Moronic Ramblings

I’ve been finding myself BORED a lot lately. I need new hobby or I need to go back to doing things that I enjoy in order to spruce things up a bit. Perhaps I need to go back to my roots to find semblance of inspiration.

There once was a time when I enjoyed building forts in my backyard and protected said fort from any “intruders” like a member of the Minute Men patrolling the Tempe, AZ border.

There once was a time where I would crank up my Def Leppard records (yes, I actually owned Def Leppard on vinyl before the surge of musical irony) and FEROCIOUSLY air guitar to “On Through the Night.” To make sure that my moves were “killer,” I would perform this act while staring at myself in the mirror.

There once was a time a time where I would find a hill, ANY hill, and just roll down it as if I were practicing the method of “Stop, Drop, and Roll.”

There once was a time when I didn’t over use quotation marks.

There once was a time when I thought that in order to have endless hours of excitement, all one needed was an in-ground pool and a diving bored with just enough spring.

There once was a time when I went to go see Saves the Day and I….um….how do you say….errrrr…..enjoyed it.

There once was a time where I could coherently express myslef.

So yeah, come the New Year I need to find something new to occupy my time. Maybe I’ll be inspired. Maybe I’ll just go check out the Wax Museum.

Wishing the very best to you and yours!

In the past few years, coke has seemed to make a bit of a rise as the drug du jour again among those in their twenties. Being the robust age of 27, I’m proud to say that I have never done cocaine nor have I ever really felt an urge to experiment. I will try not to break my wrist as I pat myself on the back.

Yes, I grew up in the 1980’s and was forced fed the Nancy Regan anti-drug PSA’s. Yet, I don’t think it was a simmering over-easy egg that deterred me away from the booger-sugar. Thinking back, I can pinpoint EXACTLY when I decided I wouldn’t do cocaine.  June 19, 1986. For any other Celtics-obsessed Masshole like me during the 80’s, you probably know this date too. The night Len Bias died.

ANYWAY, enough sports talk. A few months ago I was reminded why I will NEVER do cocaine. I had the unfortunate experience of drinking, in excess, Cisco. Here were the results:  

“Something in this syrupy hooch (Cisco) seems to have a synapse-blasting effect not unlike low-grade cocaine.”

So yeah, I’ve never done cocaine, but it looks like I was pretty damn close.

Remember when the Brian Bozworth/Jose Canseco style of Oakley sunglasses were huge? Then, every corner store, deli, and supermarket sold the $10 knock-off version of those sunglasses. People would buy them and fool themselves and others that they possessed the “real deal.” Cisco would be cocaine’s corner-store Oakley’s.

SO, listen up kids, stay away from cocaine…AND CISCO. Well, unless you are looking to have a night full of you and your dude friends punching each other in the face, frantically jumping on a trampoline INSIDE an apartment, or waking up the next morning and vomiting an egg sandwich in the new bathroom of your then girlfriend…then knock yourself out. Literally.

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 Remember when these guys wrote Seek and Destroy?

This is scene is one of my favorite moments of what I like to call ”Hilarious Tragedy”

If I have learned anything in this world it is that you should never, NEVER let building maintenance workers into your apartment ….at 9:00 am on a Saturday… to “fix” a window in your bedroom… while you are still intoxicated from the previous night’s debauchery. Do yourself a favor and stay in bed.

Then again, maybe I should just lay off the sauce.

Dear Sports Entertainment (a.k.a Professional Wrestling),

We are done. I don’t know how else to put it. I can’t take the disappointment anymore.

It had been about a year’s passing since we decided to give each other a try again. Initially, I approached the evening with much anticipation and trepidation. I wasn’t sure where my allegiances would lie or how my anxious bones would react. Would they yearn for the good times that we once had? Would I be reminded of the lonely, desperate, and despondent nights you had rescued me from? Would I once again be filled with the exuberance of a middle aged woman at a Tom Selleck autograph signing?

Unfortunately, the flame has died down. I don’t feel you are giving me enough anymore. It is time for me to move on.

I will always cherish the moments we shared together; Steamboat vs. Savage, Hogan at MSG, the Cold War story lines, the rosacea of Brother Love, The Bezerker and his “Hus!” and Rick Flair and his “WOOOOOO!!!”

Regretfully, I will also never forget the turmoil I endured towards the end; The Boogeyman, Cryme Tyme, the shameless exploitation of a one-legged wrestler, and not to mention an octagon ring.

The pain is too much for me to bear. I will always love you, but it is time for me to move on.

Always,

Wesley

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Check out this show coming in December.

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So here’s a delicious piece of irony: Michael Richards goes on a racial tirade towards a heckler at the L.A. Laugh Factory. I get home last night, flip on the tube and which Seinfeld episode does TBS decide to air? Yup, the one where Jerry gets sick from eating the black and white cookie.

The scribbling of racial tension was on the wall from the get go.

“Ahhh ahh ahh…I don’t like brown people, Jerry. Mmm…GIDEE-UP.”

So, I haven’t been doing much performance as of late (I use the word “performance” instead of “comedy” because I’m still wondering if I am funny in front of total strangers.)

HOWEVER, if I want to get back up and perform more, I have to AT LEAST stop looking like a bag of rabbit turds that has been flung off of the Chrysler Building

Mmmm…what’s wrong with this picture?

a) I’m wearing a Misfits t-shirt like a 16 year old from Lodi, NJ who’s pissed at his Dad for throwing out his Slipknot albums.

b) I look like Beaker, the no-neck sidekick to Bunsen Honeydew.

c) It appears that that instead of telling jokes, I am whistling the intro to “Winds of Change” by the Scorpions.

d) All of the above.

Either way, I should worry more about actually WRITING something than being concerned about the constipated appearance I seem to give. Man, I’m so fucking vain.