Bring Me The Head Of Vince McMahon

Mark E. Smith died so that the XFL may live. That’s my story and I’m willing to change it.

Vince McMahon of the WWE is going to revive the XFL, a football league that ran for one season in 2001 before shutting down after losing over $40 million dollars. The new XFL is scheduled to open in 2020. I like this simply because the idea of shutting down for nineteen years between seasons prevents dynasties from developing and increases parity between teams. The NFL could learn from the XFL. That way the Patriots would only have one Super Bowl trophy instead of five.

McMahon did a teleconference a few days ago where he gave mostly vague answers about the league. He did not name any cities that would have franchises, for example. What he did mention was a zero tolerance policy for players who have committed crimes in his league. Even if they had committed a DUI, he said.

Irony: Jey Uso, a WWE wrestler, was arrested for DUI about two weeks ago. WWE just fired Enzo Amore for being subject of a rape investigation in Arizona and suspended Rich Swann for being charged with domestic violence. Apparently, the new XFL is supposed to be a tighter ship than the WWE.

What McMahon offered at most could be described as dog-whistling for lapsed NFL fans still butthurt over player protests during the national anthem. Everyone will stand the anthem, though McMahon stated this would not be a political league. Of course it won’t. Standing during the anthem, no criminals, no politics, family-friendly. Signaling to white people that this is a league for them. No difficult uppity types, you know.

I hate Vince McMahon so damn much. Donald Trump’s friend spending $100 million dollars to restart a league that lost an incredible amount of money the first time. I need this league to fail just so I can see McMahon fail publicly one last time before he croaks. I loved it when he spent $50 million on two failed Senate campaigns for his wife. I loved it when he lost money on his pet project World Bodybuilding Federation. I need one more jolt of schadenfreude from Vince before he dies because he’s in his seventies and this may finish him off once and for all.

Then again it may not. The mean and corrupt get old while the wild and free die young. Mark E. Smith passed away age sixty. Sure you can make a fair point that Mark wouldn’t go to a doctor unless there was a pub in the waiting room but still. . . pile up Mark’s sins against Vince’s and it’s no contest. Jesse Helms and Strom Thurmond lived a long time, as well.

I won’t pretend to be a Fall superfan. I feel about them the same way Brian Eno felt about Frank Zappa, as in I’m glad he did what he did even though I couldn’t possibly enjoy all or most of his work. Although there are a few Fall songs that I like such as “Fantastic Life” and “Disney’s Dream Debased”. Perhaps my favorite is “Elves” which musically is the riff from Iggy’s “I Wanna Be Your Dog” while Mark distortedly spits into the mic. And when I mean spits, I mean he actually spits and it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in a non-comedy song.


The Fall is dead, long live the Fall. And as long as the XFL haven’t named franchises yet, I’d like to make a few suggestions.

  • Charlottesville Roadrunners
  • Ferguson Blues
  • New Orleans Non-Unionized Laborers
  • Louisville Tax Incentive Receivers
  • San Diego One-Year Qualcomm Stadium Tenants

Radiohead Is Kind Of Old And Lazy

I just realized something the other day. “Creep” is twenty-five years old. Radiohead’s first album Pablo Honey will have been released twenty-five years ago next month.

Radiohead is fucking old.

Twenty-five years is a long time. Quarter of a century. For example, in twenty-five years Kiss went from upstart band who put on makeup to biggest band in the world to core members of the band quitting and taking off the makeup to reuniting all the original band members and putting on the makeup again for a gigantic reunion tour. 1972 to 1997. Twenty-five years is a long time, folks.

In the fifteen years since Hail To The Thief, Radiohead has put out a total of three albums. The reissue of OK Computer doesn’t count. They’re really not trying all that hard, are they?

Not long ago, I went back and watched Meeting People Is Easy, the video document of Radiohead post-OK Computer in the wake of critical and commercial success. You get to see the drudgery of many press interviews and how stifling touring can be to a creative mindset.

At this point in Radiohead’s career, the band were more than tired of “Creep” even though their fans were not. There’s a great clip in that doc where they’re playing the song live and the fans are singing along. Thom Yorke holds the mic in their direction to let them sing, seemingly over the whole enterprise. There’s no joy in his eyes, just a feeling of obligation. Motions gone through.

Fame is oppressive. Thom Yorke found it so oppressive and stifling to his creativity that. . . he stayed in Radiohead and as we speak is likely conjuring up a handful of murky, dissonant sonic squiggles that Jonny Greenwood will have to turn into actual songs somehow.

How else is Thom Yorke going to make a living? Gotta be a rock star, obviously. He’ll never make it as a marksman.


Pictured: Thom Yorke

Is it just me or has Radiohead’s music sounded more and more claustrophobic? It goes back to the Kid A/Amnesiac era but Hail To The Thief is where the boxed-in fearful vibe becomes obvious. Is there any joy to be had? Is it all paranoia and dread for Radiohead? Is this music any good? If it is, is it healthy for us to expose ourselves to it? Either way, maybe we should actually be thankful they aren’t more prolific lest they give us more disconcerting aural mud that the Pitchforks of the world will still give typed fellatio to saying “Radiohead are exploring what it feels like to be alive in today’s world” even though no one can make out what Thom’s singing and there’s no lyric sheet to be found and is no help.

In the meantime, let’s stop pretending their new stuff is as good as their old stuff. Let’s face it, they’ve been at it a long time now.





私の好きな曲: “Behind The Mask”, “Nice Age”, “Cue”, “Rydeen” and “Kimi Ni Mune Kyun”.



あなたはKraftwerkが好きですか? YMOを聞く

私はGoogle翻訳を使用. 私は日本語を知らない。

Breaking Out Of Prison

Today I left my apartment for the first time in ten days. Ten days.

The snow combined with my fractured ankle caused me to go into isolation for a week-and-a-half. I know you folks in the Northeast are used to getting around during the winter and a few inches is nothing to you but three or four inches is practically debilitating down here in Kentucky, especially when one has a walking brace on his left foot.

I celebrated my new freedom by driving less than a mile to my local grocery store to restock. While I checked out, I saw a cute little girl standing with her mother at a nearby register. Could not have been older than five, this little lady.

She did that thing people do when they cover their face with the back of their hand to say something secret to the person next to them but she was so loud I could hear her as she said “Mommy, mommy, look at that big fat man!” She was looking at me as she said that.

This is not the first time a small child has looked in awe at my size. I tend to be pretty forgiving about it as children are innocent and they don’t see a guy my size every day.

But this little girl was not in awe of me. She was a little Gertie Gossip and it got under my skin. I’m only human.

The mother checked out and walked out with her little girl trailing behind her. When they passed me, I stuck my foot out to give the kid a trip and she started bawling. No one saw me do it.

All I’m saying is you come at the king, you best not miss you little bitch. Heed the lesson.




Accelerating Numbness

I have been laid up for about ten days at home. My car still has a pile of snow on it but it’s not like I’ve even got out to see the damn thing. By the end of the weekend, the snow will hopefully wash away enough that perhaps I’ll be able to even leave my apartment and amble all the way to the car and drive around for a bit. Twelve days at home. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Four hours from now, the US Government will shut down. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on why, but I think the State Department’s left ankle is fractured and Congress’ front yard is covered in a half-foot in snow and between the two, they can’t get it together to keep the government running. The President hasn’t left the White House in ten days because his bedroom is filled with spank mags from twelve years ago and too much jacking off has caused him to be diagnosed with an acute case of carpel-tunnel. Trump can’t even hold a pen unless he grips it like his dick and writing like a child holding.

I may have some of the details wrong and I’ve kept some of the lortabs I got last week so of course.

I’m tired. Go for the one. I’m so stupid and angry. Robert Tarantino is a dick. That’s his name right. So overrated.


Dear God I Hate My Miserable Life

Dear God, I hate my miserable life. Would you please have a car driven into my bedroom while I’m sleeping?

Oh Lord, allow me to tell you the many ways in which I’m miserable. The weather is terrible and snow covers the ground. Temperatures have been under zero since last Wednesday which coincidentally is the last day I ventured outside.

Under normal circumstances I would have gone out in the last week. Only three inches of snow on the ground, after all. I could have made it to the store for groceries.

But I can’t even do that now. Because of the ankle. This cracked ankle which has left me hobbled.

I am reliant on my mother to bring over groceries and Mucinex.

It’s January and I have a hideous cold. I am using the Mucinex to violently kick globs of phlegm out of my body. My immune system is down like a fence that’s been trampled by cattle.

I haven’t taken Mucinex in over twenty years and now I remember why. Because I’m allergic to it.

I have to stop taking the thing that is helping me because it is giving me hives on my lower legs. My legs itch but I’m too tired to scratch them or care.

I’m a miserable wretch. I feel like how Steve Bannon looks.

The snow will melt and wash away. I know this, as I know the hives will go away after I stop taking the Mucinex because my cold is gone. I’ll be able to go outside on my boot and crutches and get around on my own after the snow is gone. Eventually, my ankle will be healed. By then, I’ll have had the bariatric surgery that I’ve been working on for nearly a year. After the surgery there will be a recovery period while I heal from the surgery. It would take me at least three months after the surgery to make a full recovery.

By then, we’re in June.

The first half of my 2018 is laid out in front of me. It is THE path. There is no adrift, aimless fumbling. Everything is right out there in front of me and it will take exactly one day at a time.

I have been on this path for a while and I’m only now realizing it. The ankle crack is just another hitch. What was once a roadblock is now an annoyance.

I’m ready. I’m so ready I’m anxious.

Final note: Two weeks no soda

A Whiny Level Of Sick

I have a cold and it’s making me whiny.

I’ve been trapped at home since Wednesday. It has snowed and it is snowing again right now. I can’t go outside like this. A physical therapist was supposed to make an appointment with me tomorrow but I’m too sick and its snowing so bad I’ve already called to reschedule.

I want to go outside and breathe fresh, cold air for a few minutes. I want to go to the grocery store. I want to not have a fractured ankle. I hate this. I feel so lousy.

My immune system has taken a whipping this past week. I wouldn’t be surprised if malaria seeps through the air vents at this point, that’s how bad my luck is.

I know so much is going on and there’s a lot of social upheaval. Some of it is good, some not. I can’t care right now. Too sick. Self-care means withholding HOT TAKES about news and current events. This is your loss. Try to adjust.

Will Somebody Please Babysit Our Racist Baby King?

WANTED: babysitter for racist elderly baby

LOCATION: Washington, DC with occasional stops at Florida estate.

PAY: Not enough in the universe


Here he is, the racist baby you’ll be in charge of.


I’m sorry. I’m in a real low mood right now. There’s a walking brace on my left foot to protect my fractured ankle and it takes a lot of effort to put the bastard on. It’s snowing outside so my long fight to put on the boot has been for naught. I wouldn’t even dare walk next door to see my mother. It’s too dangerous for lil’ ol Fragile Bones here. My internet connection craps out at odd times and I’m beginning to think that the weather is responsible.

You’ll have to excuse me if my nerves are a little raw at the moment. The bile that comes out of the White House on a near-daily basis makes me ill with anger. I’m sickened by what is going on in my state capital of Frankfort with the Republican attempts to turn our state into a smoky black cinder.

The Trump administration just allowed Kentucky to take steps to terminate our Medicaid expansion.  Kentucky is the first state in the country to “apply work requirements to Medicaid recipients”, per the articles.

It’s a terrible idea and one that I protested against in the summer of 2016. I went to a policy meeting in Bowling Green and NOBODY spoke out in support of this waiver. Dozens of people stood up and spoke to the state representatives and voiced their disapproval along with the very sound reasons why it was an illogical piece of hogwash.

Nobody supported this except for Matt Bevin and his entourage and whoever is backing them. That’s why 2016 meant so much to me. Because I figured that the Clinton administration would likely not allow such a waiver.

I’m worn down. My body is broken. Our racist baby king has deemed Haiti a shithole but Kentucky is as close to Haiti as any state in the union and about to get worse. I’m afraid and self-care isn’t enough right now. But that’s all I have. I have to get better. I have to heal my fractured ankle. I have to lose weight. I have to get my strength up.

In the pre-dawn hours after I cracked my ankle I tried to get off the couch to go to bed and I couldn’t. My foot, ankle and knee were in too much pain to get me up and about. Without a protective brace, I was stuck. Unable to do anything else, I flopped to the floor and crawled to my room. It took at least twenty minutes of sweat and exhaustion to haul my carcass in and hoist myself up to bed, a distance of about twenty feet.

I was helpless and naked. Nobody could help me in the dark of night. I didn’t even have the strength to cry.

I have a walking brace on my foot as I write this. I’m sitting on the couch again for the first time since that exhausting night. It takes some effort to get up but I don’t have to crawl.

If not for Medicaid and Medicare would I even have a walking brace? I have a laundry list of ailments. Would I be able to treat my diabetes, my sleep apnea, my depression, my anxiety, my bi-polar disorder, my PTSD? Would I be able to go to therapy?

Would I even be alive?

Why are they trying to take that from me?

I’ve Taken A Tumble

via Daily Prompt: Brilliant

Brilliant! I’ve taken a tumble. I fell and injured myself. Make me a Rhodes scholar, please.

I fell backwards in a parking lot over a concrete beam and on the way down bounced off the hood of my car. Genius!

How did I do this? A genius never gives away his secrets. Even though I told you how it happened just now, no matter! Trade secrets!

Why did I do it? Because I was making room for a gentleman with an air tank to fill up my driver’s side tire and I decided to go from minor inconvenience to full-on physical pain. Great!

Now? A non-displaced fracture on my left ankle and a spur in my left foot. Who could do that in one fell swoop? You’re reading him right now. Ouch (brilliant)!

Pain pills! Crutches! Orthopedic appointments! Not applying pressure on my left side. All in a second’s work. I am a golden god. That’s brilliant, people.


Anti-Sludge Resolution

Perhaps you have seen this video. I watched it about a week ago.


I watched this video and looked at the smoke and the black sludge foaming up and I said to myself “That’s what’s inside you right now, big man. All that sludge is in you.”

I later found out that the guy poured Coke into sulfuric acid, not stomach acid. Is he mistaken or misleading? Does it even matter?

I’ve been struggling lately. Buy a six-pack of Coke once or twice a week and polish it off real quick. Drink water for the next few days then repeat the cycle. Am I as bad as I used to be about this? No but what I have been doing for the last year? Why am I trying to throw all that progress away? Why am I clinging to this that hurts me?

If there’s any silver lining, ever since I watched that video I hate the taste of Coca-Cola. I hate how it tastes and how it makes my stomach feel. Even before I saw that video I hated how I felt drinking that stuff.

I have a burning desire to never drink Coke or any soda ever again. I haven’t had any for about five days. I don’t miss it. I still have a bottle in my fridge that I’ve left unopened. It’s sitting right there and every time I open the fridge I mean mug the son of a bitch.

If I do this one thing it will be a major improvement. If I stay off the sodas it will make me feel so much better and the pounds will come off naturally. No diet soda workaround that doesn’t really work. Sludge = sluggish.

I want to try to stay off soda for at least six months. I’ve never done it and that’s saying a lot. That is my resolution. I’m only getting started. I hope I hold out and don’t feel like punishing myself.