Guard Your Sheep

I'm the stubborn little kid who ruined all your make up

Played ball in the house so that I could break stuff

Wouldn't eat the peas and threw away the carrots

Always talked back like I was a jungle parrot

Threw a fit in the store so you would get embarrassed

Had to bribed to take a vitamin

Made you use all sorts of discipline

Still wouldn't change as I got older

Told all the neighbors that I was bi-polar

You and I are only getting closer

You're stuck with me like you are an ulcer

I stuck to my lies and stuck to my disguise

And hoped every night you wouldn't get wise

Could you imagine if I were multiplied?

Better hurry up and get me sterilized

My mistakes are tough to memorize

Considering how they exponentially rise

Doing some good just to equalize

Is like plucking each cloud out the sky

So I see no sense to even try

Instead of changing, better hope I just die

Me

I don't really know what to say in this entry but I need to write something down. I read today that Viagra is actually helpful for women as well. Studies are showing that women with depression anxiety can gain benefits from taking Viagra. One of those benefits being increased success of an orgasm, whatever that means. With that, I say the men and women go half on a bag of those blue pills. 

We all battle depression. A large part of that is because we think that there is something wrong with us. Some of us feel we're not achieving anything substantial. Some of us feel like there's a void in our lives that can't be filled. To get more specific, it can come from being hurt or feeling like you've hurt someone. Someone that you hold dearly. That's just the "why." There other part is "how." How did things things get like this or how did they get like that? Even when the worst may be over, there are still aftershocks. There's that guilt but what does that guilt mean?

It could mean that you can't let things go. It's the past. It is impossible to move backwards through time so we might as well move forward. But does that guilt show some kind of character? Does it show a sincereness to yourself that you are truly sorry? Does it serve as a remainder to not do that wrong again? I make mistakes that keep me company. I expect the worst out of a situation and when it doesn't come, I still expect it to loom. It's like waiting for the guillotine to drop. 

I also have a hard time keeping my problems to myself, as you can see. I poll advice from just about everyone. Does that make me weak? I get the idea that realizing your mistakes and correcting them within your own realm should be enough. I think I try to force sympathy out of people and they'll throw me a bone. It's like I'm no good at figuring myself out or I can't relieve myself. 

My friends are great. They really are. But when I look at myself, I see someone I'd really get sick of. I can't help but think maybe they're getting sick of me. I guess chalk it all up to fucked up self-image. The only thing I need to look in the eye is my own reflection. The mirror looks dirty right about now. Maybe because that's just the surface. Looking into my heart, I think I'm doing the best that I can. If anyone thinks otherwise, I'm sorry.

Less You Know

Look for things that take away the sting

Of what being a young man brings

If only to shake away the bad dreams

Caused by committing more penalties than a whole hockey team

His lack of fortune is enormous

He makes it into art and you can call it gorgeous

What he needs is a gas station cigarette

His head phones turned up

So he can't hear himself rap the words in gibberish

To forget he upset that beautiful brunette

And he dealt himself into karma's debt

Ask him what's wrong and get only fragments

Bug him too long and he'll issue empty threats

He treats it like a contest

Of how fast he'll get locked up in the cuckoo's nest

There Goes My Hero

We all know that tomorrow marks the release of the Dark Knight. I'm sure we all can't wait to see our favorite crime fighter dawn the bat wings once again. Unfortunately, Batman is a fictional character. Even if he was real he lives in Gotham City and can't speed around the globe like other heroes can. So ladies, use the buddy system, remain in well lit areas, and no short cuts through alley ways. I would say rely on your local police force but they seem to be more occupied with harassing your next door savior with traffic school. (William Falik has got my back folks. Doesn't qualify as a crime fighter though, considering he's fighting the cops. More of a law fighter.) So where are all the true crime fighters? I know of one. 

If Frank Melton is running for office anywhere in your local or national government then vote for this avenger. Frank Melton is currently the mayor of Jackson, Miss. and he is tough on crime. He cruises around his town in a "mobile command center" with his private bodyguards and plenty of artillery. Only until recently has he gotten in trouble for his "unorthodox" techniques. He only kidnapped some suspected gang members, held them at gun point, and forced them to break into a suspected crack house with a sledgehammer. He then proceeded to destroy the private residence. I know, I love him already. 

Apparently Frank did something wrong because he is now indicted on criminal charges. Something about not having a warrant or authority. No Authority? He's the mayor. If you can't do that then what's the point of being mayor. I remember the mayor of my home town, mayor Mishcon. All you did was attend neighborhood events and fell asleep at board meetings. He even appeared in a documentary for friend's high school video project. This was a guy with too much time on his hands. I'd prefer a mayor like Melton. If he says the crime rate will drop, it will. Not because he's increasing police funding or starting a neighborhood watch. It's because he's grabbing some shot guns and going to blow holes in doors and bodies until everyone cuts this shit out. 

I hope the charges against Melton get dropped because they may hurt his chances of ever becoming president. If he were to say there were nuclear weapons in a foreign country, it would be because he went over there himself with Kimbo Slice and DMX and came back with the weapons to show us. You're my hero, Frank. Keep fighting the fight. 

You call that a Gangster?

I always like taking a look at the sort of problems that are sweeping the nation. One issue at hand is the popularization of gang culture in the mainstream. It's no longer confusing the heck out of grandma and grandpa. It has even the police fooled now. The San Diego Tribune reports that clues as to who is a real gang member are less reliable. Cops are hard at work keeping up with all the customs. 

As few of you may know, I was the leader of one of the most notorious gangs in North Miami Beach. Rizzolo and I ran the streets of NMB for seven solid years. We grew up on the block and no one could take a thing from us. College came knocking so I left Rizzolo as sole leader but I stop by every now and again to make sure everything is all good. Basically, as a former gang member I'd like to offer a quick tutorial on how to spot an actual gang banger. 

STRANGE VERNACULAR:

Gang members don't speak standard english to each other. They use slang terms to discuss their misdeeds so no one is the wiser. If you happen upon some kids talking about "trees" or "grass", no need to cross the street. These are not gang members. Gang members always refer to drugs as sexual organs. Be more wary of the ones who claim "they could suck on a fat dick right about now." Also, gang members usually use the titles of Joseph Gordon-Levitt movies. They'll say, "I've got 10 Things I Hate About You right here." The more popular phrase is "Angels in the Outfield blew that man apart."

UNIQUE FASHION SENSE

The gangster life style has long forgotten about sagging pants, white tees, and baseball caps for teams in which you can't name a single player of. Gangs are bringing back an 80's revolution. It's all bright pink bath robes, slightly teased hair and those tank tops that guys wear that are cut off just above the belly that are making a comeback. Monocles are the sign of the gang leader. If you see someone with two monocles (i.e. bifocals) then he has most likely killed a rival gang leader for it. It's not about how much ice is around your neck. It's about how much glitter is in your eyes. 

HAND GESTURES

This is the final thing to look for. Gangs look to throw up their sign so everyone knows what set they claim. Anyone from my breeding ground is familiar with the 3-0-5 symbol. These gestures became too popular and gangs had to abandon them. It is awfully hard to get it to mean courage after a successful liquor store robbery when kids are doing the same thing after a 9 hour raid on WoW. These days it is the movement of the tongue that is a great communicator. A slow lapping motion is used by the VP Boyz now. Going from side to side in a hurried motion is employed by the Latin Kings. The Bloods and Crips do a mash up of tongue and hand. They make out with their hands like they would a girl after a drive-by. 

I hoped I've cleared a few things up. Don't fear the kid asking for "crip" by the seven eleven wearing the LA Dodgers cap. Worry more about the man in star framed sunglasses asking for vagina wall acne while licking his arm hair. 

P.S. Your next door savior has hired the help of attorney William Falik. I hope you're shaking Officer Blizzard. 

Didn't Need That

Watching the scooter laid out on the sidewalk with the lights of a fire truck blinding me I thought to how this all started. All I had wanted were some s'mores.

 I was criticizing how Leah refused to eat Hershy's chocolate at our 4th of July BBQ. This installed the desire of chocolate into Rachel as we stood in her kitchen. After she voiced this, Courtney set plans in motion for Rae and I to get all the necessary supplies to make s'mores. I would borrow Courtney's car but this vehicle was very alien to me. I couldn't figure out how to unlock the passenger side door, how to turn on the headlights or how to get the Stereo to stop playing SugarCult songs. After working a few of those kinks, we were ready to roll. 

I've always been a very cautious driver. Never been in an accident and never had gotten a ticket. I was stopped and ready to make a left turn out of the drive way. I looked to my right and saw only headlights in the distance. I was ready to proceed. Rachel pointed through the windshield and yelled "Motorcycle!" I couldn't process her amazement of a motorcycle until a scooter came swerving out of my way. The bike hit the grass and it's rider spilled out onto it. I thought about how I had just killed a man. What was the average sentence for manslaughter in Florida? 19.1 years? That's a lot of rape. I actually considered driving off in my frozen state. I told Rae I didn't know what to do and she advised me to get out of the car. 

His name was Nelson and had delicious intent in mind as well as he left his important. He was going to grab something at Hungry Howie's before returning home to watch the season finale of the Real World: Hollywood. None of us would be making it back in time to see if Joey's cocaine habit had only intensified since leaving the house. A fire truck happened by to see if everyone was alright and called the cops. Nelson wanted a crash report to cover the scratches sustained to his scooter. 

The cop damn near took an hour and a half to arrive and write up his report. I was already vowing to never drive again. After all was said and done I received a citation for $144. I was written up for violation of right-of-way. Which is bullshit considering I didn't hit anyone and wasn't even considered at fault. Nelson apologized, had he known. I told him all was fine. These things happened to everyone and it happened to be my turn. The important thing was Courtney's car was okay. Had it been damaged I would've fled the scene, ditched the car and be writing this blog under the name Palmer Eldritch. 

All that was left was to decide whether to continue on to Wal-Mart for s'mores. Nelson encouraged us. This had started with Rae wanting chocolate and it was going to end with her getting it. Otherwise, I'd feel like I left the house to try and kill a guy and go home. We got the graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows and some Lemon Berry flavored Hawaiian Punch. We got home and enjoyed the most expensive s'mores I've ever had. Hear this, Officer Blizzard, I'm fighting this ticket. You will rue the day you wrote up your next door savior. 

Let's Make This Money

Hello, friends. It is I, your next door savior, Paul Brawl. There's too much storming about in my head and I've got to let it all out somehow. 

People are their own biggest danger. They go out on an everyday mission to mortally wound themselves and hope to take a few down with them. Thus why talking on a cell phone while driving is so popular these days. Did you know that there's a law in New York City against walking down the street with headphones on? Too many people were bopping down the lanes listening to Miley Cyrus and then getting smashed by newspaper trucks. Most laws are established to keep us from doing stupid shit to ourselves. 

Most recently the city of San Francisco is proposing a plan to make the Golden Gate Bridge less suicide acceptable. Too many people are throwing themselves off it after deciding that making human contact is a wash. The plan requires a 40 foot tall barrier that would make it impossible for people to leap off of and would also cost maybe $50 million. That's a huge insurance policy against self-loathing sociopaths. 

San Francisco should capitalize our their choice spot for the last straw. Offer these people a nice, relaxing spot to dwell in before they dive into oblivion. They can offer work shops for suicide letters, consult with a lawyer on who to leave their worldly possessions to, even a tailor so you're looking snazzy as you bite the dust. Imagine the restaurant industry. Every chef will up the ante trying to provide that great last meal. San Francisco, I know what you need. Give me a call and instead of throwing $50 million dollars at a barrier, we'll double that in profit and I'll finally afford that mink fur coat. 

That's all for today. I would like to thank my good friend Rachel Martin for making blogging stylish and getting me into it. Do yourself a favor and read her blog "On Becoming An Adult" at richweirdos.blogspot.com.