Tuesday, April 13, 2010

I'm Back, Gypsies!!!!

A few drinks, a long walk home, and a familiar button that says 'sign in' that I haven't pressed in just shy of two months. What does that mean? You guessed right, bitches, I'M BACK IN BUSINESS. And to think that I was about to fall asleep... fuck no! Even though my jammies are on (Thong and Def Leppard T-Shirt)... fuck no! Even though it's been 10 weeks... fuck no! I'm back with a vengeance (although the only things it seems I want to post are the words 'fuck no' between parentheses). Let's review our major bases before we jump into this shit: Parkham Horem's quite likely the devil incarnate, the gypsies are spreading in number and need to be controlled (spay and neuter your gypsies), and the dance commander is moi. Awesome review, prof, can we get into some shit now? DON'T QUESTION THE DANCE COMMANDER, WE'RE ABOUT TO GET INTO SOME HEAVY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!

I have nothing to discuss...

Monday, February 15, 2010

Watch this after my previous post, if you're so inclined to read either

Something did seem familiar when I watched the HTTM trailer over and over again, and then it came to me. John Cusack, 1986, Skiing! Perchance we will get another look at him careening downhill just like in his 1985 smash hit Better off Dead in which he has to race ski jock Roy Stalin down the dangerous K-12 on one ski in order to win back his girlfriend! Excitement, adventure, but no Craig Robinson. Check it out the trailer or this phenomenal clip.

Yes, another movie post

This is going to be awesome, although I expect that everyone has already seen the trailer. Just go to the part where Craig Robinson says, "It must be some sort of... hot tub time machine!" And repeat that at least a dozen times. Oh, and the tagline is "Get Tub'd." Awesome.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

A Team Trailer!!

This movie is going to be terrible. Period. But that Bradley Cooper sure does look good as a shirtless Templeton "Faceman" Peck. That said, I'll see you at the midnight premiere.


Happy Valentine's Day So Deal With It Motherfuckers!

It's February 14th, WHO WANTS TO FUCK THIS?

Well, it's that time of year again, and, living in the most romantic city in the world, it's hard to escape the passion that hits everyone on Valentine's day. As I galavanted through the Jardin des Plantes this afternoon (that's French for "Dwarf Sex Village") whilst being serenaded by a group of 12 melancholy gypsies each playing a ukelele, I happened upon this statue

of a man killing a bear with his bare (bear? hahaha) hands and was completely taken over by a powerful lust unlike anything I've ever felt before. Fortunately, I found myself in Paris' little people red light district so my sexual fervor was quickly assuaged for the right price in a way that can only be described by the commemorative photo that was sold to me for a reasonable price by a remarkably friendly madam. It wasn't a very productive Valentine's for me, but the emotions I've felt have been unique, I hope perchance I can experience them again while watching George Lopez as Alphonso in Valentine's Day, a movie written by a woman whose few other writing credits include The Prince and Me 2, 49 episodes of "Army Wives", and 1 phenomenal episode of "Xena: Warrior Princess."

Could this be the romance I've been looking for?

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I went to the store to get more...

Faster than the speed of dance!

I've recently been informed that I'm a phenomenal dancer, a dance god, if you will. Apparently people have been known to come to Paris in order to find themselves (see Lost Generation, etc. [booooring.]), but upon arriving, it seems that the dance fever discovered me. I am no longer Alex, friend, compatriot, veteran, philanthropist, nude barista, and ultraconservative lyrical poet. No. I'm the Dance Commander. With Michael Jackson's recent death on everyone's minds, few have realized that the "Dance Commander" position has now reopened, and it seems only fitting that I take the reins. So, public, I will be there for you. If there is a crowded room that really doesn't need one more obnoxious person throwing themselves around, I'll be there. If people are at a club and don't (oddly enough) want someone to beat on their heads while they sing invented lyrics to a song that is predominantly instrumental, I'll be there. If I feel like it, I'll be there, dancing to the people's chant of, "Dance Commander, We Love You!"

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Rolled in around 5:30 am and had a Mars ice cream bar. That shit's delicious. Just saying. But on my walk home, these pigeons kept coming up to me like people. That's not people, that's birds. These things don't fly, they just walk around shaking their heads erratically like they're my imaginary cousin Ray-Ray (you know, LaShawna's boy, Ray-Ray). Anyways, it's got me thinking about all these gypsies running around (file photos below),

Give me your coins, gringo, or I snatch your face!

and I think I've come to a fairly solid conclusion- they're cursing people and turning them into one of two things: flightless, human-like pigeons or babies. The pigeon thing seemed obvious at first, but the baby magic only just came to me. How brilliant an idea to take the avaricious, snobby, and obscenely wealthy members of contemporary french society (file photos below)

and turn them into money producing infants that you can use to your benefit. Perhaps this power adds a sense of relief for the gypsies as they walk down the street begging people for coins, jewels, etc. with their helpless, cursed aristocrat-children hanging off their chests getting glares from the subway patrons who are smart enough not to fall into their gypsy traps. My theory is based primarily off of a striking photo of a young Billy Dee Williams, but I feel that better arguments have been made off of worse premises, so I'll stick to what I've got for now.

It looks so harmless, but that baby used to be the CEO of Vodaphone