Gay Joe: This seem fair to me.
Me: Ha! I love that picture. A whore alone in a tunnel.
Gay Joe: It is like a fractal; a tunnel inside of a tunnel.
Me: Both are hollow inside.
Gay Joe: Both are sordid and smell of urine.
Me: Both are easily entered and exited.
Gay Joe: Nice.
Me: Still on for tacos this week?
Gay Joe: Totally.

Labels: gay joe, im convos, tacos, whores

Check out these freak shows crying over dead trees. Are there not more pressing things to waste your energy on other than a decaying old growth forest? My favorite part of the video is when Moonbeam lets out a guttural scream and all her dirtbag friends follow suit because I sense they are all actually suffering. I find comfort in hippy suffering. I would love to get in the middle of that mourning circle with an ax and start chopping down something. Or start a good old-fashioned tire fire. I would even settle for just punching a stinky white guy with dreadlocks in the face.

Labels: rage, stupidity

The wife and I are officially prepared for our spawn to make its grand entrance into this world. The nursery is littered with the spoils of numerous baby showers, bathed in gender-neutral tones and is decorated with a ridiculous amount of monkeys. We have registered with the hospital and have taken assorted labor preparation classes. I have read two great books (Punk Rock Dad and Babywise) that have given me honest perspectives on fatherhood and read half of one terrible book (The Expectant Father) before throwing it across the bedroom and calling the author a "new-age queer." All we need now is the living, goddamn baby (the wife is due on April 3). In an effort to celebrate the last few weeks of our baby-free couplehood, the wife and I are spending this Saturday night at the Brown Palace Hotel for a romantic, in-city getaway. It is there where we will renew our love affair and my wife will get her pregnant lady bubble bath on while I drain cocktails at the Ship Tavern and watch opening weekend of the NCAA college basketball tournament.

Labels: babies, denver, drinking, sports, wife

• Elena Basescu, daughter of Romanian president Traian Basescu, looks like an Eastern-bloc Wynne Cooper, is running for European Parliament and likes to mount fallen horses to pose for pictures.
• The saddest and happiest headstone I have ever seen.
  
• The Sears Tower is getting renamed the Willis Tower. Nice work, Sears. I can just hear my dead grandfather Broz renouncing his brand loyalty to all Craftsmen products on the other side.

Labels: chicks, family, history, link goodness, politics, pop culture, tomfoolery

Buck Fifty has fast become my favorite site for Denver and Colorado history. Today's installment: The Ku Klux Klan in Colorado. In the 1920s; the Klan boasted nationwide membership in the millions and was not the backwoods, hillbilly joke that it is today. Regis University (my collegiate Alma mater) has a stone wall on the southwestern edge of campus declared a historical landmark (or so I was told) where students of the 1920s and 1930s fought off the Silent Empire on numerous occasions. In my day, said stone wall was used by students to park the pricey SUVs their parents bought them next to or to smoke cigarettes against on a warm autumn day. I was also unaware that the old Denver airport (Stapleton) bore the name of noted klansmen Ben Stapleton.

Labels: college, colorado, denver, hate, history

My love for the Terminator franchise began in 1985 when my dad let me stay up late with him and watch the James Cameron joint on HBO. The movie had everything a ten year-old boy could want; violence, cyborgs, sex and boobs! I was hooked. In 1991, early CGI technology, a ripped Linda Hamilton and a Guns N' Roses-laden soundtrack made for a sequel that was much better than the original. When T3: Rise Against The Machines came out, I took my wife on our first date to watch it in the theater (I am a hopeless romantic). I thought I would have to keep her informed with back story through out the film, but she quickly interrupted me mid-Skynet dissertation with, "I know what Skynet is. Please shut up," and thereby proved her worthiness as a mate (this date was the very reason I engraved 'NO FATE' on the inner-band of my wedding ring in reference to Linda Hamilton's bowie knife table-carving in T2). I even went so far as to tune into the first full season of the Sarah Connor Chronicles only to tune out once Brian Austin Green joined the cast (thanks to long-time reader of the MB, Bryan Candee, who pointed out that Brian Austin Green's initials are BAG for a reason). Sadly, the television series has resorted to this for viewership. Summer Glau has a nice little frame, but her eyes are so far apart she looks like a cutthroat trout. Cutthroat trout are delicious when sauteed in butter, but are not sexually arousing. I can only hope T4: Salvation with Christian Bale will renew my faith in the franchise. At least they cast Christian Bale. He alone will get my wife out to the theater with me. She would watch that guy read the paper.

Labels: dad, movies, pop culture, wife

Wil: You ever want to just generally fuck yourself up? Watch CNN World for two hours. The human race is not long for this planet.
Me: Agreed. Hopefully my unborn child will get something out of it all before it blows up.
Wil: I am kind of counting on him/her to fix it all, actually. Is that not going to happen?
Me: If he/she takes after the wife, yes. After me? We are doomed.
Wil: Your spawn has been spoken of in countless Nostradamus prophecies. "And she who kicketh ass in softball shall breed with he who has odd hair of the face, and together the savior is born."
Me: Wow. Thanks? Let us hope said spawn makes the animals go bonkers at the zoo ala The Omen. The original with Gregory Peck. Not that bag of dicks remake with Julia Styles.
Wil: Well played, sir. Going to go get some dinner here in Barcelona. If I can find a place with an early bird special at 8:30 PM, that is. The Spaniards do not like to sleep.
Me: Save for the daily siesta?
Wil: Right. Adios.

Labels: babies, death, im convos, movies, pop culture, wife, wil