wanted was for these women to put their mouths on their organ of copulation, and swallow. It manifested into a negative when women developed the word “no”. Like, 

No, I will not swallow.

No, If you don’t tell me when, I’ll never do this again.

Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I want to be known as, a cock-sucker.

Survival of the fittest took my god-given right to suck my own dick, so shut up and take over that specialty of survival.

Alright. So, the many who could blow them selves, were at home, alone, and the ones who could not perpetuated the species. It’s a clear, linear development to our current situation, and the frustrations of everyday. There was an Eden, and it was called blowing yourself.

A Big Pile of Shit

In the past twenty-four hours a horrible crime has been committed. There are several leads as to the culprit. Who will be punished severely when all the evidence is gathered. Several scent experts are already on the case. Samples have been taken and are on their way to the lab. The way it struck the ground is peculiar. It hit without much elasticity or movement at all. It must have been dropped from very near to its current placement. Their was no consistent deformation. Only certain points were gravity pulled the areas with little to no support. It was left here no less than a half hour ago. It is still warm, and pungent. If you have any leads, there will be a hefty reward if the information leads to the capture and conviction of the criminal.

Wow, You Should Have Seen Yourself Last Night

The three month window of time, called summer, is a repetitive period each year when the fourth dimension of time ceases to exist. We have up, down, left, and right, and whether time continues moving forward, or is simply without motion has not yet been proven by science, but most of us could not tell you if it is Sunday, Thursday, or Funday. A day starts with contemplations of who our companions will be, and ends with fucking (sucking, when she’s chubbier than your intoxication level will allow), passing out and drooling on the carpet, and if we are lucky a comfortable sleep in our own bed. Phone calls consist of, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Meet me at the beach at fourteenth street.”

Click. Off we are, on the daily expedition into the unknown. How stupid and impulsive can twenty-three to twenty-seven year olds really be? It is a question answered by each August, and then forgotten by September. By May, we’re all looking forward to it, again.

Early summer is an uproar of excitement. The sudden release from the responsibilities of books, papers, class meetings, and practice. In conjunction with the dangerously excessive consumption of alcohol, and reckless daily habits will morph the human mind into a raging bull with no concern for its surroundings or its personal relationships.

The mind has one path, and it is toward the edge of destruction. The place where everyone you know despises your life. Your flesh burns, but you won’t die. You walk around naked with a babies dick, and the crowd that has gathered contains every woman you have ever pined over. You hear laughter, but all you feel are tears.

Luckily, someone is “that guy” every-so-often. Most of the time we shotgun beers by the pool, and ride bikes along the boardwalk. If it were a fairy tale, we would shotgun beers without a care in the world, but…

How I Feel About Michael Jackson: By Ryan Chang

Devin asked me to write a blog post about Michael Jackson’s death. I feel like if you are not a musician/devoted fan/investor of MJ his death has very little to no effect on you. I feel like if you only own a “Greatest Hits” record by Michael Jackson his death should not affect you as much as your Facebook update or tweet shows you do. I also feel like reading your Facebook “News Feed” and just read every update that has “Michael Jackson died” or “RIP” or “????!!?!?!?!!!??” you will feel an extreme sense of doom and impending destruction for humans. In an improbable situation, the massive Twitter and Facebook updates that mention Michael Jackson’s death underscore the inevitable death of in-person communication—like we are just going to have iPhones and GPhones and every other phone and open our mouths like in the Pixie’s video for “Here Comes Your Man” and text each other while our mouths are gaped. This probably won’t happen, but I’m sure something will happen to the point where mainstream culture-makers will promote something like that. I fear people will feel that I am being insensitive, “just trying to different,” or “just trying too hard.” This is not true. I feel like if you really want to celebrate Michael Jackson’s life you should his family flowers, chocolates, a homemade Get Well card or something. Below I will illustrate how Michael Jackson’s death affects me personally only by way of Internet and TV saturation and how that kind of ruins the dead musician mystique.

7am-11:45am: In biology class boiling chemicals that smell like Costa Mesa dive bar bathrooms, embarrassing myself by speaking very loudly about plans for birthday and smoking habits. Effect of Michael Jackson’s death: Not dead yet, but probably nothing.

12pm-1pm: At home smoking weed reading a book. I get ideas for a story. Write half of it in bed stoned. Get up to type it out, already interrupting a nap. Headline in Gmail says something about Michael Jackson’s death. Effect of Michael Jackson’s death: Mild interest. It should be noted that the tabloid TMZ.com is the first to report the news of Michael Jackson’s cardiac arrest/heart attack/something before anyone else. My first real experience with TMZ.com finally “doing their job” and reporting something “mildly of interest” to the “celebrity rumor hungry public.” Light applause for TMZ.com, though in general I really don’t like TMZ.com.

2pm: Check Facebook and Twitter, several posts about Michael Jackson’s apparent death (his death not confirmed at 2pm, think he died 20 minutes later or something). Effect of Michael Jackson’s death: At first glance of Facebook News Feed and Twitter I became very frightened from the onslaught of “Michael Jackson” and “death” and “RIP” mentions in almost every update. Feel frightened because I am not sure if Michael Jackson is bringing death (Swine Flu), will bring death (Swine Flu. Swine Flu) or will help bring death (Free Swine Flu for all MJ fans at giant London O2 Arena shows). Did not feel sad about Michael Jackson’s death, though.

4pm: Internet seems to be blowing up with Facebook and Twitter updates that have almost nothing to do with the user, feel like people are becoming more and more consumed with other people’s lives. Internet itself seems to be “exploding.” CNN, LA Times’ blog and ABC News confirm Michael Jackson’s death. Major TV stations begin footage of Michael Jackson’s body being moved to coroner’s office. Larry King speaks to one of the Neal(?) Brothers about Jackson’s death. Neal Brother has a thick country twang, has nothing real to say about Michael Jackson’s death. Effect of Michael Jackson’s death: Overwhelming sense of “I stopped caring five seconds after 2pm.”

6pm and Final Effect of Michael Jackson’s Death:

I feel like sensory overload by the mainstream media, Facebook, and Twitter largely derailed close to an hour of my time—time possibly spent napping or productive activities. Also feel like sensory overload could send a diehard fan of Michael Jackson into a tail spin of extreme loneliness, helplessness, and confusion that could last ~12 hours-two days and cause mild to medium amounts of mild emotional dysfunctions for life. Michael Jackson’s death is now 200% irrelevant to my life and ~75%-150% irrelevant to Michael Jackson fans’ lives now because of sensory overload. I think that fans will not mourn anymore because they’ve typed out their mournings ten-fold.

 

I feel like an otherwise very somber and shocking day for musicians/fans/investors alike has been ruined by an old white man named Larry King, a broadcaster with a legend and also, as of late, a knack for having dumb people on his show, talking about Michael Jackson, mainly.

The King is Dead: By Dan Martinez

 

There is Elvis and than there is Michael Jackson. They are the kings. They broke convention and reinvented America in the process. But now that Michael is dead there is a hole left in the world that will not be filled for some time to come. I didn’t think the man could be killed. He seemed invincible gated off from the world. It is just now that I realize the loss that has occurred.

            My brother came clamoring through the front door. He asked if I had heard that Michael Jackson had died. I didn’t believe him yet there it was on the local news. The King of Pop was dead. I had grown up always being told that he was the King. I just took it for granted. Fine he’s the King of Pop I would think. But now that he is dead the gravity of the situation is hitting me. Will there be another artist to hit such heights ever again? We have cookie cutters of the mold that he created, but there is only one M.J. Thriller will never be too old to listen to. The Moon Walk will always be cool, and his singing will never be matched.

            As a musician Michael Jackson has no parallel. His pop sensibility has made his entire catalogue timeless. The world boogied alongside him as he sang with the Jackson 5. He was this cute little kid that seemed so likable with his afro and stylish threads. Than came 1979 and we get his new sound with the album Off the Wall. It had the great bass lines that the Motown sound was known for, but then there was this unique voice punching through. It has the familiar falsetto sound of a group like the Bee Gees, yet it has so much soul. I can see why it cut through racial divides. How could you not dance to the music?

            But as amazing as Michael was at writing music it was his flair that made him mythic. At first his style was fairly tame but as the 80s unrolled his style was off the charts. His style kept getting more and more daring with each passing day. His Thriller jacket alone is the 80s. I don’t think there is a single soul on this planet that doesn’t think of Michael when they hear the word Moonwalk. The man might as well be from the moon. His dancing was unearthly, and we loved him for it. He danced differently, sang differently, and looked different. His music videos are unmatched. The scale and size of these videos puts everyone to shame. To this day people are still dancing to thriller. His title as the king of pop is extremely appropriate. There is something about his music that spoke to us. I am still not certain as to what it is?

            Unfortunately the Michael Jackson that I saw was the one climbing trees and hanging out with a chimpanzee named Bubbles. Long after all the scandals of child molestation are gone I am not quite sure what legacy will be left. Will it be his music that we remember? Elvis is remembered as a fat man in a jumpsuit that has a quivery lip. It most certainly does not do him justice. Will Michael forever be remembered as a masked pale man running around hanging babies out of windows? Only time will tell but I hope it does him justice. It is a shame he didn’t get this final tour to finally show the world once again why he is the king.

Dishonest Journalism: Michael Jackson

Yesterday, I received a dire phone call from the editor of OC Music Magazine. He clamored over the phone, that Michael Fucking Jackson had just died, and that I MUST get an article written on the matter, and that it must become my number one priority. I then called Ryan, and Danny to write an article about Michael Jackson’s death, since I was out promoting the magazine’s name, and making additional contacts. They both agreed, because they are excited about this project, and want to see it succeed. Unfortunately, concern for people’s sensibilities won the day, and their articles, their time, and mine have been wasted.

My first reaction is that “MJ” is better off dead. He lived a terribly miserable life. His family took advantage of his abilities for their own benefit (by family, I mean, father and mother). Whoever owns the rights to the Jackson 5 just recently sued MJ as well. Everything he has ever done has been torn to shit by, according to MJ, his lack of a childhood. These words are the truth about MJ. Not that he wasn’t a great talent, but he was a tortured great talent, and his torture made headline news. Having to focus on your torture at every contact with the outside world would drive anyone crazy, but he is finally at peace, he is better off dead.

Now to my point. The two articles that Ryan and Danny produced were of differing opinions. And neither of them were usable for the magazine today, because David and I communicated terribly. I did what I was asked, and early this morning, David finally received them. He would not publish anything that was negative toward MJ, so I am going to publish them here.

This isn’t about MJ, this is about being heard when you have something to say.

Northern Labour Party

Here and there I am actually shown something that really impresses me. This is the new video by Northern Labour Party. They just released their EP to accompany this new video directed by, Shea Formaneck. This video was shot for absolutely no money, and while this does show slightly in the video, it is still visually impressive. The music is inventive and takes advantage of today’s technology to accomplish their sound. Their music isn’t a nice day at the beach, unless that beach is under attack from a Hurricane or maybe a Tsunami. One listen is not enough with these guys. Check out the video, and let them know what you think @ www.myspace.com/northernlabourparty. If you’re interested, become a fan, and spread the word.

“Party”? = Definition!!!

There are few things I know. One of them is partying. I don’t know anything about the theory of relativity. I don’t understand emotions. Yes, and no; mean shit to me. One thing I know, is partying. I know, when you party, you party. I know that partying is not selfish. If you party, and you want to, you party. You’re not concerned about who brought the party, you’re just excited that partying is happening. I am always excited about partying, and I infact, can not get enough. Today is far better than tomorrow, because today we have choices. Tomorrow, we have nothing. A party is created from many individuals who have come together. The word party inherently has several individuals coming tothether. To facilitate this party, those individuals must celebrate them selves and each other, and not concern them selves or each other with petty shit like: money, women, blondes, or mexicans. Partiers only concern them selves with drinking. Because: I love college, I love drinking, I love women, and I love drinking. Mike Layhee, loves partying and knows how to party. This blog would be much better, and funnier, but this girl wants me to come and distract her from a shitty party. So…

Calling All Californians, Living in California…

DO NOT… Let me stress this point, DO NOT Masturbate in the shower. The droughts that have effected California for so long, are not going away. We are requiring more water, for farming, for our population, and for other needs. We do not have the available water sources to take thirty minute showers, so anyone can masturbate in privacy. It’s your civil duty as a Californian to understand these warnings. The U.S. Energy Secretary, Steven Chu has said, “‘I don’t think the American public has gripped in its gut what could happen’, Chu told the Los Angeles Times in February. ‘We’re looking at a scenario where there’s no more agriculture in California.’”. This is all due to the growth of agriculture in California, and their wreck-less use of our water reserves, and due to their wreck-less use of California’s water, we must make moves in personal masturbation.

I am suggesting sex in the shower as a replacement to masturbation. The state should begin offering online paring for masturbators. We type in our sex, and locations, and they match us with the nearest masturbator at the time. Names are not necessary. The paired masturbators then participate in a “quickie”, because it would not make sense to have long, drawn-out sex, because this is a conservation message. We will effectively cut water consumption in half when the discussion is about masturbators.

This will not effect our consumption in agriculture, which according to Mary Milliken, accounts for eighty percent of California’s yearly water consumption. Due to their expensive lawyers and lobbyists, common sense is unable to take hold, and cut the amount of agriculture in California. California currently grows eighty percent of the world’s almonds, and one-third of the world’s canned tomatoes, double that of Italy. With an ever-growing population, and the extreme competition among local farmers, and the state’s willingness to allow the continued agriculture growth, their is currently no worthwhile solutions to this problem, so we must start fucking strangers, rather than masturbate in the shower. It is the only way.

 

Milliken, Mary. “Water Scarcity Clouds California Farming’s Future”. Reuters.com. 13 March 2009. Thomson Reuters Corporate. 10 June 2009. http://www.reuters.com/article/environmentNews/idUSTRE52C07R20090313?sp=true

Self-Loathing, From Bed

On some mornings, I wake up with little thought about anything. On some mornings I wake up way to late, and worry about the consequences. On some mornings I wake up with my dick in my hands. On particular mornings, I wake up with my dick in my hands, a sullen heart and a reminiscent desire for things past. These are the hardest mornings! 

Nostalgic mornings, like this morning, usually drag on for hours and sometimes for days. Its not that I am completely resentful of mnemonically evoked emotions, I am just terrible at dealing with my own emotions. The fine teaching staff at Orange Coast College has taught me that my emotional ineptitude is due to something called the “boy code”, and has been instituted by society. In my interpretation, mostly due to the resonance of mostly dead institutions. I.E…Catholicism / Presbytarianism, marriage, Naziism (in the form of our police force), politics, and our education systems. So, I sit in bed contemplating the feelings I’ve woken up with. Is it the way my life is going? Is it the lack of available marijuana? Is it my inability to get my dick sucked at noon? No, no. It is mostly the way my life is not going. I have my friends. My girls, who are far better than any I have previously known. Yet, I have the nostalgia for the women who want nothing to do with me. And, this is the knot in my stomach.

I use the internet for its intended purpose; checking in on exes that no longer want to interact with me, without having to interfere with their lives. The feeling remains, even after a psycho analysis of their portrayed digital characters in juxtaposition with what I actually knew about their personalities. 

Apryle (April; recently changed to a normal person’s spelling) Ann McAllister: Wishes to be a writer. A love for the randomness of life. A self-loathing stemmed from her father’s self-love, and her mother’s perpetual illness. Turned inward, because she wished to experience love so badly, that she had a baby (great kid) far to early. I attempted to give her this love, but women hardly want what they actually want. She momentarily expressed how much she wished this love to come from me by asking me if she could name this child “Devin”, who in fact was named “Gavin” (coincidence, or my own narcissism?). This inward turn has turned into bed-ridden wine consumption, and a flighty attitude about responsibilities toward anything but Gavin.

Marissa Ann Ross: Wishes to be a writer. Was a reserved extrovert, and has turned into a a self-loving, in-your-face, extrovert. I far preferred the initial Marissa. Her self-love is a response to the fact that she has never been able to accept love either. Her father chose not to spend enough time with her, and her mother was far to concerned with herself, to make Marissa feel as wonderful as she “was”. Now, as a resident of Echo Park, she has decided to portray herself as the same eccentric, self-loving, genius, we have seen in LA over-and-over again. Because she still does not feel loved, except by the few “digital disciples” she has procured over the past year. It is far more disturbing than the confused girl I knew. It has a far darker path than I would wish for her. Heroin, crack, speed? Marissa: your insightful observations are, so, right on, yeah! Taco carts, and cake farts, yeah! Good Job! I call her digital identity, “Confessions of a not-so-successful snob”, or “Who Cares in LA?”. Her drastic change from sweet, well-intentioned beauty, to egomaniacal bitch is completely gratifying, and justifying.

Who knows if any of this is true. I do not. I have not spoken to either in some years. They are only digital portrayals of what they wish to be, but I must say, it makes me feel much better, knowing that what they want to be are degenerate, self-loving assholes. Since, they were both uncertain, girls when I met them. Now they tote narcissism like they invented it. I invented narcissism.

Their goes that knot…