Fridays befuddle me (that’s a stupid fuckin’ word). People get all riled up like it’s something special, but it’s just another day. I get it, that most don’t gotta work or go to school on Saturday, so it makes Friday attractive. Check it though, if you ain’t think like that, then it ain’t gone matter.

I’m bringing this up on a Monday, because this past Friday I got hoodwinked into stepping off of the couch when I really was thinking better of it. These Riff Raffs dragged me to a place that I’d been before, and I’m gonna spare you the rant about how yuppies fucked up my neighborhood, but let’s just say, I knew what was up: Loud ass bullshit, thump, thump, “what’d you say?” “Oh, ha, nice to meet you too,” awkward, “I gotta piss,” sweet night. Yeah, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

If I leave the house, I don’t like to waste it. Had to make something happen. So God bless technology and crack-heads. When separated they’re both kind of annoying. However, when combined, technology and crack-heads can make for some solid memories. On our late night scream-obscenities-and-search-for- food-hike, we encountered Mr. Sequins (pictured). My phone, being video capable, was able to record some of the most magical improv comedy ever seen (by me, and my boys), and BAM, a new spokesperson was born. He will put the Jam Van on the map (promise).

Mr. Sequins, I’d like to think that you operate in a realm outside of the internet, outside of this mish-mosh of notice me, hear me. So I hope you won’t see this, but thank you.

A big no-thank-you goes out to another vagabond from the evening. One KT wherever you are, no thank you (a bunch), for hoodwinking my buddy J.H. into giving you a dollar for your crappy bum-poem. He asked me for that dollar, I thought he wanted it to buy a soda, I gave him a five, expecting change back. He gave you the five, having expected it to be a dollar. You made off like a bandit and probably got some crack so you could write another sub-par bum-poem (I hate, hate, hate, bum-poems).

Now I don’t get poetry, even at its finest. I could fuck with Shell Silverstein back in the day, and you know, I like words, poetry can definitely make words sound good and meaningful, but to like, sit down and understand poetry, like the tricky, doesn’t rhyme every line type shit. Nah, I’m good off of that. Yet even my cares-not-to-be-educated-in-that-self can sniff this shit for drech:


A bum-poem by an ass-bag:

* text in () is my unlearned interpretation.

No! Do not feel for me. (I won’t)

I am my own. (own crack-head/douche-bag)

I’ve fed my destiny. (to be a crack-head/douche-bag)

I’ve fed the wolves. (probably some crack-head dogs)

That have fed my angst. (angst = stupid ass is fiending)

I’ve paid my dues, so invitingly. (no you haven’t, that’s why you’re homeless, you don’t pay shit)

And uninvited am I, wondering what is left of life. (I guarantee you are uninvited)

If you want to email K to tell him to stop bothering people with bum poetry, and to start begging the honest way (by making up a fake canned food drive envelope), then you can email him at aol (fake ass bum using Aol, real bums use Hotmail), because he wrote that shit on the poem. Facebook his stupid ass the middle finger while you’re at it.

Or check out my alternate version of his poem right here at no extra clicking:


A not bum poem:

Dude, you are a stupid fuck.

I thought you were buying a soda.

You just paid a bum five bucks.

He’s not a fucking bum because he did all sorts of good shit before he became a bum, you dumbass.

There is shit like Africa, AIDS, and Cerebral Palsy to donate to and you just paid a dirt bag, for some bullshit.

Good thing you bought my fuckin’ beer.

That’s all I got for your Monday. Make funny when shit is stupid.

Oh, and a shout out to Crazy Jonny. My vagabond friend who is fulfilling his destiny of truly becoming a homeless fringe liver. He made it to Nashville in other peoples’ cars today. Thumbin’ it. Good’on’ya Jonny-boy. These links are for you (don’t get raped)(if you do, wash your hands before you come over next time)(please):

Track for the Day:

My Morning Jacket – “I Will Be there When You Die” off of The Tennessee Fire. My dog lost a bone, he was sad, fuck you.

Links for the Day:

In the Van next weekend!

Read you ignant fuck-sticks!

If you ain’t downloaded this yet then you are intelligence deficient (stupit). A lil birdy tells me there’s a new one on the way…

Los Angeles These are your Recommended Shows for the Week of 7/18/2011 – 7/25/2011:

-7/18 – Chicks with Sticks! (Huh, huh)

– 7/18 – Andy Clockwise at the Satellite – Free

– 7/18 – The Tedeschi Trucks BandAt the El Rey – Shit’s expensive, I guess dude thinks he’s got skills since he was in the Allman Brothers all young and shit (psh).

– 7/18 – Eastern Conference Champions at Bardot – RSVP

– 7/20 – Stanton Moore at the Mint – Viente Dollares

– 7/21 – No Age at Levitt Pavillion in MacArthur Park – Looks free (didn’t look hard).

– 7/21 – Milo Greene and Group Love at the Hammer Museum – Free/Line.

– 7/22 – Daniel Johnston at the El Rey (did you not read the post?) – $22.00 which is more than $5.00.

– 7/22 – Soundgarden at the Forum – 40 bones – If they don’t play Black Hole Sun it wasn’t worth it. I don’t care if that’s their most popular song, they melted the fucking baby-doll in the video, it was bad-ass. This guy won’t be opening.

– 7/24 – Grace Potter and Stevie Wonder at the Hollywood Bowl. Bowl = Expensive, Stevie = Worth it.