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F-18 Ride Other Video / MySpace Video Codes Home | Memberspace | Submit Content | Contact | Privacy Policy Your source for funny videos , funny pictures and more updated daily. Be sure to bookmark us by clicking here. NEW!! We now provide you the video, game and picture codes to place any of our content on your MySpace or other blog! Search BoFunk Username Password ( Register | Lost Password ) Navigation Home Pictures Flash Games Soundboards Register Submit Content Memberspace Contact Categories Awesome Chicks Crazy Cute Fights Funny Interactive Nasty Other Painful Ridiculous Signs Stupid Ideas WTH Sponsor F-18 Ride Next Click here to add this video to your MySpace! IM to a Friend | Send to a Friend | Add to Favorites | Save to Computer | Comments We added another video server to hopefully speed up the videos, if you have any trouble, please contact us by clicking here and let us know and please include the link to the video. -- Random Videos Please link to: More related videos you may like Subliminal Messages Andy is Back Gaylord Diet Coke vs. Coke American Heros Folding Shirt Translated Get the Cooler Evil Grimace feet dancing Battlefield Priceless MySpace / Xanga / Blog Video Code Options Video Embed Codes Add Directly to MySpace Thats right!! You can now insert the video directly into your MySpace profile without having to copy the code! Open another web browser (leaving this window open) and login to your MySpace account. Then simply select where you want the video to go from the dropdown below and click "Add to MySpace" ! -SELECT FROM BELOW- Music General Movies Television Books Heroes or Copy and paste the code where you want it (This works on MySpace, Xanga, etc.) Video and Code Provided by BoFunk.com Copy to clipboard Video Link Codes MySpace Codes to Link to the Video With Thumbnail Image (example) Watch Video Here F-18 Ride Copy to clipboard MySpace Codes to Link to the Video (Text only) Watch Video: F-18 Ride Copy to clipboard Read and Post Comments on this Video zmatran I like this 03.15.05 rathergoodbloke666 great video awesome sound track!! 04.16.05 joncoombs Awesome! 04.28.05 HBoss302 I do this. 05.01.05 luckyizzy420 Makes me want to join the air force....well almost! 05.11.05 sss this is coool 05.23.05 Please login to post a comment or register here Buddies MySpace Picture Codes Funny Stuff MySpace Image Codes Time Killer Kontraband WTF People Top Humor Sites Insane Videos Link Partners Free Downloads Need For Fun Funny Video Clips Clip Dump Ringtone Dump Funny Videos Unoriginal Funny Videos Hans-Wurst Entertainment Crazy Babysitter Priceless Funny Pictures Humor Guide!! Funny Videos Crazy Fun madsalmon.net Humor4You Funny Web Zone! Hawt Priceless Funny Videos Twisted Gaia Flush The Web Doshur Raw Meat Funnymovies.net First-Ward Play Music AchterIn I am Bored mpam.gr Free Ringtones More Sites Add Your Site All Rights Reserved - Design BoFunk 2004 - Images & content their respective owners Page took 0.552434 seconds to load.
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www.myspace.com/horsetheband MySpace.com | Home The Web MySpace Help | SignUp Home | Browse | Search | Invite | Rank | Mail | Blog | Favorites | Forum | Groups | Events | Games | Music | Classifieds Videos | Directory | Search | Top Artists | Shows | Music Forums | Music Classifieds | Artist Signup HORSE the band Death Metal / Emo / Hardcore "You are Gay" United States Profile Views: 300626 Last Login: 01/11/2006 View more pics Contacting HORSE the band MySpace URL: http://www.myspace.com/horsetheband HORSE the band General Info Member Since September 28, 2004 Band Website horsetheband.com Band Members Blade - keys Big Violence - guitar Beef Sore - vox Eel Eye - drums Grief - bass Influences gay porn and fried chicken Sounds Like having sex with a dead body Record Label Combat Records Type of Label Major Upcoming Shows ( view all ) Jan 22 2006 7:30P Chain Reaction Anaheim, CA Mar 21 2006 7:00P Glasshouse Pomona, CA Mar 22 2006 8:00P Slim's San Francisco, CA Mar 23 2006 9:00P Hawthorne Theater Portland, OR Mar 24 2006 8:00P El Corazon Seattle, WA Mar 27 2006 7:00P Bluebird Theatre Denver, CO Apr 4 2006 6:30P Majestic Theatre Detriot, MI HORSE the band's Latest Blog Entry [ Subscribe to this Blog ] HORSE the band Tour DVD ( view more ) BUNNIES VIDEO (REAL version) ( view more ) NEW MERCH STORE ( view more ) [ View All Blog Entries ] About HORSE the band September 20th - 'THEMECHANICALHAND' is released ORDER OUR NEW CD HERE!!! AND BUY OUR MERCH HERE!!! CHECK OUT OUR NEW E-CARD!!! http://kochstreams.hostcentric.com/htb/ MTV and MTV2 To request HORSE the band's 'Birdo' video on MTV and MTV2 send a request by e-mail here: feedback@mtv.com feedback@mtv2.com "BIRDO" - VIDEO PUT OUR VIDEO ON YOUR PAGE!!! "A MILLION EXPLODING SUNS" - VIDEO PUT OUR VIDEO ON YOUR PAGE!!! HORSE the band is five stellar gods running from a haunted past they can't possibly forget. Formed on the mean streets of Los Angeles after the birth of the new millenium the members of HORSE began to create their exotic sound to fight the past and create the future. HORSE the band consists of Nathan the tormented poet beast on vocals, David the hyper-intelligent lover on guitar, Erik the child-like wizard of keyboards, Eli the cuddly smut-peddling gourmet on drums and Dash the gritty urban barbarian on bass. HORSE the band's music has won them many accolades for energy and originality. Often referred to as 'nintendo-core' because of their spastic and glorious brutallity they prefer to strike out and create their own unique sounds each time they manifest their powers. Among their many achievements HORSE was listed as one of Alternative Press' Top 100 Bands to Watch in 2005. One thing is for certain - You will love them or you will pretend not to, but in the end you can not deny their prowess. HORSE the band's Friend Space HORSE the band has 28325 friends. napoleon dynamite Napoleon Dynamite Napoleon Dynamite Napoleon Dynamite Napoleon Napoleon Napoleon Napoleon View All of HORSE the band's Friends HORSE the band'sFriends Comments Displaying 50 of 6861 comments ( View/Edit All Comments ) xXx A Bullet in Your Teeth xXx Jan 11, 2006 12:00 PM *love the music alex Jan 11, 2006 11:49 AM i cant believe it.... i cant fucking believe it!!! horse the band.. finally in ENGLAND!! and not only in the home country but playing with sadako... im travelling nearly 4 hours to come see you guys... cant fucking wait!!! bring t-shirts n shit coz im bringing money!!!!!!! much love!!!! She Makes A Killing. Jan 11, 2006 11:20 AM YO. COME TO ENGLAND, LUTON? love the new song. xxxx. John Jan 11, 2006 09:27 AM Come back to AZ cuz you guys never came last time Stitched In Silence Jan 11, 2006 09:21 AM NINTENDOCORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CHECK US OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Brian(wendy) Jan 11, 2006 04:37 AM ROCK! Curling's my fav Jan 10, 2006 10:21 PM Mmmm... west coast tour this summer. sound appetizing. Bunnies! Jan 10, 2006 10:15 PM Manateen = best lyrics ever. Swifteh Jan 10, 2006 10:09 PM Is it possible to pre-order tickets for the Seattle show in March? You guys kick ass. Angelfuck Jan 10, 2006 06:09 PM HEY lookin 4wrd to seeing u at nottingham..is coz of meeee u ll be playing! haha ais xx I like to go skating. Jan 10, 2006 06:06 PM you guys are gnarly. keep rocking the shit out of everyone. PRESTON IS SO CLICHE... Jan 10, 2006 05:10 PM put the kangarooster song back up...I LOVE THAT SONG O BUTRFLY, YU R SO PRITY!!!1 Jan 10, 2006 04:46 PM FUCK YES. UK NOW PLEASE. I'm so happy. GODICAN'TWAIT. Rory Jan 10, 2006 04:02 PM Oh My God! You're coming to the UK! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Words cannot express how much I love you guys The Glorious Emptiness Within Jan 10, 2006 03:35 PM You guys are fuckin genius!! ..m/ it never gets easier Jan 10, 2006 02:49 PM I love you guys T-I-double guh-er Jan 10, 2006 01:46 PM come to IOWA!!!again The Sun Only Shines On Cooll People!!! Jan 10, 2006 12:13 PM You gutsare the best band in the world, thanks for all the great music. Dannie & The Full Effect Jan 10, 2006 12:03 PM HORSE The Band rules. It was great hanging out with you guys at my friend Mike's house a couple weeks ago. But can't you delete that Square Ricky comment a few posts below? Having to scroll down to turn off that stupid video everytime I come to your profile is a pain in the ass. Blackened Skies Jan 10, 2006 12:01 PM man you guys should totally put up the song purple from R. Borlax.. that song is fucking sick people should hear it!!! :D r0bOt? Jan 10, 2006 11:53 AM jerktastic! Brad Jan 10, 2006 11:50 AM Thank GOD you're coming back to Seattle! This time I'm getting there an hour early just in case the tickets get misprinted again. Are you headlining this time? I sure as shit hope so. Not Every Display Name Can Be Poetic Jan 10, 2006 11:48 AM I'm really glad you put Manateen up, a fantastic song. Would it be too much to ask for Load Gold Throneroom? um... you know who robert is. duh. Jan 10, 2006 11:47 AM yeah you people post those bullshit peta videos on HORSE's myspace so that i cant even hear their video that i want to watch playing and have to scroll all the way down the page. just for that i'm going to eat twice as much meat from now on to make up for all the meat you aren't eating. obscene waste of space Jan 10, 2006 11:44 AM my lady bought me the dvd fur xmas fucking badass seeing an early live version of octopus in flames you guys are some sick fucks but ill take an anal alcohol induction whenever your down to give one lets say.... howabout on the 22nd when you guys come back to town? fuck yeah ___MateO___ mike Jan 10, 2006 11:36 AM Fucking A thats a good song, but not better then a Rusty glove. happy new year. (yea im late on that) My name's Simon but its pronounced DEATHBLOW sukka Jan 10, 2006 11:36 AM You guys were purdy sweet and gay and stuff at st. andrews in detroit... SPE.K Jan 10, 2006 11:26 AM great new song! keep on keepin on Fear Before The March Of Timera Jan 10, 2006 11:24 AM the top 8...bit brilliant Trish Forgives You Not Jan 10, 2006 11:05 AM eek! why did u delete brido from the playlist? :'[[[ francine Jan 10, 2006 10:55 AM i listen to you guys on repeat. yeah. can't help it. chasing.false.beauty Jan 10, 2006 10:48 AM i lvoe you so much, your my new jesus SPE.K Jan 10, 2006 10:36 AM I ♥ michigan mauler ♥ Jan 10, 2006 09:51 AM ♥hangin' tough in the new year ♥ <<LEAndro>>8==D Your Brazilian friend Jan 10, 2006 09:48 AM listening to yall reminds me old times playing megaman and listening to the music on the back ground matt- and the adventures of.... Jan 10, 2006 09:31 AM yus! england!!!- we have been waiting for the horse! Demented Muffin Jan 10, 2006 06:56 AM You guys need to get your asses to Indiana, RIGHT NOW. ...And you have to convince my mum to let me see you, too . Rowan Jan 10, 2006 03:33 AM cannot wait to see you guys in the UK!!!! Northern Ireland will some to see you! www.musicandstuff.net Jan 10, 2006 03:25 AM You've all got big hairy balls badmotherfucker Jan 10, 2006 12:10 AM yeah fuck yeah!!!!!! Sam Jan 9, 2006 10:07 PM Whats going on with the show on the 22nd? Man hopefully you can play more songs without that fucking Hella band hogging up your stagetime. BDOW Jan 9, 2006 10:06 PM I Can Listen To Your Music All Day shotgun Jan 9, 2006 09:45 PM i was just selling drugs, then i thought, * as soon as i sell this kilo of cacowaine i should say hello to HORSE. Im not sure about that random connection. but hi. ps: lord gold likes all-black watersports porn Christopher Moltisanti Jan 9, 2006 09:36 PM jill Jan 9, 2006 09:33 PM if you think bangers and mash is so awesome get yr asses to ireland and try Guiness soup eugene is legend Jan 9, 2006 09:29 PM dude guys.. where can i get R. Borlax Bradley Jan 9, 2006 09:28 PM A Million Exploding Suns is way better than Birdo. You guys are never going to the Phix again are you? You guys are on Sirius Hard Attack, you're going to be to big for the Phix and last time you didn't even show. You should put Cutsman on the radio, and make a video for that, if you want to get big, play the old really good stuff rather than the new moderately ok stuff. Everything until now has been lies, all lies, cowards. its peanutbruno jelly time! Jan 9, 2006 09:19 PM xcrying in a corner at mcdonalds on walmart with an atreyu hoodiex yeah!! four headed alien freaks attacked my anus so.... yeah you guys fucking rock!! Murderotica Jan 9, 2006 09:14 PM That isn't really true. I just like to make up stories and sometimes I mix in how much I enjoy your music. Congratulations, today I mixed that in. Murderotica Jan 9, 2006 09:08 PM I was listening to R. Borlax and woke up in the hospital.. And believe me, it wasn't because of the car that came through my house. Add Comment About | FAQ | Terms | Privacy | Safety Tips | Contact Myspace | Promote! | Advertise ©2003-2006 MySpace.com All Rights Reserved.
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Pimp Junta My Thoughts on Feet January 4th, 2006 by John Brownlee I’ve often heard girls say that they judge men by their shoes. That women pay so much attention to the feet of a man has never made much sense to me. This is like judging a man by his armpit. Actually, it’s worse – I’ve seen the attractive armpit or two in my time. But what are feet if not mottled, misshapen clumps of flesh crammed into reeking coffins of leather? Feet are what your hands would look like if all the bones in them were repeatedly broken every six weeks with a brick. Disgusting. Such is my loathing of the foot that there’s only two types of girls I would never date. One: fatties. Two: those who paint their toenails. Girls - painting your toenails is like applying lipstick to your anus. Don’t do it. The Chinese, with their foot binding, had the right idea – minimize these revolting appendages to offset evolution’s blind, ignorant fondness for them. Because of my revulsion, I try to pay as little attention to my feet as possible and so, over the years, I have developed a rather hardy set myself. Whether it was walking barefoot through a foot of snow to my neighbor’s house as a youth, or shrugging off the spray of gore resulting from stepping on a piece of jagged ceramic – the end result is a steady regime of consistent abuse has resulted in their near nigh-invulnerability. To me, shoes are a social nicety which I resent. Coming home in the evening, my greatest joy is to kick off the sweaty foot coffins and give the boys some air. Like my future wife, I am happiest both barefoot and in my kitchen. The other day, I was walking home in what was once a chic pair of black leather loafers when I passed a shoe cobbler. This caused me to ruminate and look down at the poor puppies below my ankles. The left shoe had a large gash in the side. In the hollowed heels of both, numerous trapped pebbles and tiny glass shards rattled. The soles, partially disconnected from the shoe proper, made exasperating farting-like noises when I walked. Unlike underpants, I tend to wear shoes until decomposition. But I decided to go in and see if all these pedimentary traumas could be repaired anyway. The cobbler assured me that they could be if only I were to leave my shoes with him. So I made what I thought was a common-sense decision: I took off my shoes, handed them to him, and began walking the five minutes back to my house in my socks. Within fifty yards, I’d already been stopped by the Gardai. “Ey! Wud’s oll dis den?” the copper ejaculated, pointing down with his walkie talkie at my shoeless feet. I scowled up at him defiantly. Recently, I’ve felt the Dublin police have been getting too big for their britches. I blame the uniform change: previously, every member of the Dublin Gardai wore a uniform comprised of khaki and puke green, overlaid with a fluorescent traffic vest. True, it was attire more appropriate for a parking garage attendant than a metropolitan enforcer of law and order, but the police at least walked around looking suitably abashed by the trouble they were causing you , the criminal. That’s the way it should be. Now, though, they have imported all their police uniforms straight from Paris and walk around with a pompous and lugubrious impugnity. This has caused the members of the seedy Dublin underworld to christen them “Potato-humping frog bacon”. “What, it’s illegal to walk around without shoes in this ridiculous Mickey Mouse country?” I exclaimed. He scowled and started jabbing me with his thumb. “Led’s see yer passport.” I didn’t have my passport on me, so I was dragged away to Gardai headquarters, yelping Rodney king quotes and the phrase “Five-Oh, yote!” over my shoulder the entire journey. These utterings failed to find cultural resonance. Anyway, it’s a long story, but the slippery slope, one thing led to another, and several savage beatings in the Rathmines Gardai station’s basement later, it turns out that, as an Irish citizen, you can come within a hair’s breadth of being deported for not wearing shoes over here. So next time The Economist lists Ireland as “the best country in the world to live in”, I hope you all remember this little anecdote. Posted in Personal | 4 Comments » -- Guest-Blogging at the Consumerist January 3rd, 2006 by John Brownlee In case any of my readers (mostly comprised of my relatives, some Boston friends, three ex-girlfriends, a couple of anonymous AOL IM acquaintances who believe my profile-stated interest in pipe-smoking to be underworld slang for homoerotic fellatio, and Dr. Derek Smart, PhD) are interested in paparazzing my Internet fame: I’m (paid!) guest-blogging over at The Consumerist this week. I haven’t really read it yet, but it’s some sort of anti-corporate, pro-consumer website from the Gawker guys, who also do the (much nicer looking) blogs Gizmodo , Lifehacker , Fleshbot and others. My stint posting snarky news criticizing major corporations will be especially amusing to those close friends who have ever listened to me drunkenly defend major corporate hegemonies. You can tell my posts because they are the ones overusing adverbs. As an added note, my first day blogging over there netted me my first quote ever in the New York Times . The only problem? They attributed it to the totally wrong guy. The italicized part is what John Brownlee actually wrote : Mr. Johnson, who previously edited Gizmodo, another Gawker site, also highlights consumer-oriented news nuggets, funny pictures and shopping tips - all with the same snarky tone that characterizes Gawker properties like Wonkette and Defamer. This week, he posted an impassioned plea for more imaginative advertising because “the loud, braying ubiquity of advertising pretty much invalidates it without any effort on my part.” He added, “I don’t notice advertising anymore, unless it is advertising that somehow makes my life a little more surreal, or stupid, or silly, or magical.” So update your future editions of “Notable Quotables” accordingly, guys. Posted in Personal , Internet | No Comments » -- Metro Must Die! January 3rd, 2006 by John Brownlee Years back, I had a feud with the Boston Metro, a free daily newspaper that alternately constipated then squirted out of bowels of the Boston subway system. I hated this paper, not just for its abominable journalistic qualities, but also because it transformed what had once been a pleasant morning commute into an Indian gauntlet. Daily, I was battered by the greasy, rolled up rags clenched in the flailing fists of the thousands of oddly shuffling pimps, hobos and hustlers that formed the Metro’s sleazy newsie constabulary. Within a month of the Metro’s inception, there wasn’t a single bus station restroom not using the Metro for toilet paper; not a single gutter unstuffed with the Metro’s soggy literary discharge. Every bum, every brown-toothed transient, every deinstitutionalized lunatic soon found employment in the Metro armada harassing innocent commuters with the circumcised foreskin of journalism proper. I once paid one of these bums fifty dollars never to try to hand me a Metro again. He took my money, then gave me two the next day. If you were riding the Orange Line on December 2nd, 2001 and wondered what the wet lurch you felt between the State Street and Downtown Crossing stops was… mystery solved! The violence I wanted to inflict upon the Metro soon took a literary turn. I wish I had a copy of the letter I once wrote to the Boston Metro, but it wasn’t safe to keep lying around. If a single atom of brain whizzes around the inside of your skull, reading this letter would cause that atom to split, like a cerebral Hiroshima. The only place safely expose its radiation was in the ntellectual siberia of a Metro staff writer’s mind. But could even the leaden brainpan of a Metro staff writer contain the explosion? I copied every email address I could find off the Metro’s website, then I took my laptop to a cafe across from their headquarters. From the vantage of a window seat, I pressed “Send”. Imagine putting a thousand water balloons filled with cow’s blood in the microwave, then turning it on. That was what I thought was going to happen. I expected to hear a series of dull pops from across the street, quickly followed by a tidal wave of blood washing down the oscillating waterfalls of the front steps anemone-like brains, squidy eyeballs and small barques made of skull shrapnel. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Luckily for them, the lack of that single atom which would have allowed my wit to start the necessary nuclear chain reaction was missing from the vacuum of their minds. Employees of the Metro: mentally retarded Supermen, hovering far above the earth by dint of their helium-filled heads, and when they drool, it rains. It wasn’t a total loss though. The letter soon became immortalized amongst my friends and acquaintances, all of whom hated the Boston Metro as much as me and amongst whom I privately railed for years about the cheap no-brow rag. In response to their imploring, I distributed the letter to a select few, but only every fourth word. Even so, these friends began reporting nose bleeds, detached retinas or the sudden ability to smell colors. One friend who accidentally pieced the entire letter together by joining his copy with those of three others suddenly found himself in a Cthulhu-like dimension where strange chthonic fish made of ectoplasm tormented him for eternity. It seems to me that the Infinite Monkey Typewriter project should be concerned less with reproducing the works of Shakespeare and worry more about accidentally reproducing a certain letter from Mr. John Brownlee to the Boston Metro, dated April, 2002. Because here’s what’s going to happen to the monkey who accidentally manages to type it up, in rapid succession following the first millisecond of the letter’s recreation. First, the monkey will turn sentient; second, it will be able to speak English; third, it will scream “Oh my god!” as it starts pulling ropes of its own intestines out of its ears. Jane Goodall meets Lucio Fulci, man. But that’s incidental to my main point. Eventually, I realized my intellectual duel to the death with the Boston Metro wasn’t going anywhere. Sure, the wit of my letter was pretty powerful. It had even killed a few people. But not the people it intended. It was like trying to shoot a ghost with a bazooka. Whoosh, and then the Catholic orphanage behind the ghost suddenly explodes. Only innocents were being hurt. So I did the only thing I could do to stop the conflict - I fled the country and moved to Ireland. It’s been a good four years. But today, as I was walking into town, a filthy hobo in a crisp blue blazer approached me, hacking madly. I tried to avoid him, as I imagined that he would soon begin blowing a large black bubble from his mouth, which would actually turn out to be one of his lungs. But he veered in my direction. The glaucoma of one of his eyes began shivering like the undercooked white of a fried egg; the other rolled crazily. I tend to get a little panicky when I’m trying to avoid someone fast approaching me. In my confusion, I rigidly pressed my arms up against my ribs and began effetely fluttering my hands next to my hips. I also squealed and spun in a circle a bit. This didn’t work: next thing I knew, the hideous transient was upon me and (using a mottled paw with a tell-tale brown streak across the blade of the palm) had pressed something gray and soggy between my hands, like a sheath of rotting flesh. I knew what it was before I even looked down. “Dublin Metro, read oll abood ib…” he croaked, then walked off, hysterically screaming his laughter into the sunrise he rigidly fixed with his one dead eye. Some brief highlights of today’s issue of the Dublin Metro: * * * 22 stone (that’s 308 pounds, or 140 kilograms) 12 year old congratulated by the Metro for dropping 42 pounds. The Metro is relieved he will not have to staple his stomach. * * * A serious page long interview between the Metro and a professional astrologer. Here are some tasty quotes: “Lots of big companies use financial astrologers.” “I got my qualification [as an astrologer] from the Faculty of Astrological Studies. I did a basic certificate, then a two-year diploma.” When asked how astrology works: “… it’s a mystery.” On quantum physics: “Quantum physics is all about things making patterns - fractals you can draw.” Her explanation concerning incorrect predictions: “When I get it wrong - and this is true of every astrologer - it’s often due to people’s interpretation.” In other words, she’s not wrong, you are. * * * An ad starting with the question “Got drunk again?” * * * That was as far as I got before I thought that last one was less a question and more good advice. Posted in Personal | 1 Comment » -- Radio Psyence Belated Christmas January 2nd, 2006 by John Brownlee If Nat King Cole were still alive, I like to think many of us would pull apart his Christmas-crooning lips and perform King Kong’s infamous jaw-snapping fatality on him. But he’s a raisin of a crooner in the grave now, and frankly can not be blamed for being so timeless that he has become a nauseating holiday cliche. Anyway, now that we are about as far away from a reflux of Christmas music as one can chronologically be… hey, Radio Psyence phoned in a Christmas show two weeks ago! Posted in Music , Personal , Internet | No Comments » -- « Previous Entries Search Pimp Junta Author A little something about you, the author. Nothing lengthy, just an overview. -- Archives January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 Categories Books (11) Double Posts (3) Films (17) Flotsam (31) Games (10) General (12) Internet (25) Music (13) Personal (47) Photos (5) Login Valid XHTML XFN WordPress -- Recent Updates My Thoughts on Feet Guest-Blogging at the Consumerist Metro Must Die! Radio Psyence Belated Christmas Kong!.. sucks Surprising Appearances in American Literature Being A Paid Escort for Christmas: Part Five Okay. I’m back. Disestablishmentarianist Thought Of The Day Breastless Pelvises RSS Entries Comments Enter your e-mail address to receive notifications when there are new posts
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Exquisite Corpse - A Journal of Letters and Life Dirk the Lech by Pete Sniegowski From Losers: A Collection of Short Stories Admitted depravity is one thing, the other is pathos, sweet and true as honey. He liked the idea of lechery, the whole idea of it. I suppose we all have our own definition of lechery. Dirk's head was full of Sci-Fi comic book heroines with giant breasts and tear-drop asses. It was also full of far too much live KISS footage and Bad Company songs. But it went well beyond that. He wrote on his pants--spasmodic phrases--things like, BROWN, PETRIFIED RAGE!!, REMEMBER THE ORANGE GLOW!!, FURIOUS SPHOOG TUNES!! I saw him last Tuesday, patching his canoe in the front yard. He'd smeared grass clippings into the resin by accident. The fiberglass wasn't staying down. It went wherever his trowel (a stick) went. And he was saying to me, "When I get older I'll be one of those guys on the front porch yelling at kids and hooting at the chicks going by." "Leaning forward on your cane." "Right." "With shit in your diaper." "Hey!" he said with mock ferocity. "Leave my dreams alone." Resin-impregnated fiberglass strands wafted against his leg. "Dreams like the Norsky whore?" "She wasn't a whore!" But I could see that she was. In a non-violent way, Dirk considered all women to be saucy little hookers of one type or another. The ones who denied it were simply frigid, saucy little hookers, who lied to themselves, and everybody else. Usually, listening to other guys talk about sexual exploits turns my stomach slowly. Not to be prudish or anything, because I don't give a damn what they do to each other as long as there's consent and I'm not a part of it. It's just that Dirk's eyes would bulge, and he'd get this weird tick where he'd stretch his neck and look at you like a fish in a fist when he really got going on the topic of a woman's ass. Which comes back to the story of the Norsky Whore, who is, technically, not a whore. If I remember it right, she spoke four languages and, according to Dirk, had one beatific ass. Anyway, Dirk was on his way to Eastern Europe, via Amsterdam. After the airport, at the train station, he stowed his ever precious, life encompassing duffle in a locker. Within one day Dirk would turn 30. He had some half-psychotic notion that he needed to "fuck a whore" before he turned 30, because after he turned 30 he had vowed to become the son that his mother always wanted, not the irresponsible megalomaniac that he was. And fucking a whore on the day before his 30th birthday was going be the gateway of sin through which he would pass as he cleansed himself, in Amsterdam. Europe's own sin city. It seems that Dirk had reached a cross roads. And as usual, he followed the road of the misguided, mildly evil miscreant. He rationalized his plan with the knowledge that Kerouac would on occasion seek out a prostitute, which, according to Dirk, meant that he was in good company. Back to Dirk loading his duffle into a train station locker--I will give him this: Dirk was pure enough of character to know that he was a loser, simple and straight forward. Not only that, but he hated himself for it and simultaneously loved every minute of the entire, explosively hilarious paradox. I'll grant you he's twisted. But it's as true a twist as you'll ever see. Anyway, enough lionizing the loser. In scuffed, clownish boots and torn, written on clothes he headed off to a "coffee shop" to smoke some coffee. But Dirk forgot something about himself--he's a tight-wad mother fucker. And he blew a fair amount on "coffee." Which left him with only 15 bucks in his pocket (he didn't even consider trying to get more cash as this trip was "budgeted"). After ogling ass all over the street for an hour, he finally honed in on one woman in particular. Although this was not part of the story as he related it, I imagine his neck was stretched to full extension as he gaped at her boobs from the back corner of his left eye and offered her the fifteen bucks hoping she'd suck him off cut rate. No deal. Now things began to look grim--it seemed Dirk would not get to "bang his strumpet" before he turned thirty. Having set this goal for himself, and seeing it so clearly as the only way to go, he faced the stark reality of his loserdom. To fail in this matter would be bad for his future. The ramifications of failure would reverberate throughout the rest of his life. But he was a loser anyway, so he turned and followed the flow (which quickly became a line) of stoop-shouldered chicken chokers into a large grey building with girls dancing in the windows. As he and his horny, frog-eyed compatriots shuffled through dank, sound-dampened corridors, young women (possibly girls) reached out to them, beckoned them. Dirk shuffled faster. Somewhere along the line there he decided that all he really wanted to do was drool over some hot stripper while he smacked his monkey against a pole. Which was all he could afford, anyway. It was a resolution of sorts. He found his booth. You know what it smelled like, and if you don't so much the better for you. There wasn't much room. Over in the corner sat a chair with a small table by it. On the table sat a box of tissues, under it, a wastebasket. He turned to the control panel on the wall and saw that there were names next to buttons: Jackie, Lola, Sophia, etc... You get the picture. Now, Dirk was never big on doing things the way they were supposed to be done, nor was he big on patience. So, he had a look at the instructions, decided they were far too complicated and dumped a few guilder into the machine. He paused and pressed Lola because Jackie sounded a bit dikey to him and Sophia reminded him of Sophia Loren. He did not want to see Sophia Loren naked. Most of us might wait for at least a minute before we proceeded with further measures. After all, you're 3,000 miles from home, in a foreign country, wedged into a cum stained porno booth. You don't know how things operate in this neck of the woods. So you wait. Not Dirk. He says he waited a while, and, in his manic state, I expect it seemed like that at the time. I figure he waited about ten to fifteen seconds. Whereupon he pressed another button and held it for a second. Again, there was no immediate gratification. So he dumped all his money into the machine and spread his hand across all the buttons, pushing them all two or three times. Within moments a displeased looking woman in a loose robe walked into the room on the other side of the glass from Dirk. I won't subject you to the lascivious details as they were related to me. Suffice to say that he didn't look her in the face for quite some time. The stripper tried three or four different languages. Possibly because Dirk always looks like a refugee, possibly just to humble him. Either way, you gotta like it. Finally, she landed on English and demanded, "Have you ever done this before?" And here comes Dirk's second big mistake. "Yeah. Sure," he said. He earned no points with that response. Instead he gave the impression of arrogance hiding ignorance. Which doesn't get you anywhere with a stripper who's behind an inch of Plexiglas. The woman tried to explain to Dirk where to put the money and how much one thing or another cost. "You want full nude show--so much. You want masturbation--so much," and so on. Dirk wasn't paying attention. He was watching her robe fall open ever so slightly as she made her explanations--his neck stretched and twitching the whole time. He looked up at her through a haze of testosterone. "I put all my money in the machine." He pointed to the lit up buttons. The woman began to lose patience. Dirk pressed on. "I put fifteen guilder in, which entitles me to a pussy show." From there it broke into full argument. She wasn't budging and Dirk was about to lose it. Within seconds he would lose the rest of his money and get nothing, no whore to fuck before he turned 30, no pussy show, nothing. He could not face the wretched truth of it all. He argued like a fanatic. "I paid fifteen guilder to that machine. Look, right on the front there--it says fifteen guilder. Now lets have a show! Goddamnit!" That was all the woman needed to hear. She stood up straight, pulled her robe tight and left. Dirk remained in the booth for a second, then it came to him: pure failure--simple, mammoth and flat. He fled the scene quickly, which really should be the end of the story, but this is Dirk, so let's continue. He gets back to the train station and sees that his locker is open and everything is gone. He freaks. He makes his distress audible. "Oh! Oh! Oh! All my shit!" People begin to stare. He ignores them and tears off looking for the attendant. He finds the attendant talking to some older, quiet folks. No time for that. "Some mother fucker stole my shit!" He blurted. "I went... I was gone for a while and now my shit is gone! Some son-of-a-bitch..." He dragged the attendant to his locker. "You are sure this is your locker?" The attendant asked. "Of course it's my fucking locker! I'm not fucking stupid." It wasn't his locker. His was the next one to the right. After that Dirk got on the train for Eastern Europe and turned thirty the next day. He's still out there, victimizing the unsuspecting. Once, on a bleak stretch of I-80 in southern Wyoming I tried to kill him in my pick-up truck--ready and willing to sacrifice my truck and my own life if necessary. Anything to get the job done. Totaled the truck, but we both walked away with little loss of blood. No luck. Two days later he was found screaming at a seven-year-old girl who had allowed her pet bunny to get into his yard. He told her she didn't deserve a bunny if she couldn't control it. The girl was mildly retarded. She wouldn't stop crying for three days. When the mother came over later that day to exact an apology from Dirk, he refused. When things became heated, he screamed at the girl again, and in all likelihood caused permanent damage to her psyche. He hasn't apologized to this day. Last I heard, he fell for some girl in her late teens. They both decided that she didn't need the medicine the psychiatrists had prescribed and headed West in a dusty green '73 Fury station wagon. ©1999-2004 Exquisite Corpse. Site design by Compulsive Creations .