Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Nobody Vote!

Please everyone just leave it to me! I'll cast the vote and we'll all be okay...
Just to let you know I'm voting for me... ME!
...if not me, then the Reverend Al Sharpton...

Friday, October 24, 2008

The Brown Revolution

We have been extremely fortunate to witness the birth of several extremely important movements in the past decade or so. Being on the most productive sides of both the green and energy revolutions has shaped our society greatly! Not to mention the revolutions taking place in religion, lifestyle, and hopefully politics (granted you know who wins the election). However, I'm eager to talk about a revolution that has seemed to ease ever so gently from the recesses of our mind into the stream of consciousness undetected. Ooo What movement is this I speak of?? Why it is none other than the bowel movement! The Brown Revolution!
Like most movements, it's hard to pinpoint the exact time or location in which the bowel movement was conceived. Was it the creation of South Park's Mister Hankey by Tray Parker and Matt Stone that relaxed every one's fears? Or possibly the wild influx of Indian and Mexican restaurants into the country, which left us with no choice, but to find the closest toilet. Whatever it was, it changed things.
The bathrooms of the 90's were a very strange scene. The urinals were always full, and the stalls were only reserved for those who also had to urinate, but were too afraid to use a urinal, due to the fear of the man next to you peeking at your junk! This was usually the case because you were either A. Equipped like a 14 year-old or B. Extremely homophobic and arrogant enough to think that gay men were interested enough in you to try to take a peek at your wee wee, when they probably had no clue that you even existed.
Either way it was silly and one day, somewhere around the year 2003, it started to deteriorate! People stopped caring! not only about dropping a dirty brown or two in public, but about the entire subject! People began to open up to each other about their own fecal experiences, sharing restroom exploits and potty humor! Why I remember it like it was yesterday, the first time sir Jesse told me that he hadn't had a solid poop in 8 years and when a week later motley ster told me that his poops were so sharp that they had sliced his cornhole into a star shape! It became a normal thing for a man or woman to say "Man! I'll be right back, I've got to take a Huge shit!" Stalls are no longer occupied by teeny weenie homophobes or chronic masturbators, but by people taking poos! And those waiting in line for stalls and not urinals? Not a man embarrassed because his johnson curves to the left a bit and then back to the right like a spasming king snake or a hunch backed newt, but a big ugly bastard who has to drop a wet sausage so mighty that he'll know afterwards the pain that is giving birth to something that's a 16th of your body weight! (Now the healing can begin). Let's keep this thing going world! Pooping in toilets is only the first step! I say we take this movement to the streets! To our jobs! To the fields and forests! No longer will our feces only fall in familiar facilities, but all over the world! So when you ask your friend "Hey man, does this bar have a nice bathroom?" and he sarcastically replies "Does a Bear shit in the woods?" (translation:definitely or most certainly). Then your reply will surely be a triumphant and resounding "Yes he does!!... and SO DO I!"

P.S. A note to all of the boys from Carnage GT middle school in Raleigh, NC circa 1999: Please stop kicking down the doors to all of the boys bathroom stalls, It's really hard to drop a deuce comfortably when every one can see you, point and laugh, and throw things... I'm not ashamed or anything, but that's just a real asshole thing to do.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Pathos in Prose

I had lunch with my comrades, my seed-heavy wayward revolutionaries - a pot luck. We decided we would not bring food for the body but food for the soul. We passed around a few cigarettes and opened our hearts to each other in a park in Red Hook at an old picnic table. We fed each other substantial spoonfuls of childhood memory, vulnerable expressive idea, offered gulps of personal opinions - no judgment involved! This type of honesty and utter acceptance, my patrons of revolution, is a strip lit path toward revolution.
We sat their with Sir Jesse and listened to his story about the first time he put on reading glasses. How he stood completely still in that same place for 62 hours. 62 hours! His initial feeling of pleasure and empowerment enabled him to ignore the countless Duane Reade workers trying to pursued him to exit the store or at least reposition further from the cashier area. How the longer he went without acknowledging anyone or moving from where he was built mental strength upon courage, and furthermore how he underwent physical tests of endurance from not sitting to rest. He pissed and shat in his pants multiple times! He was not fearful of what others thought or said, or when they took pictures and giggled. Despite managers and watered down rent-a-cops Sir Jesse stood there with dignity for his own accord, then when he was ready - he chose to leave. He went back to his apartment and turned on the romantic comedy When Harry Met Sally. I love that guy more deeply in a wayward way now.
We sat their with Ben the Spider and listened to his story about the day he didn't eat a pie. For weeks - hell - years, Ben the Spider has said, 'eat a pie, save a life'. He opened up the painful memory of the time he was loitering on the street and feeling woozy. A good-natured family passing through happen to pick the Spider for asking directions. The Spider was turned around himself as his focus was all off and he sent them down a one-way road. They thanked him graciously - fifteen feet and one right turn later a hummer suddenly ended the life of that honda civic and any other miserable existence inside the civic. The Spider played audience to this real life real time drama. (He also found one of the five year olds fingers in his jacket pocket. Weird that it happen to fly in just right like that.) His blood-sugar was low for he disregarded his innate predispositional beliefs for the importance of sweets earlier that day at a diner. Ben the Spider feels the burden of that familys miserable deaths. I understand his pain and passions more fully. I, also, love that guy more deeply in a wayward way now.
So as you go about your seemingly boring lives: readers, seekers, and re-seekers; open yourselves up to each other. Share yourselves, don't be shy. I'll bet the person behind the eyes on the other side of the table is just as fucked up and has just as much baggage.

Monday, October 13, 2008

To Catch a Tourist

I've received many complaints in the last few weeks about a very real and deadly menace roaming our streets, Ladies and Gentlemen I want you to know that your plea hasn't fallen on deaf ears. Your wish to get rid of this disgusting plague will be addressed right... now... Tourists are a foul species that are (as you know) best eliminated immediately, regardless of nationality. So to get rid of them, one need only to apply a treatment similar to that of an ancient garden gnome remedy. When you see a tourist cleverly sneaking into your city, it would be in your best interest to either A. Burn them alive immediately, or B. Douse them in a mixture appropriately called "Serpent's Discharge" which consists of 3 cups of papa john's garlic sauce, 3 bottles of Aristocrat Vodka (or anything cheaper), and the blood of either an innocent human or a Boston terrier with an extremely shifty disposition (seeing as how they are equal in both value and purity). I'm warning you now that whore's blood will not work. Many locals have tried using the blood of a wayward whore thinking that it makes no difference only to find that the tourist becomes not only faster and stronger, but also more curious and invasive than ever imagined. Please for the love of God, don't be a dick. Only baby's blood will suffice, they have it in bulk at your local nursery.
Now I'm sure burning alive is quite easy to comprehend, but just in case I've lost you somewhere, here is what you need to do. Get fire... you know, fire. Then in a fit of unadulterated and unparalleled rage put the fire on the tourist, the rest will take care of itself I assure you. If the tourists skin seems somewhat flame retardant, gasoline may be applied. As for the "Serpent's Discharge", the process is a bit more complicated. First you must put the mixture in a 5 gallon bucket and mix thoroughly. After that you must make sure that the time is approximately dusk or DU:SK on your watches. When both of these criteria are filled, then you must quickly toss the mixture upon the vile vermin before it can spot you and scurry up a tree or back into it's hole... or sedan...or Chrysler town and country. If done right the tourist should look at you with a flash of anger before appearing perplexed and then resigning to defeat, getting in their car, and going back to the hell hole that they crawled out of. I hope these remedies will be followed closely and accurately, as I would hate to have to hear of the serious turmoil of a town who cannot rid itself of this menacing... menace... Keep it real ya'll.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Motley's Pick-up Tactics #41

This particular tactic was a personal realization from the divergence of two co-existing characteristics, but that doesn't mean that you can't use it. One, I certainly enjoy gum. Two, I also have TMJ, which prevents me from chewing for long periods of time without pain. This circumstance seems counter-productive to any goal and yet has really been a blessing, and here's how. When I spot a girl chewing gum I can say, 'hey, do you have any gum?'. Boom: Initiation and common ground established. They offer me a fresh piece no sooner before I say, 'actually, I'd prefer if you give me what you already have in your mouth?'. At first, they suspicion mal intent until I fill them in on my condition. 'I need the gum already broken in,' I say. I then follow with, 'its for my condition, TMJ'. Zip: a condition, ladies love a guy with complexities. They instantly agree and hand it over, 'but it wont have any flavor,' they say. As I take the gum and its too late for them to turn back, I put it in my mouth and say, 'sure it does, its got _____ flavor' and fill in her name. Pow: you've just broken the self-contention and expressed your interest. Your in.
Plus, how kinky is that that you have her gum in your mouth! Its a real winner. I recently went out to eat with nice piece of fall-for-the-condition-ass that chewed up my steak for me, at Applebee's! I could feel her spit mixing with mine as she passed the chewed steak to me.
What I'm actually doing is seducing the date by igniting deep seeded motherly instincts just as a mother bird upchucks chuck for the baby bird during fledging - its the same psychology. Careful, the birds compulsion becomes and addiction. Fall-for-the-condition-ass from the past blow up my cell all the time. "Motley, can I please come over and chew some macaroni for you." "Motley, I know you love beef jerky, I just happen to have some here at my apartment, please, come over and let me feed it to you, I'm already chewing". Damn, bird, slow down, I just met you!
Listen, I've filled you in a huge dating tactic, but use it wisely. And remember: after you've spent tactic #41 as a pick-up you can never participate in food foreplay with that bird again. I repeat, food foreplay is off limits. Take it from the creator himself, I had a bad accident with a girl named Annette and a hotdog bun. Go get'em!

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Cloven Collectivity


Numbers: The single equation accounting for the upheaval of post-modern structure (no pun intended nor facial aside to the imaginary fourth wall de satirical expression). The analytical mind of intellectuals delegating highly filtered and jaded educational hand-outs to the innocent youth is the continuous resultation for robot heretics and metaphorical continental divide. Thank you so very much for endowing the overman with the tools to alter his predestined complacent existence into an obsessive compulsive unemployed savage, for giving brunt browed working man a long weekend of shameful gambling slothery. Thank you dead idea for your natural selection of democratic leeches, sucking healthy baby blood into fungi-filled pyre-veins pumping the diseased heart of societies computational monster. Wow. I'm not speechless that numbers are evil. Numbers splatter creativity, attribute to false pretense, stifle, stun, and stink. Personally, I enjoy cognition. It may have been one of my most enjoyable activities had numbers not plagued my hemispheres into a grand canyon of exhausted ding au sich and folly. Let us be numbers! Leave us create our selves! No thanks! No how! No way!
Comrades, I beseech you to think on this. How can we end world hunger?...Finished? Now, think on this...a tootsie pop commercial in the 1980's had the audacity to ask 'how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll tootsie pop?' not but a smidgen before counting "1,2,3..(bite)...3". I still remember that commercial vividly, and I bet so do you, I'm also willing to bet you've fired more neurons meditating that clever advertising plug slash corporate-manipulated nostalgic memory than the solution to your fellow man's empty belly... I'm willing to- ah shit! you see! here I go gambling again!