Dear Bill,

Your blog is about as screwed up as the gulf coast right now. IÂ’m talking about this blog. I say that because you also have a blog rotting on the vine here, and another one someplace else where you sell fake diplomas.

I donÂ’t know what youÂ’ve done to the comments on this blog, the one youÂ’re trying to use, but they donÂ’t work. And letÂ’s face it, without comments youÂ’ve got nothing. That target rich environment you call a blog requires comments, lest we have no way to abuse you.

You have a perfectly serviceable munu blog, but itÂ’s been abandoned in favor of that latest blogspot debacle. I suspect you forgot your password and not knowing what else to do, you simply fled into the night, embarrassed and unnoticed.

I offer no remarks on your diploma blog.

You could install comments from haloscan on your current blog. Even you could probably do that unassisted. This would enable me to leave nasty comments and help pass the day. Or you could walk back down the road to your old munu blog, by having Pixy shoot the lock off.

I have been forced to post this here because you didnÂ’t have the decency or the intelligence to leave an email addy on any of your fucked up blogs.

Please take some sort of action immediately.

I apologize to the public at large for having to address this completely FUBAR situation out here in the front yard.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:26 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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IÂ’m not sure when I got on the bus. Probably five years ago, give or take. The past all clumps together for me like a long ribbon thatÂ’s balled up in a drawer. I couldnÂ’t tell you if I boarded the bus under my own free will or if I was pushed. But here I sit and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

This is how I see life much of the time; through the bus window. It is how time passes. IÂ’m removed from the actual experience. IÂ’m no longer a participant. My emotions are compressed, no great highs or lows. I simply watch as the bus drives along, never fast or slow, and never changing speeds.

I can clearly remember a time before the bus. When I actually lived life. When I had a burning need to go out, talk to people, socialize. I can clearly remember living my life to its fullest. Sometimes I can clearly remember the tiniest detail of an event. And how I felt. Alive. Vibrant. Bigger than life itself. I was once a character from every novel ever written. I could feel someone turning the pages, watching, completely engrossed in my story—just as I was. For the most part now, I can’t be bothered. I suspect I’ve been hypnotized by life. Keep your eyes on the watch…you’re getting sleepy...sleepy.

Mind you IÂ’m not walking around with my eyes glazed over, slow and weary. IÂ’ve got a spring in my step. I like a good laugh. IÂ’m not depressed, on the contrary, IÂ’m upbeat and IÂ’m usually in a pretty good mood. And IÂ’m not always on the bus.

Often IÂ’ll find myself on terra firma, walking around like a normal person. It usually happens when IÂ’m getting laid, or laughing. A lot of times IÂ’m thrown from the bus by a random asshole that has run a shopping cart up the back of my foot in the cereal aisle. Or honked his horn at me for not making a right on red where it is clearly posted No right turn on red. I suspect these fuckers are the ones who opened the bus door for me in the first place.

I went through a McDonaldÂ’s drive-through yesterday at the insistence of the kid. And though there was only one vehicle in line in front of me the episode took twenty-five minutes. Two assholes in a Mercedes 600 felt the need to order a shitload of cheeseburgers all custom made. I could hear them ordering because they were screaming.

“No onions on two of them, and one with no ketchup. Now, on the quarter pounders…”

As they pulled up to the next window they were too far away and had to back up not once but twice, so that they could continue the transaction. Then they started unwrapping all of the cheeseburgers to make sure that each was just right. It was a painful experience. I was not on the bus for this one. It was happening in real time. My wife reached over and squeezed my hand, knowing that I was reaching the point of confrontation.

Eventually we got our shit and got back on the road. And once again I boarded the bus and took my seat.

A little farther from the door this time.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:19 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Remember the old joke about a woman going on vacation and leaving her cat with her brother? The cat gets hit by a car and when the woman returns a week later the brother says, “Your cat’s dead, he was hit by a car.”

The woman goes ballistic.

“Puffy’s dead? How could just blurt it out like that? You should have called one day and said that Puffy was on the roof and you couldn’t get her down. The next day you could have called and said that Puffy was still stuck and things looked bleak. A few calls like that would have prepared me for this! It wouldn’t be such a shock!”

Then the brother says, “I’m really sorry. By the way, Grandma’s on the roof and we can’t get her down.”

Well, think about that when you read this. IÂ’m fucking speechless.

Via On the Patio

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:45 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I'm a better commenter than I am a blogger. Sometimes When I sit down to blog, I'm like - what the fuck? I don't even know what I'm doing here! I think I lack a little basic creativity. The mental inertia to get the ball moving. But when I'm commenting, the hurdle is removed. They set 'em up, I knock 'em down. I mean, if you ask me anyways. I'm sure Jen thinks I'm a fratastic loser and Goldstein probably can't even tell the difference between me and the rest of the freaks cruising his place. But I know. And that's all that matters!

Posted by: shank at 10:22 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I got caught taking the garbage out in my underwear again yesterday. This time the old lady across the street stood staring while I pretended I wasnÂ’t walking around outside in my briefs. I could tell she was thinking about confronting me because at one point she took a few steps forward, hesitated and then back-peddled when I waved at her. She did not return my greeting.

ThatÂ’s the third incident in about that many months with regards to the garbage. I have no love of going out there in my underwear, but sometimes it canÂ’t be helped. Like when I just woke up and I hear the goddamned garbage truck coming. If I take it out the night before some kind of feral beasts knock it over and then IÂ’ve got to clean it up.

The first time I got caught it was by the third world guy who lives caddy corner across the street. I don’t know where those people are from but they know no shame. He actually started a conversation with me about the common area landscaping. And while I’m standing there chatting on the sidewalk wearing only my Hane’s briefs, half the neighborhood starts coming outside to get newspapers, go to work or adjust their sprinkler heads. Cars were going by—the whole nine yards. By the time I extricated myself from the foreign guy I felt like a fucking idiot. He’s going on and on about tree trimming and every time someone came outside he’d call over to them and wave which was drawing more and more attention.

The first time was certainly the most embarrassing. It was just getting light outside and I sprinted with the single trash can held in front of me. I slammed it down on the curb and when I looked up I saw that everyone else had their recycling out as well. That meant two more trips and the garbage truck was only four houses away. With two cars in my driveway thereÂ’s not much room left in terms of width so I have to dart across the grass to the garage. I got the cans/bottles container out okay but the old hag across the way was now out putting letters in her mailbox. She looked genuinely shocked. And disturbed. I sprinted back to the garage, thinking fuck the paper and cardboard container, but the grass was wet from the sprinklers and I ended up falling and sliding. My underwear was soaking fucking wet.

At that point I was just pissed off. I calmly got up and got the third container and brought it out to the curb. The old lady and I were twenty feet apart. My underwear was soaking wet from the grass and had mud stains and everything. My legs were muddy, and I had bits of grass sticking to me. I had no hope left. I said, “Good morning.”

She just stared at me, unmoving. Unbelieving. Fortunately the garbage truck literally came between us, and as it stopped to pick up at my place I went back inside. As the garage door was closing I bent down to look underneath and she was still standing there in the same spot. A frozen figure frozen in time.

IÂ’m waiting for the HOA letter.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:05 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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While IÂ’m polishing up some posts I offer this:

Overheard in New York

IÂ’m pretty sure IÂ’m last to the party on this one, but if you check it out youÂ’ll find some real gems. ItÂ’s self explanatory.

Girl on cell: "Hey, how are you? My vagina is sore."
--34th & 3rd

Man on cell: "I can't wait for the naked pussy party."
--Employees Only, Hudson Street

Girl on cell: "Yeah, I think it's a yeast infection...yeah...itching. It's been like a week, though...I'm not going to a gynecologist...I had a bad experience once. I don't know how much longer I can take it, though."
--6th Avenue & 8th Street

Man: "...and then she's gon' ask me, "How was church?" I'm like, get the fuck outta here. How many times have I asked her to go to Goddamn church with me? Every fuckin' Sunday, I ask that bitch to go to Goddamn church with me. Never! Not once has she come with me, now she wants to ask me, "How was fuckin' church?".
--Sephora, 19th & 5th

Dude on cell:" ...so I picked it up and there was, like, some brown stuff on it that I thought was, like, dirt. So I went to brush it off with my hand...but dude, it, like, wasn't dirt...no..."
--Penn Station

I love New York.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:43 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Sometimes I'll get a sudden debilitating flash memory. It's violent like a seizure, but obviously doesn't manifest itself physically other than me just completely zoning out. I don't know what triggers them. It's not usually something that I see or encounter that reminds me and takes me back. More often than not, it like cruising along down the freeway, barely paying attention to the road, and then this giant wall drops out of the sky two feet from your bumper.

I almost rather they arise from something that's in front of me, rather than some nerve ending that's still living back in '98 firing off this memory that lays seige upon my train of thought. Personally, I find it a little distracting when I'm paying attention to something at work, and then a second later I'm in my old apartment humping some coed so hard that the mattress slides off the frame. Sometimes they're funny fond memories like that, and if I can I'll spend a few minutes wallowing in them like a Sunday morning. But almost as often, they take me back to scary or dark moments.

I guess when it happens at work or in the middle of something, I can usually brush them aside. The worst is when I'm at home cooking or reading and something really disturbing lodges itself in the forefront of my mind. It's kind of like my life is on Calico Vision and some fucker with A.D.D. just pushed the lever. CLICK and I'm plopped down in the middle of some fucked up situation from years ago. Since I'm alone, I have nothing to distract me from it, and I am forced to evaluate it. Why? How? What does it say about me?

A lot of people say you shouldn't relive your past. That doing so somehow means your life now isn't as good as it was, and that's a reflection on you; specifically what a big loser you are. But what if you think you're life's better than it was? I mean, if you don't have a memory of what it used to be, what the hell do you have to be happy about?

I used to be one of those people who said they'd lived their lives without any regret. Then I realized I was just bullshitting myself. If you don't suffer regret, at least momentarily, then you're saying you've never fucked up. Never lost anything of your own fault. And those same people will defend their argument by saying in the end they don't regret making those mistakes, because they learned from them and now bear no regret. Bullshit. The fact that you fucked up once doesn't disappear, the consequences don't flitter away like dandelion pollen on a warm breeze bitch; just because there was a happy ending to that very special episode in this sitcom you've set up for yourself. If you look hard enough, the regret is there, because that's what keeps you from ever making that same mistake again.

Posted by: Id at 07:25 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Last week my wife forgot to turn her cell phone off and the damned thing started ringing about 4:00 AM. I got up, turned it off and went back to sleep. It could only be a wrong number.

I forgot all about until the next day when my wife insisted that I listen to two messages left by the caller. She was giddy with excitement. She hit the switch and then came the voice. It was a woman who sounded exactly like Wanda Sykes, except it was no joke. Regardless, it was arguably the funniest thing IÂ’ve ever heard. She was pissed and it went like this:

“I don’t know where you is, but I hope it was worth it. I’m tired of y’all leaving them kids with any mother-fuckin-body who’ll take them. You left the door to my house unlocked and somebody coulda’ come and steal my kids. I don’t know how many niggers you fuckin, but I seen that last bitch. And now you done gone too far. Now Curly-Pop is gonna find you and bust yo ass!”

Did I mention she was pissed?

I canÂ’t reproduce it accurately with words, and thatÂ’s where I need your help. If someone could tell me how to capture it into a file, youÂ’ll be treated to the real thing. IÂ’ve listened to these messages at least ten times and IÂ’m here to tell you, itÂ’s funny shit. Shit you just canÂ’t make up. So how do I save and post these gems?

I should mention that the actual calls are somewhat longer and a lot more profane.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:45 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Hi. My name is Paul. You might remember me from a blog called SanityÂ’s-Edge.

IÂ’ve decided to come out of retirement. My loathing of the masses in general is fairly unhealthy and needs an outlet. IÂ’ve also noticed a lack of quality blogging lately. WhatÂ’s happened to the scorn and disgust in the blogosphere? Wherever I look I see cats and quizzes. And thatÂ’s not fucking good enough. WhereÂ’s the humiliation? The honesty? The name calling?

I remember a blogosphere full of heroes, unafraid to write about shitting themselves in public. Honest folks who questioned the wisdom of conventional blogging and resorted to cheap tricks to get traffic. People like this butt-nut, whoÂ’s every embarrassing bodily function became not only public knowledge, but a source of material for every wiseass with a blog.

IÂ’ve decided to park my ass here because I like the man. He doesnÂ’t pull any punches. I do regret, however, not checking the site meter before I signed the contract. WeÂ’ll have to do something about that. Ever noticed how somebody elseÂ’s house always looks good until you move and see all the flaws? You know, clean enough at first glance, but after you spend a few nights there you realize they never cleaned the baseboards or dusted the top of the fridge? What this place needs is a fresh coat of paint and some fucking blogroll tweaking. WeÂ’ll get to that soon enough, but first IÂ’ve got a backlog of posts and some name calling to do.

Welcome me the fuck back.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:19 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
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1 Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only, Paul. And in defense of my seemingly shitty stats, mind you that sitemeter's only a few months old, and it doesn't reflect the fact that I ditched my old site without telling very many people where I was moving to. It also doesn't account for taste, the lowbrow bastard.

Posted by: shank at August 22, 2005 09:28 AM (+H1yK)

2 Well, I've never posted anything about a cat except this: http://rocketjones.mu.nu/archives/011480.php Other than that, I'm an upbeat guy. So with a big ol' smile, I say: Fuck you. 'sides, I'd rather leave my trashy shit in other people's comments, it keeps the ol' home base clean don'tcha know.

Posted by: Ted at August 22, 2005 09:58 AM (blNMI)

3 Welcome the FUCK back, Paul! I would talk about shitting myself but I won't get an asshole til I get married....OUCH!

Posted by: De at August 22, 2005 04:08 PM (IdVP4)

4 And my heart goes... flutter, flutter. Happy to see your return!

Posted by: Jackie at August 22, 2005 08:57 PM (eHSsi)

5 Well well well look what the shank dragged in. Shitterously though, welcome back man. I would have had you join my blog but ... you now.. and the .. yeah.. those things. um. Welcome back.

Posted by: Oorgo at August 23, 2005 03:58 AM (1JIkb)

6 It's good to be back! Thanks, all.

Posted by: Paul at August 23, 2005 07:49 AM (vbP6L)

7 Paul's back one day and Munuviana crashes. Coincidence? I think not.

Posted by: Jim at August 23, 2005 06:45 PM (oqu5j)

8 Actually, I told Paul I had some grade A pr0n laying around, but the directory was too big to email. So I uploaded it all onto our site, and he tried to dowload it all at once. The greedy, sticky-palmed wacko.

Posted by: shank at August 23, 2005 07:48 PM (jfEhX)

9 Who are you?

Posted by: Victor at August 24, 2005 02:30 PM (L3qPK)

10 Welcome the fuck back, Jack! Er. . .Paul. I expect to see some humiliation and some name-calling by 9:00 p.m. every day. Yeah, I know. I meant on this blog. Let's leave my house outta this.

Posted by: Margi at August 24, 2005 02:59 PM (nwEQH)

11 Thank God someone has brought back vile, vindictiveness and vice back to blogging. Shame it has to be Paul that does it.

Posted by: Simon at August 24, 2005 05:15 PM (cxbPQ)

12 Who the heck gave Paul a blog? Oh... Yeah. Hey, welcome back!

Posted by: Pixy Misa at August 25, 2005 01:19 AM (RbYVY)

13 I'm gettin the warm fuzzies. Unfortunately, I suppose I'm expected to actually produce something...

Posted by: Paul at August 25, 2005 08:04 AM (vbP6L)

14 Well hell. Here I thought we were SUPPOSED to be all "touchy-feely" and P.C. in our blogging. Who knew?! Guess I better start getting my act together.

Posted by: Koolaid at August 25, 2005 01:11 PM (nwEQH)

15 I just want to put a note on this. Paul seems to be missed, but why? Everyone has shit themselves. We were all babies at some point so yes, we shit ourselves. What is so special about that? In the 2nd paragraph of your return, you write about heroes talk about shitting themselves I ask you..who hasn't shit themselves in public?

Posted by: Firstfreak at August 28, 2005 12:23 AM (ApN8O)

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So the weather was gorgeous today. Highs in the mid nineties, sunny, a nice 2 to 3 foot easterly swell rolling in. So I blast out of work. I push a racing line through the parking lot, damn near taking a few slowpokes out at the knees. I blaze home taking corners at 30 or 40 mph, checking blindspots, working the clutch like a one-legged man on a unicycle. I slide up into the driveway, haul ass into the house and start changing clothes. I don't even get into my bathing suit and rash guard before the floodgates open. It's friggin pouring.

That's the thing about the southeast coast in the summer time. The air gets so humid, that if it didn't rain before 4:30 everyday we'd rowing home in rush hour instead of driving. It's that damn humid.

The good thing is that usually these storms blow over in about thirty minutes, and then I can hit the beach. I just fucking hate waiting.

Posted by: Id at 04:40 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Okay, I don't usually wash my hands after taking a leak. Mostly because I don't piss on them, but also because it's not like I'm going straight from the urinal tothe kitchen sounter to knead some dough. Anyways, I was just in the bathroom a few minutes ago, and there was another guy in there. We both finished about the same time, and he went for the sink to wash his hands. I didn't want him tot hink I was some kind of germy bastard, so I washed my hands too. He leaves, I get up to the sink and being rinsing and lathering my hands. Well, the sink in the bathroom is one of those gooseneck ones typically seen in a hospital setting. The water comes out in a definied stream. It hits my hands and I just get water all over the front of my pants. I mean, I'm looking down at my crotch laughing, becuase I have no other option. There's water droplets from my fly all the was to about mid calve, I look like I didn't even bother to unbutton my pants at the urinal. SO I grab some paper towels and I'm furiously rubbing away at my pants, hoping to get some of the water out. I'm terrified someone's going to walk in, so I figure it's well enough camoflauged after a few minutes, and head back tot eh office. I round the corner and look at the last 25 feet to my door. no one. Sweet. I walk briskly down the hall, just knowing that Dan or someone is going to catch me with piss all over my pants, I hit the doornob and don't even stop moving.

Which is why I walked square into Josie, one of the managers who was coming out of the doorway, causing her to literally throw her coffee in the air; creating this Barrettesque coffee rainstorm. At least I don't look like I pissed my pants anymore.

Posted by: Id at 05:39 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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One 4th generation Prelude, 4-wheel steering, I/H/E, JDM H22A engine, JDM tranny, many many extras. Only rolled once. $3,000 obo.

Met with some fellow Preluders this weekend and drove up into the NC mountains to drive a section of road known as the Tail of the Dragon. 11 miles, 318 turns, 1,000 feet of elevation change. It is by all accounts the penultimate driver's challenge available outside a race track.

As my buddy David here shows us, it is also the perfect spot to attempt difficult manuevers like the midair double barrel roll. Because of the lack of experience and care of some of the drivers that were with us, the car that Dave's put countless hours and dollars into is reduced to a pile of very nice, expensive car parts.

The other guy? Well, he was only worse because he didn't have any insurance at all. But because of some extenuating circumstances, the person who actually caused this wreck did not for some reason get a ticket. I'm not sure how he slipped through. If I hadn't been so happy that I didn't have to pick up David's various body parts and take them home to his momma in a fuckin' Hefty cinch sack, I would've jumped so far down his throat my Nike's would be sticking out his ass. As for the guy without insurance, Dave said the statey that handed out the tickets was chewing him out so bad his little brown statey hat almost shook off his little bald statey head. Cause an accident and you have no auto insurance. That's a whole 'nother entry.

Posted by: Id at 07:34 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Goddammit, if i get one more email at work from some farflung coworker, asking me to contribute to some cause, check out some dumbass cubicle humor, support some extracurricular bullshit, or buy a fucking candybar so help me God for their kid's fundraiser, I'm going to lay waste upon the landscape with a firestorm of ash and brimstone.

And don't even think about getting your nannystate biodegradeable panties in a twist about me voicing my opinions; I'm only equally invading your life as you have done mine. If you're going to hoist your pathetic personal life on thousands of people you don't know by clicking the 'Send' button on that network-wide email, you better be prepared from some honest reponses. That's fucking garbage email and I'm not going to accept the fact that you're allowed to fill my inbox with pleas to come check out the play you wrote or give to your local chapter of the Coalition to Save the Three Legged Lama's. Fucking post a flyer in the lounge, so that if I choose to ignore it, I don't have to expend the effort to delete it from my inbox. I don't have time for this shit at work, and if you do then maybe we should consolidate your position under an existing one; and you can pursue your frickin' beat poetry career with gusto, instead of sending out invites via my personal workspace.

Bitch.

Posted by: Id at 07:36 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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