Final Post?

Yeah, I took another one of those mini vacations that I like to take. Now I'm back, however begrudgingly. But since this month is almost over, who knows? I only promised to do this blog until the end of the month, and we're just about there...

So, anyway, about the Comic Con; I know I'm supposed to write a column about what happened there, but I haven't gotten around to it. For one thing, I wasn't overly impressed. For another thing, neither me or the Rev (whom I went with) had a decent amount of cash to blow, so I didn't get to meet as many people as I would have liked. Plus, those Comic Con motherfuckers not only neglected to give me press credentials, they never even got back to me. Or Dean either, as it turns out. But I might just write the column anyway. For me, it's always an event when I go anywhere.

As for 80's Movie Spotlight, I need to get with Dean about that--we talked about alternating the columns, so it would be his turn this time out. Or maybe I'm still feeling too lazy to write. Bah, I've got to get ready for work...

Are You Ready...

... for THE GREAT SEA-MONKEY TRAGEDY?

That's the title of my latest column, and it should be on the main page really soon. If you know what "Sea-Monkeys" are, keep an eye on the main page for a heartbreaking tale that so many of us can relate to.



In the meantime, if you haven't been to my personal MySpace profile, check it out. Yeah, I admit it. I've been sucked in just like the rest of you idiots.

Motor City Comic Con

Your resident loner is actually going to put down the bottle this weekend and leave the house! Isn't that exciting?? Actually, the fact that I would go anywhere by choice is newsworthy in itself; but in this case, I'm also going to be doing something for the good of Dean's Planet. I'm going to be in attendance at this year's Motor City Comic Con, held in Novi, Michigan. So if you live near Detroit, you can go there and heckle my ass. But if you plan on doing that, at least have the fucking courtesy to bring me some booze. I seriously haven't had a drop in three weeks, and I'm starting to feel like a functioning member of society... *shudder*


Okay, so it's true that I won't be one of the "featured" guests in attendance. In fact, I won't be a guest at all. And by saying that, I mean the organizers aren't even aware that a famous columnist like myself will be in their midst. ("Famous..." Ha ha ha!) No, I'll be just another schlump walking around, ogling the former Playboy Playmates and harrassing the "celebs." You'll know me if you see me, though, because I'll be donning my trusty Dean's Planet hat. It should be fun. I mean, check out this list of guests! Wally Cleaver? Bud Bundy? Karen Allen? Color me there! I just hope I don't get kicked out for being the obnoxious asshole that I am...


Look for the column detailing the Comic Con sometime this weekend. And... since it's getting close to that time of the month again, people... it's almost time for the latest edition of 80's Movie Spotlight! E-mail me your pick for the movie you'd like to see spotlighted. If I use yours, I'll send you some shit in the mail. Woo-hoo!

Sister Golden Hair

I was listening to this song earlier today, and while I've known all of the lyrics for years, I never really listened to them. Does that make sense? I think a song like this goes both ways. You can both be "too, too hard to find," but still be on each other's minds. This song really says something to me at this point in my life... but for me, I don't think it goes both ways anymore.

"Well I tried to make it Sunday,
But I got so damn depressed
That I set my sights on Monday,
And I got myself undressed
I ain’t ready for the altar,
But I do agree there’s times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

Well, I keep on thinkin’ ’bout you
Sister golden hair surprise
And I just can’t live without you
Can’t you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent,
And I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle,
Will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little,
Just enough to show you care?
Well, I tried to fake it
I don’t mind sayin’, I just can’t make it

Well, I keep on thinkin’ ’bout you
Sister golden hair surprise
And I just can’t live without you
Can’t you see it in my eyes?
Now, I been one poor correspondent,
And I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle,
Will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little,
Just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it
I don’t mind sayin’, I just can’t make it."

Some Loner Classics

I always talk about my overall disdain for bloggers, as well as blogs in general. Yeah, that might at first glance seem hypocritical--but really, when you think about it, it's not. I do have contempt for the whole concept of blogging... that's true. But I also have contempt for myself. See that? I'm just as hard on myself as anyone else. Hell, I can hardly stand to be in the room with myself.

I have a confession to make, though; this is NOT my first blog. I used to keep an online journal a few years back, a journal that a grand total of three people knew about. I stopped writing in it last year, and I thought it was long gone. But surprise, surprise... it's still up. And I thought some of you might like to see a few old entries that never should haver seen the light of day. I'll say this much... my life has managed to suck on a very consistent basis. Take a look;

Thursday, October 16th, 2003
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7:56 am - Dirty Talk...?
I was talking to an old friend of mine last night--I met her 15 years ago on a camping trip and we've been in contact ever since. She even dated my brother at one point, but I try not to hold that against her.

Anyway, every time I talk to her we seem to get on the subject of sex. She's married and has two kids, which means she doesn't get it anywhere near the amount that she'd like. (Join the club, honey.) Not that her husband is a bad guy, it's just that nature plays a cruel joke on every married couple at some point. She's 31, which means she's constantly horny. He's 33, which means the last thing he wants after a long day at work is his wife crawling all over him. She's just hitting her sexual peak, while he "shot his wad" (so to speak) over a decade ago. Ain't love grand?

Of course, she's always asking for my advice in these matters. She'll openly complain about her sexual frustrations to me, often times while he's in the same room. He doesn't seem to give a fuck--I think his feeling is, "At least she's not bitching at me."

And while I don't claim to know much of anything about women, I do know what I like as a man. So, I offered my advice, simple and to the point... TALK DIRTY TO HIM.

"You always say that," she bitches.

It seems pretty self-explanatory to me, but I can't believe how many women won't do this for their man. I've personally only had two women that would do anything even remotely close to this, and that's stretching it. Most of the time they just lie there and moan, forcing you to play the "Guess Where My G-Spot Is?" game.

Now, let's suppose you're a woman and you want your guy to go down on you... do you say;

a) "Why don't you go down on me?" OR...

b) "I want you to stick that hot tongue in my wet pussy!"(?)

If you answered "A", your problem should be quite evident. And you're probably one of my ex-girlfriends.

current mood: moody
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Wednesday, October 15th, 2003
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4:55 pm - The Jewel Controversy
While I must agree with StolenPrayer's assessment on Jewel, the pictures on DeansPlanet.com had me thinking more along the lines of "Who is that lucky bastard suckling on Jewel's funbags??"

The thing that REALLY bothers me the most is the fact that the guy looks like a complete loser. Jesus Christ, life is unfair.

I will agree that she looked hotter back before she slutted herself up to sell more records. I remember a few years back when she had a small part in some movie (can't remember the name), and there was this huge deal made over the fact that she supposedly had a breast-feeding scene in the film. The funny thing is, it was a fake boob! How do you go from being a total prude to being slutty??

At least she didn't have her snaggle tooth fixed. I'll say that much for her.

current mood: distressed
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Sunday, October 12th, 2003
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5:51 pm - Merlot and Shit
I'm not a very cultured man. I have no sense of style, I drink too much, swear too much... well, you get the picture. I'm just an average schmo with a shitty car and student loan payments.

I was out grocery shopping the other day and headed for the beer aisle. (Of course.) Instead of my customary purchase of a few 40's, something possessed me to buy a bottle of Merlot instead. Now, I know absolutely nothing about wine--so I have no idea what's good and what isn't. But what the fuck, the bottle looked fancy so I figured it must be all right. It even proudly boasted that it was from 2001. Besides, I can drink swill beer like Natural Lite and not gag. I assumed that Merlot had to taste better than that.

When I got the bottle home, it dawned on me that I don't own a corkscrew. So I had to jab the fucking cork with a butter knife until it fell through the neck of the bottle and bobbled merrily in the purple, foamy liquid. I poured myself a healthy glass into a red plastic Solo cup and held it up to my nose to savor the bouquet.

"Hmmmmm... this smells kinda nasty," I mused to myself before taking a drink. (A big, long drink, too.) Holy shit, did that shit taste bad. I mean really, really bad. "Maybe I just need to get used to it," I told myself. But the second drink was no better than the first, and before I got even halfway through the glass I poured it out into the sink in disgust. So much for culture.

Oh well, I doubt that wine goes well with Taco Bell, anyway...

current mood: indifferent
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Wednesday, October 8th, 2003
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9:45 pm - More of the Same
So, I dropped by 7-11 during my lunch break to get something to drink. As I'm walking toward the store, there's this somewhat skanky woman standing by a car. She looks at me, does a double take and says;

"Oh my God, you're handsome!"

Not surprisingly, I was a bit startled and looked behind me to see if she was talking to somebody else. People don't normally shout things like that at other people--even if they are handsome. She continues with, "That's the kind of man I need, right there!" I considered the possibility that she might have been making fun of me, but there wasn't anybody else in the parking lot. (Which I guess would have made it a private joke.)

"Um... thanks," I said, and made a beeline for the door.

When I got inside, the two clerks were talking about some woman trying to come in the store with no shoes on. When they stopped her, she explained, "It's okay, I'm a hillbilly."

"Let me guess," I interrupted, "Was it that woman outside?" They told me that it was--and for some reason, it seemed to make sense.

The woman was nuts, you see.

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Well, there you go. Sorry for the recycled material, but nobody reads this fucking blog anyway. Besides, I'm feeling too lazy to write anything new tonight.

Dissed By Master Shake!

Okay, now the truth can be told.


For many months now, I've been trying to get an interview with the goofy-looking individual you see to your right. His name is Dana Snyder, but all of you potheads might know him better by his voice, which just happens to be the voice behind the Master Shake character from my favorite TV show; Aqua Teen Hunger Force. (Funny, but if I were to not shave for a few days and put on some outdated glasses, we'd actually look somewhat alike.) Well, let me tell you all something... it doesn't look like said interview is ever gonna happen. And it hurts me much deeper than that whole stupid Buckner & Garcia debacle from a few years back. I worship Master Shake, and it always hurts to be rejected by someone you love.


I should tell you, this has been going on since... oh, I don't know, but I think Clinton was still in office when this damn thing started. I first sent my questions to him while the rest of you assholes were watching the Super Bowl in February, and still haven't gotten them back. Oh sure, Dana and I have e-mailed back and forth a few times--and each time, he apologized about the delay and asked me to resend them. Most recently, he sent me a message through MySpace which read, and I'm quoting here;

I'm so fuckin' sorry about that.. I swear I'll do them today! if you send them to me, lemme asee if I have them- I'm really not a dick...I'm an asshole

Well, that was four days ago, so I'm assuming the questions aren't coming back. Unless, of course, one of Dana Snyder's days is equal to four of ours. (You know, like when Christian scientists try to explain how God supposedly created the world in six days by saying one of God's days is the equivalent of... aw, fucking never mind.) Now, I will admit, my questions were pretty stupid--but really, how can you interview a guy who does the voice for an animated milkshake and NOT ask stupid questions? Unlike those Pac-Man Fever idiots, I will remain a fan of Dana's... mostly because the motherfucker is brilliant, and he's made me laugh to the point of choking... but he let me down. And he let all of you down, too, because that interview would have kicked ass. Why, Dana, why???

"My name is...
Shake Zula, the mic rula
The old schoola..."

Aw, my heart's just not in it right now...

A Stupid Survey...

... as found on MySpace. This is the kind of shit that people pass back and forth in "bulletins" to one another. These bulletins almost always have stupid titles such as "I have new pics on my profile!" and the like. Like anybody gives a fuck, you know? That shit isn't "newsworthy" to me. But a headline like "I've decided to get a sex change!" would most definitely be worthy of a bulletin. I mean, that qualifies as big news, wouldn't you agree? Most of the time, these bulletins amount to little more than a way to spam the poor assholes on your friends list.

Anyway, I filled out one of these dumb surveys this morning and put it on my profile. I woke up at 6:00am and couldn't get back to sleep (surprise, surprise), so I was in a bit of a bad mood. I think that will come across to you as you read it. So, take a gander, all ten of my loyal readers;

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Jeremy the Loner
Birthday:	April 10, 1974 A.D.
Birthplace:	In a taxi cab on the way back from the liquor store.
Current Location:	Skiing in Maui, jackass. Obviously, I'M IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING COMPUTER.
Eye Color:	Brown, like a chocolate frosted Pop Tart.
Hair Color:	As black as my father's cynical heart.
Height:	Oh, fuck off. So you're taller than I am. It doesn't make you better than me!
Right Handed or Left Handed:	I always use my right hand... unless my wrist cramps up from overuse.
Your Heritage:	Irish. English. Italian. Hindu. Asian. French. Scottish. African-American. People in my family fuck anything that moves.
The Shoes You Wore Today:	I've been barefoot all day, but it's only 7:00am right now. Jesus Christ, why can't I fucking sleep? Look at what I'm doing to pass the time!
Your Weakness:	Brunettes in tank tops and tight denim shorts.
Your Fears:	The only thing worth fearing is death. And me, I WELCOME IT.
Your Perfect Pizza:	One that doesn't have the delivery boy's love goo slathered on it. Hey, I'm easy to please.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	I would like to overthrow the Pope. I can't believe nobody approached me to take over after John Paul died!
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	"Are you sure your parents won't be coming home? I could get in a lot of trouble for this, LOL!"
Thoughts First Waking Up:	"This isn't my house!"
Your Best Physical Feature:	My massive biceps and pecs. And you could bounce a girl scout off my tight ass.
Your Bedtime:	Whenever the booze runs dry or I pass out. Whichever comes first.
Your Most Missed Memory:	Alcohol has thankfully robbed me of all memories of the past, including last night.
Pepsi or Coke:	Neither. Bring on the Ice Beast, motherfuckers!
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Whichever one is closest (and still open) when I stagger out of the bar late at night.
Single or Group Dates:	Group dates? No, thanks... it's hard enough to be naked when I'm by myself. Never mind the audience.
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	5 O'Clock Vodka. Legally, they can't make cheaper liquor than that.
Chocolate or Vanilla:	I refuse to answer such a politically incorrect question.
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Look, only grown-ups drink that shit. The only time I'd ever ask for a cup of coffee is if I wanted something scalding to throw in your face.
Do you Smoke:	Yeah, right. $5.00 for a pack of cancer sticks? I can't even afford to fucking eat.
Do you Swear:	Absolutely not! The only way you can truly swear is to take the Lord's name in vain, goddammit!
Do you Sing:	My neighbors have been treated to my Barry Manilow imitation on a daily basis. At least, they were treated to it until I drove them to move out.
Do you Shower Daily:	Of course! In what other instance during the course of the day is it considered acceptable to dance naked and rub yourself up and down? I NEED that little daily break.
Have you Been in Love:	Regrettably, yes, but I think I've since been cured. DID YOU HEAR ME, BITCH? I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE! Okay, that's better.
Do you want to go to College:	I wanna go to that college in "Revenge of the Nerds" so Louis can hook me up with a cheerleader.
Do you want to get Married:	HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! No.
Do you belive in yourself:	"I believe that children are the future. Teach them well and let them lead the way." Pass me that crack pipe, Whitney.
Do you get Motion Sickness: Nah... I take bouncing motions like a champ.
Do you think you are Attractive:	Oh, Lord, no. I think I create lesbians just by walking down the street.
Are you a Health Freak:	Are you kidding? I cover everything I eat with at least an inch of salt. Even ice cream.
Do you get along with your Parents:	Who?
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Yeah, because there's always that chance I'll get struck by lightning. BRING IT ON, GOD! I'M READY!
Do you play an Instrument:	I'm going to resist the urge to make a disgusting sexual reference here.
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	A better question would be, "Have you STOPPED drinking alcohol?"
In the past month have you Smoked:	Well, my pants started smoking when I saw this hot babe on The Weather Channel the other day. I love chicks in power suits!
In the past month have you been on :	Been on what? A hobby horse? An Oriental chick? Who wrote this fucking thing?
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Actually, I have. (Sorry about the incident with the ice scraper, sweetie.)
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	Yes, but security won't let me in the door with my rifle. Bastards.
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	Don't Oreos come in a bag? Either way, no. If I'm gonna eat some "box," it ain't gonna be a bunch of shitty-tasting cookies.
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	Oh, come on! Now you're trying to FORCE me to be disgusting! I'm going to refrain from answering this one, too.
In the past month have you been on Stage:	Yes, and you should have heard my karaoke rendition of "Love Stinks." I made Adam Sandler my bitch.
In the past month have you been Dumped:	No. That would necessitate having a girlfriend, wouldn't it?
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	Oh yeah... people always go skinny dipping in Michigan during the month of April when it's 40 degrees outside. I'm not a member of the fucking Polar Bears Club.
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	Only the heart of a cute Russian chick. Oh, and a car.
Ever been Drunk:	I'll bet you're thinking I'm going to say, "Yes, right now" aren't you? Oh yeah? Screw you.
Ever been called a Tease:	Yeah. Tee hee hee! I tease people with my child-bearing hips every time I slink across the room.
Ever been Beaten up:	No way. I'll fuck your shit up.
Ever Shoplifted:	No, I have never lifted a shop. I could lift a big rock, though... just point one out and I'll show you.
How do you want to Die:	Like Scarface. All I need is lots of guns and piles of cocaine.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Something other than this. Like Wayne Newton, or whatever.
What country would you most like to Visit:	One where my meager earnings would equal great wealth.
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	I don't care. Just close those eyes and get ready to be disappointed, baby.
Favourite Hair Color:	Upstairs or downstairs?
Short or Long Hair:	See above.
Height:	Short enough to make me look tall, even when she's in heels. Hey, are any midgets reading this?
Weight:	Light enough for me to sling them over my shoulder, or drag them around like the primitive caveman I am.
Best Clothing Style:	Easily torn.
Number of I have taken:	What??? Again, who's the dumbass who wrote this?
Number of CDs I own:	Not as many as you, probably. I spend my money on shit like beer and Easy Cheese.
Number of Piercings:	I pierced the bottom of my foot the other day when I stepped on a tack. It didn't make me feel "cooler," though.
Number of Tattoos:	I have your mother's name tattooed on my ass. I love her tender, yet rough, caresses.
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	Everything from 1997 on.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Sold My Soul! Sold My Soul!

Well, it looks like it's back to wearing a shirt and tie every day for me.

*sigh*

I thought I had put those days behind me when I got the hell out of sales. But you know, sales was never a good match for me--not only do I dislike people as a general rule, I also lacked the "killer instinct" that good salespeople have. Plus, I got extremely tired of forcing myself to smile at assholes, when I really wanted to pound their empty craniums with the business end of a shovel. But, you know how the old song goes; "When you're tryin' to make a living, there ain't no such thing as pride."

(Holy shit, I can't believe I just quoted a Richard Marx song. What the hell is wrong with me???)



I look ridiculous when I try to dress up, even more so than usual. You could put a brand new, $5000 tuxedo on me and within 20 minutes it would look rumpled and cheap. I have no sense of style or fashion--and if you were to see me on the streets, I'd no doubt be wearing a black t-shirt and pants. I always wear black... not because I'm filled with angst, it's because I can't be bothered with coordinating colors. Besides, they say black is slimming... and I'm not above resorting to optical illusions to help myself look better. Hell, with my looks I need all the help I can get.

I still can't believe they hired me for a job where I'll be responsible for a team of employees. I must have really layed it on thick during my interviews if they think I can actually pull this off. Let's face it, I can't even take responsibility for my own life. And they want me to manage and motivate people?
Yeah, right... I'm sure...

I so want to write for a living, but at this point people aren't exactly knocking down my door to hire me. Maybe it's because I lack a "formal" education. Maybe it's because my style is too caustic and vulgar. Maybe I just flat out suck. Or maybe it's a bit of all three... I don't know. What I do know is this--a writer's life would suit me just fine. I've been told it's a lonely way to live, but I'm not overly social anyway. Besides, I could be inebriated all day long and it wouldn't even pose a problem... shit, it might even be an asset. I mean, it worked for Hemingway, didn't it?

I'm still on the fence about this blog. I've noticed that traffic has improved this week, but not by much. I will say this, however--the few people who have bothered to e-mail me about this blog have all been from somewhere in Europe. I have no idea why I have so many European readers; most Europeans hate Americans, and I'm about as "American" as they come. So, why am I not hearing from my American readers? It seems that the overseas DP visitors are a lot more likely to actually READ something as opposed to the Americans, who like to look at pictures and nothing else--that much I can tell you.

But I'm just going to make that comment and leave it at that... I'm not going to belabor it.

A Cat's Life

This is my cat Monte, and this is how he spends roughly 98% of his life; just lying there on his back, snoring, with his rotund, furry belly proudly on display. He lies there completely at peace, safe and secure in the knowledge that nothing bad will happen to him. Now and then, he wakes up long enough to eat--then, he goes right back to sleep again. I must admit that I'm envious of him. He gets more sleep in a day than I've gotten all fucking week. Plus, he has the added benefit of being loved and doted on... and he's neutered.

Now, now, don't get me wrong... I'm not about to go and get my "boys" snipped off like those freaks in '97 who thought they were gonna catch a ride on the Hale-Bopp comet. But part of me thinks, "Monte sure is lucky. He never even THINKS about getting laid, and I'll bet it doesn't bother him at all." Man, just think how much I'd be able to get done if I wasn't constantly distracted by women! I might actually have a life.

Anyway, I'm still not sure about what's going to be the ultimate fate of this blog. I talked to Dean about it the other day, and he asked me to hold out until the end of the month before making a final decision on it. Blodvarg, a longtime reader of mine, weighed in on this very subject earlier today;

From: "Blodvarg" blodvarg@gmail.com
To: goodnight_tonight@yahoo.com
Subject: JTL-blog (again)
Date: Sun, 7 May 2006 23:59:07 +0200

Hey,

Meant to write to you sooner, but I'm in the middle of my a-levels and therefore, I basically have no free time. But yes, I do still read your blog, and I know of some other people who do, too. So, it's not like you're talking to yourself. Some people just are not able to check daily.

Truth is, your blog and your columns are the only things I actually read at Dean's Planet. I'm not that much into celebrities, they're too... well, fake, I guess. However, I do like your writing style, so you won't lose me. If you want to kill your blog, well, it would be a pity, but I wouldn't try to talk you into continuing. I myself tried blogging twice and therefore know what it's like. I couldn't be assed to continue, so I don't think I'd blame you.

Concerning that stuff about the shootings... woah. I never even heard of a guy called "Proof," but--damn, the only thing he seems to be able to prove is what fucking morons rappers are. I mean, why the fuck is this tolerated?
Sorry, lost myself there.
Anyways, yeah, you still have readers. Even from Germany.

Cheers,
- Blodvarg

Just to clarify here, I was slightly exaggerating when I said "talking to myself." Yes, there are people who read this blog every day--but I was checking the stats last week, and I realized that on a good week this blog might get 1000 hits. That might not sound too bad to you, but considering the amount of traffic the main page of Dean's Planet gets on any given day, it's pretty fucking pathetic. Dean seems to think that maybe DP readers don't notice my blog because it's not featured prominently on the page. Or maybe I just can't compete with pics of Jessica Alba on the beach. (Rightfully so, I might add.) Or maybe... some of you assholes are just too lazy to fucking READ anything. I don't know.

We'll see what happens. I don't expect many of you to care one way or another about the fate of this dumb blog, and writing in it only makes more work for me. But if you DO have an opinion one way or another... drop me a line. I'm not looking for anybody to kiss my ass or beg me to stay. But there's no sense in continuing it if nobody gives a shit, you know?

Thanks, Blodvarg.

Cinco de Mayo?

Until I saw a little sombrero logo on Yahoo, I had no idea that today was that Mexican holiday Cinco de Mayo. "It's the fifth of May... already?" I pondered to myself as I scratched the early morning stubble on my face. These days, I'm lucky if I even know what the fucking month is, you know?

I must say, though, the Mexican community has been on my shit list for the past few months. My last part time job was literally crawling with Mexicans, most of whom couldn't (or wouldn't) speak a word of English to anybody. They'd also come and go as they pleased, talk shit about the few unfortunate white people who worked there, and basically do their best to live up to the "lazy Mexican" stereotype. They tried talking shit about me, too, and since they were speaking Spanish they assumed I had no idea of what they were saying. But they were wrong, the dumb fucks--I took several years of Spanish when I was in school, and while I'm far from fluent, I could at least get by if I were thrown into a Spanish-speaking country. So I finally got sick of it, tapped one of them on the shoulder, smiled and said, "Entiendo lo que usted está diciendo, asshole." (Which translates into "I understand what you are saying, asshole.") It's the first time I ever saw a Mexican turn as white as a sheet. And he had good cause to be scared... I could have snapped that little bastard like a twig. The only saving grace of that shithole was Maria, a cute Mexican girl that became a good friend of mine whom I still keep in touch with. But, getting back to my diatribe;

How about last week, with those illegal immigrants taking to the streets to protest their "rights?" Um... okay... the last time I checked, when you're in a country illegally you have no fucking rights. What balls these dickheads have! What do you think would happen to me if I sneaked over into Mexico, took to the streets and started trumpeting about my "rights?" I'd be as dead as a doornail, that's what would happen. But it wouldn't happen, though--mostly because no American in their right mind would ever defect to Mexico, unless they were fleeing the American justice system. Call it racist if you want, but it's true. What can I say? I'm in a bad mood today, so fucking deal with it.

Happy Cinco de Mayo, motherfuckers.

It'll Be All Right...

I've gotta be honest with you guys, I'm thinking of killing this blog altogether. Sometimes I think I'm talking to myself here... and if that's the case, what's the point? Who the hell even still comes here anymore? Bah, nobody gives a fuck anyway.

"When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone
The days get rainy and the nights get long
When you get that feeling you were born to lose
Staring at your ceiling, thinking of your blues

When there's so much trouble that you wanna cry
The world has crumbled and you don't know why
When your hopes are fading and they can't be found
Dreams have left you waiting, friends have let you down

Just remember I love you
And it'll be all right
Just remember I love you
More than I can say
Maybe then your blues will fade away

When you need a lover and you're down so low
You start to wonder, but you never know
When it feels like sorrow is your only friend
Knowing that tomorrow you'll feel this way again

When the blues come calling at the break of dawn
Rain keeps falling, but the rainbows gone
When you feel like crying, but the tears won't come
When your dreams are dying, when you're on the run

Just remember I love you
And it'll be all right
Just remember I love you
More than I can say
Just remember I love you
And it'll be all right
And it'll be all right
And it'll be all right."

Fucking MySpace Will Take Over Your Life

So, I've been on a grand total of 24 hours and I'm already a junkie. Please disregard any future comments I make where I vow to never do this, or never do that... because I'm fucking full of shit. Just one day ago, I begrudgingly made my profile; and now I'm as giddy as a school girl, logging on to the site and saying shit like, "Oooh, Kelly Princeton added me to her buddy list!" Of course she did, just like she added the 40,000 other assholes. The way things are going, don't be surprised to see me typing shit like "LOL" and "EWG" and "ROTFLMFAO" from here on out. And don't be surprised to hear a fucking Clay Aiken MP3 start playing if you go to my profile. Please, God, somebody shoot me in the fucking head already.

You know what the ultimate ironic twist to all of this is? I'm raving about MySpace... and I'm doing it on a blog. That's right, I'm a blogger with a MySpace account. Sweet Mother of Mercy...


On an unrelated note, the local media here in Detroit is going apeshit over this whole Proof murder scandal. Rappers are fucking morons, no doubt about it... but some of their fans are even worse. Did you guys know that fans of Proof have turned the club where the shootings went down into a makeshift memorial for him? Oh yeah, they're leaving flowers, cards and all kinds of shit--as if the guy was a "hero" or something. And I'm like, "Um... you dumbasses DO realize that he shot and killed someone in cold blood over a fucking game of pool, don't you?" That's right, two people are dead because of an argument over a game of pool. Yeah, what a great guy. Why, just last week I pulled out a gun during a disagreement over an intense round of Trivial Pursuit... because that's how REAL men solve their problems, you know. Fucking dimwits. 8 ball in the corner pocket...

It's things like this that make me wish we could gather all of the rappers up, get them together in a large stadium, lock the doors, make them listen to Beatles records for six hours straight... ("Man, what's wit dis music? It got instruments and singin' and shit!")... and then BLOW THE FUCKERS UP.

That is all.

The Loner On MySpace

I just made the OFFICIAL Jeremy the Loner MySpace profile. There's not much there yet, but if you want to see it, it's here;

http://www.myspace.com/jeremytheloner

Or just click this direct link and see how I've sold my soul to the MySpace demon.

I also haven't added any friends yet--but if you want to add me, knock yourselves out. Of course, I doubt that a lot of you HAVE a MySpace, but I digress. There goes yet another thing I said I'd never do...