Leave Jessica Simpson Out of This!!!

It sho is hot today...

Been hot eryday...

Too damn hot... for a penguin to be just walkin around here...

We may be further from the sun than at any other time in our annual ellipse, but the sun keeps throwing flares at us like some methed out trucker trying to change a tire on the side of the highway at 2:30 in the morning...

Our world is warming. It may be global, but my concerns are of a more local nature. Should I be sweating while typing?

Jessica Simpson is a fat pig, bet this heat could melt some of that off...

Kanye West, he's bright...

Rihanna makes great life choices...

Do you think that Pauly D guy's hair is alright in this heat?

Barney Frank got married...

The inferno that has multiplied my energy bills by an irrational, exponential increase has elevated my body temperature to an unsustainable level. If this is to continue unabated I may have to invest in an asbestos suit for going to the beach, they still make those... right?

Hey they made a new Spider Man movie...

The Beer Drinker's Guide (excerpt)

"Beer, the cause of and solution to all of life's problems." - Homer J. Simpson

Truly thought provoking isn't it. All of life's little successes and failures conveniently packaged into twelve ounce cans of blame for you to toss out the window of your purple, '88 Oldsmobile Cutlass as you drunkenly swerve down the highway of life.
Do I have your attention?
Good, then we may proceed.
Beer has been the scapegoat of mans indiscretions for as long as man has been able to communicate beyond mere gestures and grunts. In fact by this reasoning it is safe to assume that beer is responsible for language altogether. This may not be the most scientific (or the last) of grandiose statements, but why not? Why would it be so unimaginable to think that a couple of early homo-sapiens-sapiens were sharing some refreshing fermented grain water after a hard day, became a bit emotional about the success of the hunt and their drunken attempts to communicate became something more? Guttural noises became the basic linguistic expressions of joy, sadness or any emotion and all thanks to beer!
To accept beers role as the muse of early mans successful communications with one another is to also accept its role as a possible catalyst in early mans numerous struggles. It is entirely possible that a few of our ancestors were genetically predisposed to addiction (not beers fault) and enjoyed an 8:00 am beverage a bit more than the daily berry picking and boar hunting. Clearly this did not sit well with the rest of the group (communists obviously) and our distant booze-hound relative was shunned and cast out to survive by his own means. However, we can take this random failure that lead to the fracturing of the group and thank beer for weeding out the weak link in the evolutionary chain.
The discovery of beer was most likely an accident, grains and fruit forgotten in the rain; baked by the sun into a pulpy mash the hungry populace was forced to consume the thick, liquid bread that had developed where the precious grain once was. Satiated and relaxed the people realized that the gods had handed them a gift.... and the production of beer ensued.
The ancients worshiped and consumed beer with a voracious appetite. Beer fueled the laborers who built their temples, beer fueled their warriors as they conquered one another and beer fueled the rites that showed favor to their gods. Beer was not a means of inebriation it was a way of life! Beer provided the energy to make it through the arduous day and the ability to recover and prepare for tomorrow.
Whether by accidental discovery or "necessity birthing invention" beer became a focal and integral part of early mans daily existence. At a time in our evolutionary process when survival mattered more than pleasure man consumed beer to facilitate his body's caloric survival requirements. It was unapologetic and an accepted more of the day; man labored and needed the calories to expend the energy to build worlds by his own hand; beer provided the carbohydrates needed for long term expenditures of effort and was in ample supply.

Kardashians Forever

Inspiration like sometimes comes to us from the most unlikely of places, right? - Kim Kardashian - (just prior to performing fellatio on some random professional athlete)

Maybe Donkey Butt did say something as profound as this and maybe she didn't; I really don't give a shit one way or the other. All I know is that my disdain for the K-Dashes, the Real Succubuses of Wherever and anyone promoting 50 Shades of Grey has reached its saturation temperature and can no longer be quelled by any amount of Bombay Sapphire (that shit takes forever to boil). When did misguided plastic surgery, greed and apathy towards knowledge become the status quo?
Have I been absent-mindedly text-drifting through the fog while some tenth grader named Skylar has been left to steer the G-6?
I am completely incapable of embracing what the world has become; a neanderthal on a planet of apes lacking the capacity to halt the regression nor light the Promothean fires of knowledge.
Slide on down world, slide down into the abyss of pop culture darkness and wrap yourself in a blanket of ignorance made from US Weekly and OK magazines. I shall sit atop this throne of paperbacks purchased at the library book sale for a buck apiece and hurl insults over your heads.
Am I better than these great American heroes? Absolutely...
Do these false gods signify the biblical end of days? Probably...
Does any of this even matter? Nope... but I need to hurry up and set the DVR to record, because Pawn Tards and all of the other completely unscripted reality shows about America's most interesting rednecks are on at eight!!!

A Banyan Tree (as read by Brad Pitt using his "Interview With A Vampire" voice)

Spanish Moss dangles from the outstretched arms of the Banyan Tree.
Vines grip the trunk in symbiotic embrace.
Rodents scurry around in attempts to procure their next meal.
I watch and patiently wait...

The bench near the base is covered in graffiti; newspapers litter the bare ground where grass once grew.
Stagnant water from a nearby retention pond flows through her veins while reptilian death plies the waters, camouflaged in her roots.

Wrapped in plastic garbage bags held together by his own feces the soul of this tree has come to espouse the knowledge of the unseen world.
He argues with a "never was" confidant about a war he was to young to have fought and wine he couldn't possibly have drank.
His borrowed shopping cart filled to the brim with his "groceries" and delectable gains.

The aroma of filth and waste permeates the once clean air of the Banyan Tree and I wait patiently...

The Spanish moss dangles towards his plastic appendages and the vines grip his waist.
Rodents rummage through his things in search of the scraps of so many meals.
He argues with the photographs in the discarded newspaper and smears the bench with his essence.

The mismatched shoes drop into the murky waters with a splash and the reptiles submerge, filled with the expectancy of the sustenance that is sure to follow.
He soon joins his unseen friend in the nether reaches of existence and the reptiles feed on what the Banyan has left behind.
If only there were more Banyan Trees in this park...

A Morning Cup of Joe

There is a water tower off in the distance, I don't really know if there has been water inside of it in recent days, but it's painted a shimmering blue and wrapped with sea life of various sorts. One can easily be transfixed by the skill of the artist who so lovingly brought his underwater world to my morning sky. It's probably a meth lab...

I take my coffee black... no sugar, no cream, just black. Like some sort of spoiled rich girl from the suburbs with a daddy complex and a drinking problem. I feel like Heidi Klum right now...

There are a lot of hookers across the street this morning? Way more than usual? I wonder if they are horny?

Apparently Vladimir Putin was re-elected. I pretended to care for about thirty seconds until I remembered this awesome dance/lip-synching show from the eighties, "Puttin on the Hits," and all I could picture was Putin lyp-synching "You Spin Me Round." They should bring that show back.

Why does the garbage man have to be so loud? Is it really necessary to slam the cans around and loud talk? Maybe I should stop putting all of my discarded treasures out there? Then what will he do; just stand there scratching his head, peering into an empty can waiting for it to magically fill up with empty beer bottles and my wife's US Weekly magazines? Good luck getting your news buddy!!! He won't even know about Jessica Simpson's baby til at least later in the week.

Is it too early to Irish this coffee up a bit?

Just Takin' A Break Is All

Gimme a Break Yeah Yeah! Gimme a Break, Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah!!
Now I am no Nell Carter, but even I deserve a break... right?
If I was a big fat ass black chick... or the star of an awesome eighties sitcom about a big fat ass black chick...
I would take breaks all the time... asshole.
Unfortunately, I am not a big fat ass black chick with her own eighties sitcom...
I'm just Randall James Sharpe and this is my thang so I probably should not be takin' a break...
Especially a sweet ass break soaked in booze and boobies, cause what the hell does that have to do with Nell Carter and awesome eighties sitcoms?
Fuck if I know, but if you ask the bottle of Jim Beam I drank tonight he would most certainly tell you that this had something to do with listening to The Black Angels and pounding Beam like I was Jim Morrison...
Look, here's the deal I am super talented and shit and if I had been a big fat ass black chick with her own eighties sitcom and my name was Nell Carter; my awesome eighties sitcom would still be on and I would be bigger than Tyler Fuckin (pretty sure that is his middle name) Perry...
Sabbatical over...