Drink Along With Brian Shuey!

2008 Recap!

2009-01-01T14:25:00.000-06:00

JANUARY: Accidentally contracted progressive inflammatory neuropathy from inhaling aerosolized pig brains while working in a slaughterhouse in southern Minnesota. Was cured by one of my Somali coworkers who applied a poultice of dried khat and the menses of a blind, uncircumcised virgin. At least he said I was cured. Come to think of it…

FEBRUARY: Celebrated the unofficially semi-official resignation of Fidel Castro by getting completely shit-faced with a bunch of Mexicans. It turns out what they were celebrating was a tie between the U.S. and Mexican national teams in a cup qualifier. And since it was a tie they weren't so much celebrating as getting a yanque loaded and leaving him passed out in a pile of snow.

MARCH: Fought a midget over a pack of cherry Twizzlers. Lost the fight, but gained a friend.

APRIL: Sleepy

MAY: Drove a lot. Cut my underpants off with a dull knife in the bathroom of The Middle East in Boston. Got a manicure in Harvard Square. Walked around Manhattan with a semi-permanent erection. Rediscovered what low-grade racist shit heads the citizens of Philadelphia are. Made a fool of myself in front of my parents in Baltimore. Ate good seafood.

JUNE: George Carlin died on the 22nd of this month. Nothing of equal consequence occurred to myself or anyone else on the planet Earth.

JULY: Traveled to Sydney to celebrate World Youth Day with Pope Benedict XVI. After dozens of hits of amyl nitrate the pontiff admitted that thanks to him the famed missing Nazi gold was in the Vatican's possession and was being used to settle the many priest sexual abuse lawsuits. I threatened to call Leonard Nimoy. Then he bad-touched me.

AUGUST: XXIXIIIVXC Summer Olympiad in Beijing. (Skipped IOC-mandated course on Roman numerals.) Took Silver in team Fencing. Thought I caught SARS. Turned out it was the effects of smoking too many counterfeit Marlboros. Should have realized this, as "Marlboro" is rarely spelled with multiple "Qs" Stopped at the border as I attempted to leave the country with a child-bride. "Child-bride" was in fact 42-years-old. It was her adult children who filed the complaint. All-around bad trip.

SEPTEMBER: Spent the 7th Anniversary of 9/11 in Crawford, TX doing blow with George W. Bush. Learned the true meaning of "clearing brush" from a few of daughter Jenna's sorority sisters. Bonged a shit-ton of Lone Star. Was ritually hunted by Ted Nugent. All-around good trip.

OCTOBER: Discovered the joy of pressing autumn leaves into scrapbooks! Also, discovered a massive leak in my trucks exhaust system. My physician thinks the two may be related.

NOVEMBER: Finally became old enough to be elected President. Was not, however, elected President. They gave it to some other guy.

DECEMBER: In light of my failure to be elected President I decided to abandon democratic ideals altogether. Traveled to the Channel Island of Sark in an effort to prop-up the last remaining feudal system in Europe. Disappointed to discover there were no knights on horseback there, as I had arrived dressed as a knight on horseback. Did see one guy with a silver shirt and a cricket helmet driving a golf cart. I challenged him to a tournament and was promptly arrested. Decided the islanders of Sark deserved democracy-- and all its attendant indignities. Flew home sans horse to discover there was no beer in my fridge. One last trip to the liquor store as the year fades into memory.

(have a nice New Year)
BDS 12.31.
08

My Letter to Joaquin Phoenix

2009-01-01T14:23:00.000-06:00

(From November 6, 2008)

Dear Mr. Phoenix,

I am writing with regard to your recent decision to forgo acting in films to concentrate on a career in music. Good for you!

You have referred to music as, "greener pastures" and you couldn't be more right.

In light of that I would like to tender a modest proposal. I have been playing music for going on twenty years, and if you would care to I thought we could just "switch" jobs.

I could move to your big, expensive Manhattan "apartment," and you could come to Minneapolis and live in my tiny little box of a place.

I could be paid outrageous sums of money to squint, bob my head around the way you do and recite heartfelt words written by someone else. You could work my day job and while you're at it, try to pay off all my debts.

I could have sex with gorgeous actresses and you could have sex with no one.

Sound good, buddy?

I'll get in touch with your people and make all the necessary arrangements. You just sit down with your guitar and get to work on some songs! After all, as you said, "…so I'm just going to try and like, I'll just be doing the other thing… Hopefully, I will emotionally impact you with that, as well."

Wow! With a degree of commitment like that, how could you fail?

Hope to see you soon, you fucking shithead!

Sincerely,

Brian David Shuey
Minneapolis, MN

P.S. You were awesome in Space Camp.

YES, I VOTED. BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I LIKED IT.

2009-01-01T14:22:00.000-06:00

(From November 4, 2008)

I certainly don't mind standing in line for two hours. That is no hardship, to be sure. Especially given what people in other countries have to go through to cast a vote.

What was discouraging was standing in line for two hours listening to the young couple behind me discuss for whom and why they were casting their ballots. I wish I were paraphrasing their comments. Sadly, I am not:

HER: "McCain's the only one who cares about our troops who are fighting our war."

HIM: "Yeah, but he's all old an' shit. I'm voting for the other one."

Of the three of us, I'm pretty sure the order of the cosmos would have been better served had at least ONE of us skipped the whole process and spent the afternoon watching game shows and huffing glue.

You would think I mean one of them, but I am not so sure it shouldn't have been ME.

And that's the thought that will keep me awake tonight.

Sarah Palin Visits My Alma Mater

2009-01-01T14:21:00.000-06:00

(From October 29, 2008)

Governor Sarah Palin was in my home state yesterday, and she even graced my alma mater.

Speaking at The Luhrs Performing Arts Center at Shippensburg University she said, I assume between winks and "Aw, shuckses"*:

"We will balance the federal budget within our first term."

Really? Not unless you plan on withdrawing U.S. troops from Iraq on DAY ONE of that term-- and then as those troops return home have them stop at every house they see to look for shit they can bring back here and pawn.

"We're going to help our students afford college."

Really? Unless of course they are Iraq War vets who want to go to college on a new GI Bill, which McCain voted against.

"We'll clean up the corruption on Wall Street."

Really? You'll notice that the Treasury department has started doling-out some of the $700 billion in bailout money McCain voted for. Just how much is going to which companies (Price Waterhouse, Ernst & Young, etc.) has been REDACTED from documents released to the public.

"Your government should do more for you."

I'm sorry lady, what party do you belong to again?

"So Pennsylvania, will you hire us? Will you send us to Washington?"

Make me proud, Keystoners! Show these clowns that REAL America doesn't want them any more than those of us living in FAKE America.

BDS

*Have you noticed that Sarah Palin sounds like an out-state Minnesotan who's been hit in the head repeatedly with a brick? Would someone please give this woman a daytime talk show and be done with it!

For your amusement...

2008-08-21T11:51:00.000-05:00

(From August 20, 2008)

I have translated the Oscar Meyer Wiener song into German:

Ich wünsche, daß ich war ein Oscar Meyer Wiener,

Das ist, was ich wirklich sein wünsche,

Für, wenn ich war ein Oscar Meyer Wiener,

Jeder würde in der Liebe mit mir sein!

Give it a try! It is surprisingly fun to sing-- and far less menacing than Deutcheland Uber Alles!

Another monent of quiet desperation

2008-08-21T11:49:00.000-05:00

(From August 7, 2008)

So in the process of checking my email I noticed the following link: "Betty White Defends Golden Girls."

"The Golden Girls are UNDER ATTACK?" I thought.

"For what?"

The story indicated that the three remaining Golden Girls with functioning cardio-vascular systems were being called out for not attending Estelle Getty's funeral.

"Oh." I thought. "That's not such a big deal."

But before I knew it I found myself reading the COMMENT THREAD that accompanied the article.

I was a good twenty comments in before I had even realized I was doing it.

So here I was reading with no small amount of interest the opinions of anonymous strangers on a non-subject that one minute earlier I had been completely unaware of.

Is this of how little value my time and attention have become?

The internet is a dark, lonely, insidious kind of hell.

BDS

P.S. Speaking of old people, anyone else getting a bad Ross Perot smell coming off this T. Boone Pickens clown?

I swear to you, he is not to be trusted. I expect great evil from him in the future.

Just watch the cars go by.

2008-08-21T11:47:00.000-05:00

(From July 31, 2008)

So I'm having a cigarette outside the bar. That's where you have to have them now.

There is a couple sitting a few feet away from me. They are on a date. Don't ask me how I know. I'm an adult. That's how I know.

The guy speaks loudly and animatedly on his cell phone. He has slid his chair back and slouches ever-so casually in it. He is wearing distressed jeans, a rumpled white linen shirt and a black-and-white terry-cloth headband. On his left arm (and ONLY his left arm) almost to his elbow is a matching wrist band. I am certain that this is an extremely hip way of dressing somewhere. I don't know where that might be and I hope I'm never forced by either chance or cruel circumstance to go there.

The woman across from him sits stirring her drink. Not drinking it. No longer shooting impatient glances his way. She pokes it with her finger. She rolls it around in a circular motion on its base until a little spills out. She has put on a nice dress for this. She spent no small amount of time picking out her earrings. She isn't my type, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate that she put a little effort into herself tonight. And for the account of this dickbag.

What do I mean by "my type?"

For starters, my type would have left the minute he answered his phone.

If she would only stand up! If she would only stand up, grab his fucking iPhone and hurl it into the street! Down her drink! Better yet, down HIS drink! Kick him in the shin! Call him a cocksucker and get into the cab that has been idling on the corner waiting for fuck-knows-who for the last ten minutes.That I would cheer like a kid at a baseball game!

As the moments pass my sympathy for her turns to mild contempt. Not equal to what I feel for him, mind you. Just a, "Well, you're a grown woman for fucks-sake. If you're going to go along with this then who's the real clown in the pair?"

I should just watch the cars go by. Better that way.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MINNEAPOLIS ROOFERS

2008-07-17T15:41:00.000-05:00

(From June 25, 2008)

Gentlemen,

I would first like to thank you for all the hard work you do. It is truly indispensable. As the impresario Sol Hurok once said, "The sky's the limit if you have a roof over your head." (Of course he was a Russian Jew, and as everyone knows they don't often repair roofs so much as fiddle on them.)

My respect for your craft not withstanding, may I offer a few hints that will no doubt improve your work experience and the experience of those around you:

1) KQRS is not the only radio station in Minneapolis. While I'm sure my Vietnamese, Mexican and Somali neighbors love Led Zeppelin as much as red-blooded American workingmen maybe give them a little KFAI once and awhile. Also, I think the computer program KQ uses to select its playlist is faulting. How else can one explain playing Wang Chung's "Dancehall Days" and AC/DC's "Back in Black" in succession. No human being or properly functioning robot would do this.

2) You shouldn't drink so much beer while roofing. I say this not out of concern for your safety, but because it tends to make you MUCH LOUDER.

3) Despite what you may have heard about the virtue of the ladies in my neighborhood, few of them will respond favorably to, "Yeah, bitch! That's the fucking stuff!" shouted from three floors up. Might I suggest flowers?

4) If your man-titties are larger than a B-cup, put your Jeff Gordon t-shirt back on.

Best wishes,

Brian David Shuey

P.S. I'd like to thank you for not hooting, barking or whistling at me when I was in the shower this morning. That showed real class.

THINGS PEOPLE TELL YOU ON THE STREET

2008-07-17T15:40:00.000-05:00

(From June 4, 2008)

So I'm standing on the corner of 26th and Nicollet. This guy approaches and asks for a light. I oblige. And then he begins his story....

"So my little girl. Five months old, she's gonna die."

"What?"

"Yeah, she needs a kidney or she's gonna die. And I can't give it to her."

"Well, have they 'typed' you yet?"

"Naw. I just can't give it to her. You know?"

"Well..." (I paused. I had nearly asked a total stranger on the street if he had hepatitis... or worse.)

Naw, I can't give it to her. And her mom's parents say let it die, because it's black."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"Naw, because we're not married, I can't do nothing."

"Well..."

"And I don't think I can marry her. I just don't love her like that, you know?"

"Umm..."

"I just don't love her like that...I just don't love her like that...I just don't love..."

He repeated the phrase over and over again as I walked away.

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF MR. SHUEY PT.1: TOOTH DECAY

2008-07-17T15:36:00.000-05:00

(From May 28, 2008)

So it seems I may have a cavity. (In one of my teeth, that is.) Specifically tooth number 19. That is the first molar on the left side of the mandible. For those who don't know their teeth numbers.

This would be my FIRST cavity. Ever. In either my adult or primary/deciduous teeth.

And I am not happy about it.

For years I have smugly bragged about having avoided tooth decay for the whole of my life. Blessed with few physical gifts—save disarming good looks and a whip-smart intellect—my record of perfect dental hygiene was a selling point in the never-ending struggle to breed and produce offspring. Had I not been told at an early age that my enamel was the strongest ever encountered? So strong it would dull the mightiest dental implements. All this time I have been regaling potential mates with tales of my periodontal prowess—and how it would benefit our children in tough times ahead.

The way I saw it, in the post-apocalyptic nightmare world left over after China annihilates all remnants of North American civilization what attributes could be better suited to survival than a large brain, a short compact frame and a set of strong, sharp teeth?

Being too tall would put one at a disadvantage, as zoo-raised African predators and packs of vicious wild dogs scoured the short prairie grass in search of prey. My progeny could survive and even thrive by remaining unseen and scavenging carrion, breaking open the bones with their mighty teeth and feasting on the protein rich marrow.

In a few thousand years they would be poised to take their rightful place at the apex of a neo-Neolithic hunter/gatherer culture.

This was my theory, anyway.

But it will all be for naught should this toothache prove to be an actual breach in the structural integrity of my one remaining unassailable physical attribute.

I have a date with the X-ray machine in one week. I shall keep you all informed.

OH NO! I'M CAUGHT IN ANOTHER SEX SCANDEL

2008-04-21T12:25:00.000-05:00

(From March 13, 2008)

So it’s happened again.

I was just trying to make a little extra money-- moonlighting as a receptionist at THE EMPEROR’S CLUB-- and whom should I end up talking to? Now former New York governor Eliot Spitzer. Here’s the transcript of our conversation, currently sealed by the Feds.

(Don’t tell them I shared it with you.)

BDS

Client 9: "Hello, I’m calling about ’Kristen.’"

Me: "Oh yes, the brunette. Yeah, she’s dishy."

Client 9: "I know she’s ’dishy.!’ I don’t need your goddamned opinion on the matter. Just set it up."

Me: "Okay. No need to get in a huff. Just making conversation."

Client 9: "I didn’t call here to talk to you, you fucking insect. I’m a busy man. Let’s just get this done."

Me: "Very well. When did you want to see her?"

Client 9: "This Thursday. I need her to be in D.C. by eight o’clock."

Me: "This Thursday? So, quite the romantic I see."

Client 9: "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Me: "Well, Thursday is Valentine’s Day. I just think its kind of sweet that..."

Client 9: "Sweet? I’m paying for pussy you imbecile! There’s nothing sweet about it. If I were sweet I’d be spending the night with my wife."

Me: "Yes, I see your point. So, Thursday in Washington. Will you be arranging transportation?"

Client 9: "Yes, I’ll have a car there by 2 PM."

Me: "Sir, I suppose I should point out that by transporting ’Kristen’ from New York State to the District of Columbia and, well, for the purposes under which you intend to employ her, you will likely be violating the Mann..."

Client 9: "I don’t need a lecture on the fucking Mann Act! I was A-G for the entire state of... Wait, forget that last part."

Me: "Forget what part, Prince Charming?"

Client 9: "Listen, if anyone asks, I’m Rudy Giuliani."

Me: "Whatever you say, sir. Now how would you like to pay?"

Client 9: "Same as always, I’ll wire the four thousand to your account."

Me: "I’m sorry sir, but an hour of ’Kristen’s’ time bills-out at five thousand."

Client 9: "Five thousand! Fuck you!"

Me: "So you really want to do this? Try to haggle with me over the price?"

Client 9: "Listen you turd, I didn’t get where I am by taking the first thing that’s offered. Last time we met-up I could still smell the Saudi on her. I want a price cut. Forty-three hundred tops."

Me: "Very well, sir. Forty-three it is. (Quietly) Something tells me she’s going to be able to spin your little encounters into quite a lot more-- and soon, too."

Client 9: "What was that?"

Me: "Oh nothing, sir. ’Kristen’ will be waiting at the usual pick-up spot. Have a safe and pleasant Valentine’s Day."

HOLSTER THAT CASH CARD, TWINKLE-TOES

2008-04-21T12:24:00.000-05:00

(From March 9, 2008)

So all I want is a refill on my coffee. There are four people in line in front of me. Each pays for their sub-$5 purchase with a credit card. Adding about 2/12 minutes to my wait.

Fucking peckerheads.

This is happening more and more lately.

Are people honestly taking those, "Life Takes Visa" commercials to heart?

Maybe it's just the economy.

Either way, I want my fucking time back.

My time is, "PRICELESS."

(Where's my MASTERCARD commercial?)

Perhaps the U.S. Treasury should start doing commercials for CASH.

Here's one: "Cash. The people behind you in line will hate you less."

Or this: "Cash. So your wife's lawyer won't know what seedy hotel your banging your secretary in."

Just a thought.

ALEX AND STEVE AND ROCK AND ROLL

2008-04-21T12:23:00.001-05:00

(From February 21, 2008)

Steve: "Fuck dude, really?"

Alex: "Fuckin-A-Right, really!"

Steve: "Naw way, man."

Alex: "Totally for fucking real, dude! Heroin Sheiks, the Blind Shake and The Dynamiters."

Steve: "Who the fuck are The Dynamiters? Was any of them in The Cows?"

Alex: "No, but the one dude was in The Freedom Fighters."

Steve: "Aw, no way! I remember those dudes."

Alex: "And two of the other dudes were in The Selby Tigers"

Steve: "See, now they were kinda faggy."

Alex: "Dude, you just don't like feelings an shit."

Steve: "No, I just don't like dudes in little scarfs."

Alex: "Cause of how it makes you feel?"

Steve: "Fuck you, bitch!"

Alex: (blows kiss)

Steve: "Now the Blind Shake, they're awesome an shit. Did you know the one dude plays football, but is also all smart and shit?"

Alex: "I think they're all pretty smart."

Steve: "Yeah, but they don't ALL play football."

Alex: "Which one plays football?"

Steve: "I don't know, one of the brothers."

Alex: "I thought they were ALL brothers."

Steve: "Naw dude, the two dudes without hair are brothers."

Alex: "Yeah, that makes sense"

(long pause)

Steve: "We should smoke a little coke before the show."

Alex: "You got coke?"

Steve: "No."

Alex: "You got money for coke?"

Steve: "Not now, but fucking Friday is fucking pay day, dude!"

Alex: "Nice! We will smoke the shit out of some coke and head down to the T-Rock!"

Steve: "You gotta drive though, dude. I still haven't gotten my license back yet."

Alex: "Fucker!"

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 23

THE TRIPLE ROCK SOCIAL CLUB
629 CEDAR AVE S
MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55454
612.333.SEXY

HEROIN SHEIKS

THE BLIND SHAKE

THE DYNAMITERS

I mean, come on. Fuck, dude. Really.

BDS

FATTY GETS AN EXERCYCLE

2008-04-21T12:21:00.000-05:00

(From January 17, 2008)

So I bought an exercise bike the other day.

I don't know what's funnier? That I nearly had a heart attack carrying the 100-pound box up three flights of stairs?

Or that I took three cigarette breaks while I was assembling it?

I'll tell you something, though; you haven't REALLY watched Charlie Rose until you've done so while peddling 20 miles per hour with the really cheap seat of an exercise bike trying it's damnedest to "discover" your colon.

I will never look at the plight of the Palestinians quite the same way again.

BDS

P.S. Why an exercise bike? It was that or give-up beer. And since it's a time-tested combination of beer, Zoloft and reruns of M*A*S*H that prevent me from going on a three-state killing spree, I thought it was the way to go.

INTERNETTINGS

2008-04-21T12:20:00.000-05:00

(From December 30, 2007)

So my source for free wireless internet seems to have dried-up.

Maybe it was the witch.

Dig: A witch just moved out of my building.

How do I know? Because when people move out they leave free stuff for the remaining tenants on the first floor radiator. The other day there was a big pile of curious items that included lots of books on witchcraft and a neat little box emblazoned with a pentagram. Also, there was the entire collection of Peter Ellis' "Cadfael Mysteries" which I snatched up because I guess that if I ever bring a woman back to my apartment I want to make damn sure I don't accidentally get laid.

I mean, really. Why the hell else would I have grabbed them? I don't read mysteries. And let's face it ladies, if you went back to some guys place and among his other hundreds of books there was a two foot stack of paperback mysteries featuring a 12th Century Welsh Benedictine monk who solves murders in his spare time would you sleep with him?

Exactly.

(I gotta get rid of those books. )

So what was my point?

Oh yeah, the internet. Don't use it to get a hold of me. Use the phone like a normal person.

(Now I'm going downtown to Macy's to buy a pair of monogramed silk pajamas because goddamnit I'm worth it.)

BDS

A CHRISTMAS EVE STORY

2008-04-21T12:19:00.000-05:00

(From December 24, 2007)

So I guess I am the biggest jerk ever. I am also a "shithead," "cocksucker," "asshole," "jack-off," and a "motherfucker." (P.S.-- Don't tell my Dad about that last one.)

Here's the story: I just washed my truck, and decided to go to the Super America to get gas, put some air in my tires and use the ATM.

The one across Lyndale from the car wash was a zoo (they are ALL zoos today, I would later find out.)

So I went to the one on 25th and Hennepin. This one was also a clusterfuck. I wait patiently for a pump while witnessing all manner of idiocy by all manner of people. Finally, the last straw. Two woman in a tan Camry back into the pump in front of me. The driver shuts-off the engine and gets out, only to discover that her gas tank is on the other side of the car. Whoopsi!

I had had enough of stupid people for the day. When she pulls forward, I pull-in to take her place.

Was this a dick move? Yes it was, but it was a dick move with a purpose.

For this young woman to redirect her car back into the same space she would have had to make a "K"-turn of outrageous proportions. I calculated that at least 8 changes of gear would have been necessary. At one point she would have her rear-end out into oncoming traffic on Hennepin Ave, causing traffic there to have to briefly come to a halt in the middle of the block. With the roads being as they were, not exactly the safest proposition.

I know how these things go. I knew that even though she couldn't be bothered to know which side of the car her gas tank was on, IT WAS HER SPOT. And no matter how many people she inconvenienced or endangered in her attempts to turn her car around to get it back where she wanted it (and it was A LOT of people-- basically everyone in the goddamn place) doing what I did would make me the asshole.

I shut-off my engine and got out of my truck. I knew I was in for it. For a college girl she had quite a mouth on her. I will not list again the names I was called. I knew also that there was no point in explaining why I did what I did. I simply allowed her to express her indignation as I went about my business. Meanwhile-- as I was glared at and accused of all manner of sexual deviance and unsavory behavior-- the spot she should have chosen quickly became open and she could have been fuelling her car. But that would have made too much sense. (By the way, I knew that this other spot would soon be available, it had factored into my decision, but hey, when you're not a self-involved shit, you notice these things.)

I took care of my business and left. Before I did the young woman in question gave me her Christmas present, she hawked-up hard and spit on my hood. She was still without gas. And she still didn't realize the Christmas present I HAD GIVEN HER.

When she arrives at her family's home to enjoy a delicious dinner, she will no doubt recount her harrowing tale. All around will agree what a dick I was, as they will no doubt affirm that NONE AMONG THEM would ever do such a thing. Especially not on Christmas Eve Day!

Thus they will get to bask in the glow of their moral superiority. Then they will open all the expensive gifts they bought for each other and all will be well.

And in two days they can go back to being the selfish, right thinking Christian jerks they are the rest of the year. And I still get to be the asshole of the story.

You know what? Fuck Christmas. I've really had it with this nonsense.

THE WOMAN WHO LIVES DOWNSTAIRS FROM ME

2008-04-21T12:17:00.000-05:00

(From December 1, 2007)

The woman who lives downstairs from me sucks. And I'll tell you why.

Mostly, it's because she seems to have some kind of hyper-dramatic relationship with her boyfriend.

She's NEVER THERE. I mean almost never. My guess is that she is in a de-facto living situation with this shithead, and the only times she's actually in her apartment are when they are having a spat. On these occasions a very obvious pattern emerges. She comes home, slams her door, and can be heard screaming obscenities into her cellular telephone. The word "fuck" is used in ways it was never intended, and it makes me think that her parents probably wasted an outrageous amount of money on her alleged education.

The phone conversation stops and she starts playing "music."

I use quotation marks because, while I can't really tell what she's listening to, it's obvious the bands she favors are operating under the mistaken impression that the bass guitar is an appropriate melody instrument. Which it is not.

Listening to shitty music for an hour must be her catharsis, because that ends and another loud phone conversation begins. Five minutes of this, and the door slams and she's gone.

All is quiet now. She must have gone back to his place. Call me a lousy person, but I hope a murder/suicide pact is in their near future.

Dig: I have electric guitars, amplifiers, a CASIO CZ-1000 synthesizer, harmonicas, a Schylling hand organ and a potentially VERY LOUD stereo with hundreds of records. And I'll bet she's never heard much out of me.

That's because I understand apartment living.

Once again, the woman who lives downstairs from me sucks.

27 THINGS I WANT FOR MY 34TH BIRTHDAY

2008-04-21T12:15:00.000-05:00

(From November 20, 2007)

If you should be unable to obtain one or more of the following items I will accept your presence at GRUMPY'S downtown on Wednesday, November 21 after 10:00 PM as acceptable! BDS

Coupon for a free massage, bubble tea and hand finish from one of those shady massage parlors listed in the back of the City Pages

15th Century Venetian merchants costume (don't ask)

Atomic toothpaste

Rare photo of Geli Raubal pissing in Adolph Hitler's mouth (If unavailable, I will accept a photo of Hitler fellating Ernst Rohm)

Original draft of the Magna Carta stained with King John's tears

Israeli-made Merkava MK-4 Main Battle Tank

John the Baptist's shaving kit from the reliquary in the basement of The Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, Turin Italy

A 19-year-old Dutch girl to sit in my kitchen naked and roll cigarettes for me

Tommy John Ligament replacement surgery for my right elbow

A jewel-encrusted Dunhill cigarette case fit for a Saudi prince (and by "fit for" I mean so garishly expensive only a Saudi prince would own one) Try Harrods in London or maybe J.N. Barber, LTD.

Mint-Condition 1939 PLAY BALL Ted Williams card 92

A date with Kerry Howley

1921 First Edition of H.L. Mencken's book, "The American Language: An Inquiry Into the Development of English in the United States"

A NEW NAME FOR THE NEW BAND! PLEASE!

Dane Cook. Dead.

82-foot West Bay SonShip custom duel-station-raised-pilot-house motor yacht

A baby hippo (What? They're cute)

$15,000 ELP Laser Turntable

1944 North American P-51 Mustang with Rolls Royce Merlin engine and (6) operational .50 caliber machine guns

Flying lessons

One bottle of 50-year-old GLENFIDDICH Scotch in a hand made oak box with a brass plaque declaring how awesome I am

A Brazilian model with an "innie" belly button for me to drink outrageously expensive scotch out of

Solid gold shower and bath fixtures fit for an Enron executive

GUIDED BY VOICES to reform for one performance-- at my birthday party, of course!

FREEDOM FROM UNDERWEAR!

TWINS season tickets. Good ones.

A little "leg" would be nice

ASK MR. SHUEY NO.9: "SCARF WEATHER? ALREADY?"

2008-04-21T11:56:00.001-05:00

(From November 5, 2007)

Mr. Shuey,

How do you get your scarf back from some guy you don't really want to have to see again but really want the scarf (and no, we don't have any friends in common, I'm still new in this town.)

If you need more back story let me know, but I really do want this scarf back.

"Lady Chestington"

United Kingdom

How do I get my scarf back from some guy I don't really want to see again? I start by not sleeping with guys. That way I will never stumble out of their apartment, bleary-eyed at nine in the morning having left articles of clothing behind. (I don't want to imply you slept with this guy, but I'm getting that vibe.)

This is a situation that I'm sure many young adults have dealt with at one time or another. Here are a few tricks I've learned to avoid leaving things behind:

1) Use your shoes: Small items will fit nicely in them. Keys, wallets, jewelry and cell phones. Stuff your socks in after to keep things in place.

2) Carve out a spot for yourself: This can be hard in some people's apartments, but there is usually at least a few square feet of floor space not covered in junk. If this isn't the case, pile some of their shit on top of their other shit to make room for your stuff. This is not rude. Rude is having a guest over without first considering that that person will have to disrobe in order to have sex with you. And that this guest, having woken-up next to a total slob will want to gather her belongs and get the fuck out without tearing the place apart, making noise and inevitably waking up the slovenly host who will no doubt burp, yawn, scratch his nuts and say, "Fancy breakfast, love?"

3) Drink less.

And how do you get your scarf back?

You don't. At least not without seeing this schmoe again. You shouldn't try sneaking-in and retrieving it. Like most places, Breaking and Entering is a crime in England (See: s9 under the English THEFT ACT of 1968.) And since they've got all those nifty CCTV cameras around it's unlikely you'll get away with it.

So either take the loss of the scarf as a lesson learned, or suck it up and call the guy.

Good Luck,

Mr. Shuey

CHRISTIAN SINGLES TOO FREAKY FOR ME!

2008-04-21T11:53:00.000-05:00

(From October 22, 2007)

I'm done "mixing-it-up" on the Christian singles site, BigChurch.com I just don't have the stomach for it.

I thought I could mine it for some cheap laughs, but I forgot a lesson learned a long time ago-- there are no "cheap" laughs. Like junk food, they may satisfy you momentarily, but eventually guilt is bound to kick-in and you feel worse for the exercise.

For some time now I have been trying to get my head around the "New Christians" movement. (You know them here on MySpace as, "Christian-Other.") It appears they are allowed to drink, fuck, get high, listen to rock 'n' roll (if you can call it that) and so long as they continue to "Praise Him" all is well. Over and over again they suffer guilt and then the cleansing power of divine absolution.

Perhaps that is what my sex life is missing? (I mean, besides the "sex") Could it be that the self-flagellance these New Christians put themselves through with regard to normal, human sexuality imbues it with a weird vitality the rest of us are missing out on?

Could it be they are the modern world's true kinksters?

Or perhaps they are just completely fucked-up?

I'll let you be the judge. What follows are direct quotes from profile pages on BigChurch.com:

"Lover of GOD on fire for HIM desiring same in relationship"

"Let everything that has breath praise THE LORD"

"This is my coming"

"Christ is formed in me"

"Who will be my bone and my flesh?"

"ON FIRE FOR THE LORD!"

"I'm here for reall b'cos I have the fearness of God in my heart"

"To live is Christ, to die is gain"

"Just me enjoying HIM"

"You don't need confidence in yourself, you only need confidence in GOD"

And my personal favorite...

"Christian horselover"

My brief foray in to the world of Christian dating sites is now ended. I have little doubt these lonely women are in need of men. But in my opinion the men they need are not like-minded Christian singles, but rather psychiatrists or cult de-programmers.

JESUS LOVES TITTIES!

2008-04-21T11:44:00.000-05:00

(From October 11, 2007)

So I'm sure it's obvious by now that I have too much time on my hands. And as much as I love and cherish all of you, I find that most often it is necessary for me to AMUSE MYSELF.

Visiting "Christian Singles" sites is always good for a laugh. But today I decided to actually BECOME A MEMBER OF ONE! (BigChurch.com)

Here is how my profile reads:

I am the Dark Lord Satan. Cast into the pit for all eternity by the one you call God The Almighty (by the way, before you mortals came along, we just called him, "Frank.")

It's lonely here in the pit and well, to be honest it's "been awhile"-- if you get my drift.

Anyway I was just hoping to meet some cool Christian ladies who might be into stuff. You know, freak stuff. (Note: Think Linda Blair in, "The Exorcist.")

I thought I would have more luck at the Atheist Singles site, but they were all looking for someone they can have an intelligent conversation with. (Hey, if I wanted that I'd just talk to Nixon!)

Also, none of those atheist girls feature their breasts prominently in their profile pages. Where as you Christian girls, boy howdy! You can barely seem to keep the things under wraps!

So send me a message, and we'll party!

Yours,

Don't believe me?

Check it out. My username is: satan6969

I'll let you know if I get any interesting responses, but the fact is I think you have to pay 60 bucks to actually interact with any of these chaste brides of Christ, and I'm not willing to take the joke that far.

On an unrelated note, I have not been posting much lately, and that's unlikely to change anytime soon. I have been working on my book, and since it covers every subject in the known universe, it's going to take me awhile to finish. Oh, and I've started new band, more on that later.

BDS

A ONE ACT PLAY ABOUT GAY SPACE ALIENS

2008-04-21T11:42:00.001-05:00

(From September 13, 2007)

THE VOYAGER HAS LANDED

Brian David Shuey

SCENE:

P'Tang, a gay outer space alien is sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast. His boyfriend, Korg bursts in, clearly agitated.

KORG: (holding some smoldering, metallic debris) "Damn fucking space junk!"

P'TANG: "What is it? What's the matter?"

KORG: "This just landed in the back yard. It crushed my good bobo bush."

P'TANG: "Oh shoot, I was going to use bobos in the salad tonight! I've been bragging to Christopher and Stephen all week how good the bobos were this year. Now I'll have to use ones from the store. We should really call someone and complain."

KORG: "It won't do any good. This isn't a government satellite. Look at the writing"

P'TANG: (tries to read aloud) "V-O-Y-A-G-E-R. What is that? What do you think it means?"

KORG: "I think it's some kind of probe. It came with a shiny metal disc with some weird instructions engraved on it. Like a recording. I think we're supposed to play it."

P'TANG: "Oh, don't! What if it's a weapon or something?"

KORG: "No planet that produces shitty, backward-assed stuff like this is going to be able to send a weapon to another galaxy."

P'TANG: (inspecting the disc) "Ooh, I think I figured it out. You put this pointy thingy in the surface of the disc and spin it."

KORG: "I'm not fooling around with that. Just put it in the Nexophone."

P'TANG: "What makes you think the Nexophone will play it?"

KORG: "Look, I paid 600 xenars for that Nexophone, and the kid at the store told me it will play ANY format in the universe. It will even translate it."

P'TANG: "That kid at the store could have sold you anything! I remember how you were looking at him."

KORG: "Not now with that shit, P'Tang! Just play the thing."

(P'tang fusses with the Nexophone, annoyed, finally the disc begins playing)

FROM THE NEXOPHONE: "Greetings from Earth!" MESSAGE CONTINUES "Greetings from Earth." Nexophone continues to play the 44 different messages in 44 different Earth languages, translating all of them into, "Greetings from Earth."

KORG: "You gotta be fucking kidding me. My BEST bobo bush, just so these idiots could say, 'hello?"

P'TANG: "Ooh, there's more. There's pictures!"

(NEXOPHONE BEGINS SHOWING IMAGES OF EARTH)

KORG: "Oh, these really are a simple bunch of fucks! 'Look at us! Little pink and brown hair-less freaks who have mastered flight!'"

P'TANG: "Stop it! I think they're quaint. Charming, even."

KORG: (Points at screen) "Oh really? You think THAT'S charming?"

P'TANG: (Looks on at an image of a nursing mother) "Ewww! Oh no, what is it doing?"

KORG: "Apparently, their young eat the bulbous, fleshy bags hanging from the thorax of the adult females."

P'TANG: "Oh man, that's just fucking GROSS!"

KORG: "Quaint, indeed."

P'TANG: "Still, the PLANET looks nice. Sort of reminds me of Verillia 3."

KORG: "Verilla 3? Ha! Verillia 3 is a pleasure planet where young Verillian boys massage your…"

P'TANG: (interrupts) "Yes, I'm well aware of what you used to do before we met. I don't need a reminder."

KORG: (abruptly) "We should invade them!"

P'TANG: "What? It's just a bobo bush, get over it!"

KORG: "No, it's not about the bush. We should invade them on fucking principle alone!"

P'TANG: "What's gotten into you?"

KORG: "Look, they're like idiot children. They need to be taught a lesson. They send a probe out into the vastness of space, that says, "Hello, we're infantile little brats taking our first tentative steps beyond the confines of our own jerk-water planet (which, by the way, here are directions to should you care to visit.) We wanted to make sure anyone who finds this message knows how clever we think we are to have figured out how to calculate the circumference of a circle, but are for the most part just soft, pink, squishy, defenseless little creeps."

P'TANG: "And just where were you planning to get an inter-galactic ship for this 'invasion' of yours?"

KORG: "You said it yourself, Christopher and Stephen are coming to dinner tonight, we can use theirs."

P'TANG: "But I wanted to go to the lake after dinner!"

KORG: "Damn it! You can go to the lake any time!"

P'TANG: (sulking) "Well…"

KORG: "Well what?"

P'TANG: "I was just thinking that the metal the disc is made out of is kind of pretty. I could use it for the ankle bracelets I've been making. You know, the one's I was going to see if Christopher wanted to sell in his shop. If we invade this 'Earth' place I could bring loads of it back with us."

KORG: "You are seriously the gayest outer space alien ever."

END

ME AND SEN. CRAIG: THE BLOWJOB THAT NEVER WAS

2008-04-21T11:40:00.000-05:00

(From August 30, 2007)

As some of you may remember, I was inadvertently involved in the Mark Foley scandal last year. In the course of trying to interview the Florida Representative over the phone-- on what I considered to be substantive policy issues-- I was subjected to all manner of lascivious insinuations via instant messaging.

Well, now I find myself in the middle-- or the periphery, really --of the Larry Craig debacle. Two months ago, Senator Craig was charged with lewd conduct resulting from a "misunderstanding" that occurred in a men's room in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. (He plead guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct.)

What didn't make it into the police report was that prior to soliciting an undercover police officer, I had the misfortune of sharing the stall next to the distinguished gentleman from Idaho.

What follows is my best recollection of the incident:

At 1213 hours, I entered handicapped accessible stall in the restroom adjacent to the WORLD CLUBS on Concourse "C" (I find the bathroom nearest the WORLD CLUBS is often the cleanest in any given airport. And the handicapped stall, the roomiest.)

At 1214 hours I opened a copy of US MAGAZINE I had purchased at the newsstand and began reading a story about former "007" Pierce Brosnan's fondness for dog breeding and his favorite places to dine in Tuscany. Needless to say, I was quite enthralled and oblivious to much that was going on around me.

At 1215 hours I noticed a single shoe tapping rhythmically on MY SIDE of the stall. It was a well-shined Johnson & Murphy Emery Kiltie tasseled loafer in black calfskin. "Well, somebody's a real dandy!" I remember thinking. Then I thought, "Well, YOU'RE the one who properly identified the shoe, fruit-loop. What does that make YOU?"

The tapping continued, and I asked the person, "Are you trying to get my attention, or do you just have a song in your heart?"

The person then remarked, "Are you a bad boy? Are you a nasty, bad, naughty boy?"

"Do I know you, sir?" I asked.

"I don't know, do you ever watch C-SPAN?"

"I try not to." I replied.

"Why don't you come over here and see."

It was at this point that I heard another voice, "Airport Police. Please exit the stall, sir."

Recriminations and denials were exchanged. I tried to remain aloof and unnoticed until I heard Senator Craig say, "What do you think of THAT?"

At this point I thought he had whipped it out, and I'll admit to a certain amount of curiosity. After all, I've seen prick senators before, but never a senator's prick. I peeked blithely through the crack in the stall door. It turns out what he was showing-off was not his pride, but rather a business card identifying himself and his esteemed office. The undercover cop then discreetly extracted him from the restroom.

Oh well, another brush with infamy deftly evaded.

I casually went back to my reading.

Did you know Rosie O'Donnell likes pets more than she likes people?

BDS

THE FOLLOWING THINGS ARE TRUE

2008-04-21T11:38:00.000-05:00

(From August 25, 2007)

1) I am drunk, but only just a little.

2) I have exactly as much chest hair as I want. No more, no less.

3) The best thing about playing music is the people you meet along the way. I got to see the kids in LADYFINGER and THE RED-EYED LEGENDS tonight and was very much reminded of this.

4) I like the new DOCTOR WHO and I don't care who knows it.

5) I have a truly astounding number of friends who I don't ever call. I just don't call people. I'm probably more fond of you than you've ever imagined.

6) I have-- or had --spiders in the cab of my pick-up truck. Apparently they can crawl in through the vents. I think they're all gone. I hope so, because if a spider falls down the back of my shirt while I'm driving there will be an accident. A serious accident.

7) Some people receive compliments all the time. I don't. But I have gotten two very odd ones in the last three days. I left my building through the back door on Wednesday night because I had to throw out some trash. There was a gaunt, shirtless white guy smoking a cigarette and carrying a rake passing through the alley who remarked, "Hey man, you look good. I'm serious for real, man. You do."

Then this afternoon a woman who works in at The Children's Theatre Company (adjacent to the museum) said, "Hey, you're a "toe-walker."

"What?" I answered.

"You walk on your toes. Very bouncy. It's nice."

(I could have done without both of those alleged compliments.)

8) I have an early 1970's SANSUI receiver, and fuck if it doesn't sound good.

9) FALCON CREST made my ears ring tonight. They're ringing still. Well done, boys.

10) I can't wait to play baseball tomorrow.

11) I have been wrangled into playing (cough, sputter) softball on Thursday nights. I am horribly ashamed of it. All the guys on the team are real great people. How could I say no? But softball is so very wrong.

12) I really like ARCHERS OF LOAF.

13) Thirteen is a "Baker's Dozen."

I don't know why that is. So my father's real father died when he was pretty young. His step-dad owned a bakery in Hershey, PA. He told me once that he had to get up at 4:00 in the morning to work there before he went off to school. I guess no matter what, the family were never allowed to eat fresh baked goods. They always had to wait until things were about to be thrown-out to have them. So he would wake-up early to make doughnuts and the like but he was never allowed to enjoy a "fresh" one. Not once. Not ever. Fucking people. Fucking Germans.

14) I am criminally sentimental. And it will be my undoing.

Good night

I MET NICK PUNTO!

2008-04-21T11:33:00.000-05:00

(From August 20, 2007)

So I was at the Blockbuster Video on Hennepin and this dude walks in with his two young sons. And hey, it's Twins third baseman Nick Punto!

OBSERVATIONS:

1) He is shorter than me. And almost NO ONE is shorter than me. (I've noticed that no matter what, no ball player is EVER listed as being shorter than 5'9". This includes Alexi Casilla.)

2) Firm, dry handshake. One pump. Very manly, but appropriately so I think for a corner infielder. Not fruity like you get from a pitcher.

3) He seems like a nice guy. He was very patient with his kids. They REALLY wanted to see RATTATOUILLE and made that point clear to everyone in the store.

4) His wife-- a cute blond with a bob haircut waiting outside in a late-model black Lexus with Arizona plates-- did NOT look like she wanted to see RATTATOUILLE.

I DID NOT:

1) Bring up his batting average. (.203)

2) Fawn or in any way make a fuss.

3) Mention that after striking out to end tonight's game against the Mariners he made incredibly good time from the Metrodome to south Minneapolis. I swear I didn't leave my place that long after the game ended. Maybe when you're batting .203 it's customary to have your wife waiting outside the ballpark with the engine running.

AND JUST LIKE THAT, MY WORLD CAME CRASHING DOWN UPON ME

2008-04-21T11:28:00.000-05:00

(From August 17, 2007)

I didn't wake up this morning expecting to have my heart broken. I arrived at work, settled in front of a computer, checked my email account and there it was. In the news business it's called a "sidebar"-- JENNA BUSH ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT.

My heart fell like a stone to the pit of my stomach.

Just over a year from now I had planned on making my move. In early September of 2008 the Republican National Convention comes to town. Being a scion of the most prominent Republican family in America, her attendance was assured. And given her penchant for partying, it was likely she would be out and about among our town's "unwashed" ("Hey," I thought "that's ME!")

Sure, I would have to separate her form her Secret Service escort, but having managed that it was only a matter of squiring her back to my bachelor pad for the wooing to take it's course.

Awaiting us at my apartment would be a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and an eight ball of coke. I even purchased a used copy of The Boston Pops performing John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" to play on the phonograph. (Do YOU know what sort of tunes get a young Republican girl hot? Because I sure don't!)

I also intended to remove all the books from my apartment, lest she peg me as a "pointy-headed intellectual."

But all of this planning and hoping was for nothing. Jenna is to be wed to Henry Hager, son of Virginia's Republican Party Chairman. He is tall and handsome, with thick, dark hair and fine features.

In short, he outclasses me in every way that would matter to Jenna --and her family.

So friends, I soldier on alone. Bowed but unbroken.

Anyone care to drink scotch and do a big pile of blow?

Yours with a heavy heart,

Brian

FUN AT THE STORE

2008-04-21T11:26:00.000-05:00

(From August 13, 2007)

Spending all day behind a cash register ringing people up is a crummy way to make a living. All of the things below were readily available at my local Walgreen's. Purchase any of the following combinations of items and I guarantee you'll make a cashier's day. (Or at the very least, give them something to tell their friends about later that night when they're getting high.)

-Sleeping pills, bleach, rubber gloves, hacksaw

-16-pack of condoms, pink stuffed teddy bear, Easy-Bake-Oven

-Marie Claire Magazine, 16 oz. bottle of Johnson's baby oil, scented candle

-Bag of "snack size" Snickers bars, pack of Singer sewing needles (late October only)

-Wooden Ruler, 8-pound dumbbell, two foot length of chain

-Gas can, 3-pack of dish towels, anniversary card

-Depilatory cream, Summer's Eve feminine deodorant spray, heart-shaped box of chocolates (only funny if you're a guy-- on second thought, funny either way.)

C'mon, have some fun! After all, it's only money.

SORRY IF I'M PISSING ON THE "CHURCH" PARADE

2008-04-21T11:17:00.000-05:00

(From July 26, 2007)

There is something truly infuriating about this town that seems to encourage everyone to agree all the time without ever stopping to think that there could be a different way to look at things. I usually let it pass. In this case I won't.

Here are my two cents: THE CHURCH WAS A FUCKING DEATH-TRAP.

Perhaps we should all be glad that it closed it's doors before something really bad happened there.

NOTE:

--When fuses/breakers are constantly being blown or tripped it does not mean, "they're bringing the rock too hard." It means the buildings electrical system is being operated beyond it's capacity. This can end badly. It can end in fires. It can end in a musician getting the shit so significantly shocked out of him that he can barely stand. I have personally experienced both. Amusing for 19-year-old art students? Perhaps. No fun for those electrocuted or aflame.

--When the lights go out on 200 drunken kids-- aside from the casual grope that leads to lifelong romance --nothing good came come of it. It can lead to stupid panic. It can lead to persons too slight of frame or incapacitated to properly protect themselves from being trampled. I've seen this, too.

-- There were two ways out of that place and neither one was adequate to accommodate the number of people in there, should something have gone horribly wrong.

I honestly believe that everyone who wants "The Church" kept around as an impromptu venue for bands has nothing but the best of intentions. But if they truly do care about the local music community, that should extend to the well-being of the people invited through it's doors.

So I say support saving, "The Church." But consider making your support contingent on those persons responsible for the place making it safe for the purposes they put it to. Otherwise, it's probably better as a hospital parking lot. Honestly. Nostalgia does not trump good sense. When it does, well... fuck.

BDS

ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 8: EVEN PUNKERS GET OLD

2007-06-28T23:48:00.000-05:00

Mr. Shuey,

When I was a young man I tried to fight against racism, homophobia and all manner of intolerance, holding many banners high. But in my golden years I don't confront people like I should. My question is, "How can I get as angry as I was when I was twenty?"

And yes, I have bricks nearby.

Sean,

Minneapolis

Sean,

Why would you want to be as angry as you were when you were twenty? Why would anyone? You are taking what I consider to be the one true pleasure that comes from growing older and turning it on its head. So you're not as, "in your face" as you used to be. So what? Most people's faces are best viewed from a distance anyway.

Believe me, I know where you're coming from. When I was a younger man I also held many banners high. The one I held highest read: "I am an insufferable 20-year-old prick who thinks he knows everything and is almost unbearable to be around! I can't hold my liquor, will argue and fight at the slightest provocation and should properly be placed over someone's knee and spanked!" (It was a big banner.)

I think my convictions began to wane when I was beaten-up by the local white power skinheads, then beaten up a week later by a black guy who accused me of knowing the skinheads who had just beaten me up. "Yeah I know them," I told the guy as he pounded on me, "they beat the shit out of me last week!"

It was at that point I decided to leave the banner waving to persons with smaller brains and thicker skulls.

There's nothing wrong with mellowing a bit as one ages. Especially since things don't seem to heal quite as fast as they used to. So leave acting like a kid to the kids.

And those bricks you've got handy? Use them to build a nice backyard BBQ. Throw on some steaks, crack open a beer and breathe-in the glorious summer air. If you still feel the need to do your part, invite all the neighbors over-- male and female, gay and straight, black, white, yellow and red. If they can't get along at a backyard beer bash, then something tells me all the banner-waving in the world will be of little good.

Best of Luck,

Mr. Shuey

"DEAR RICH PRICK"

2007-06-28T23:46:00.000-05:00

So if you're anything like me, the sight of sixty thousand dollar sports cars in the modest surroundings of your neighborhood always feels gaudy and kind of insulting. And in the summertime the owner's "devil-may-care" rich guy insouciance causes them to casually leave the top down. It's like they're daring me to fuck with them! In the spirit of civility I have composed a note to leave that adequately expresses my frustration. Feel free to print it out and use it in situations as you see fit. You may replace my name with your own, or leave it as is. It's your choice.

Dear Rich Prick,

If you insist on shamelessly flaunting your wealth by parking your over-priced convertible sports car in a neighborhood where its cost exceeds the average annual family income by tens of thousands of dollars please have the good sense to CLOSE THE TOP. You have no idea how tempting it is to decorate your hand-tooled leather interior with cigarette butts, beer cans, dog shit, used rubbers and all manner of other unseemly articles. In fact, in the time it took me to carefully place this note on your passenger seat I could have just as easily covered it with a layer of Minwax varnish from the can that's been under my sink since I moved into my apartment. The tenant before me just left it there. Do you honestly believe I've got any thing that needs varnishing? Did he? Because I'm telling you pal, I don't! How thrilled would your date be if she came out of the restaurant and sat on a big puddle of varnish?

So just close your roof next time. Or better yet, stay the fuck out of my neighborhood. I'm trying to be a nice, law-abiding citizen, and people like you make it really hard.

Sincerely,

Brian David Shuey

SHORT FICTION AND A SHOW

2007-06-28T23:44:00.000-05:00

(From June 7, 2007)

"So what are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About HIM?"

"Him who?"

"Him WHO! 'Him' the kid you've got chained to the radiator!"

"Oh. Nothing."

"NOTHING!"

"Nothing for now. I gave him a bunch of these. He'll be out for hours."

"And what happens when he wakes up?"

"By then I'll be long gone. There's a show I want to see at THE HEXAGON tonight."

"The Hexagon? I've never heard of it."

"It's in Minneapolis."

"MINNEAPOLIS! How the hell do you plan to get all the way out there?"

"I'll take the chopper."

"The chopper! But MARINE ONE is mine!"

"It's only yours when I say it's yours."

"Oh, I get it. You're going to make ME deal with this one. Again."

"Quit being such a pussy. Just put him with the others under the bowling alley."

"But the bowling alley is right under the press room! What if they smell something?"

"That's what the bags of quick lime are for. Jesus, do I have to do all the thinking around here?"

"Just how many Indo-whatevers do you have buried down there now?"

"They're not Indonesians, they're Filipinos. God, you're a dumb son of a bitch!"

"Why do you always have to run me down, I was only..."

"Look, THE CHAMBERMAIDS, DIE ELECTRIC!, PRIVATE DANCER and PROLLY are playing at THE HEXAGON tonight and I don't plan on missing it!"

"And just where do you fix on putting the chopper down?"

"I did one of those GOOLGE EARTH searches. There's a bank parking lot right across the street. If we leave early enough it should be empty and we can land there."

"But I was gonna watch "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader" tonight. Last week I nearly beat the little bastards!"

"Have Laura tape it. Right now you need to roll up your sleeves and get to digging."

"Aw, man..."

"Look, the pilot said we'd be flying into headwinds the whole way out. I do not have time to fuck around with you right now."

"Alright."

"Good, it's settled then. I have to go get my MINOR THREAT t-shirt out of the dryer."

"You know something, Dick. You sure are one crazy, boy-raping, megalomaniacal nut-job!"

"Yeah, that may be true, but I've got GREAT taste in music."

"If you say so."

(Brian David Shuey--6.7.07)

TONIGHT THURSDAY JUNE 7 AT THE HEXAGON BAR (2600 27th Ave S MPLS)

THE CHAMBERMAIDS

DIE ELECTRIC!

PRIVATE DANCER

PROLLY

FREE!!!

ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 7: "METAL MOUTH"

2007-06-28T23:38:00.000-05:00

(From May 30, 2007)

Dear Mr. Shuey,

Are adult braces just for total assholes?

I need to know A.S.A.P.

Dana,
St. Paul

Dana,

Adult braces are in no way "just for total assholes." However, the following things are:

The band, MY MORNING JACKET

"Tom's of Maine" toothpaste

The sort of "braces" that skinheads wear

In-Dash car DVD players

Warrantless wiretaps

Outdoor smoking laws

TV Guide

This is not to say that braces aren't a serious decision. Especially since "adult" implies that your parents won't be paying for them.

In almost all cases orthodontics are considered cosmetic, and are not covered by standard dental insurance. Unless your teeth are so misaligned that their primary function (chewing food) is impaired, you'll likely have to pay for them out of your own pocket.

According to The Academy of General Dentistry, the cost of adult braces is anywhere from $4,000 to $9,000. Also, adults need to wear braces for a longer period of time (18 months to three years) than adolescents.

You have three choices when it comes to braces, traditional metal ones, clear ceramic and Invisalign. ™

The clear ceramic sort are often referred to as, "less noticeable." In my experience they always make people look like they have an enormous buildup of plaque on their teeth. On closer inspection one will realize that they are in fact "clear" braces, but by then you have kind of lost your taste for lunch.

Invisalign ™ braces are, according to their literature, "invisible." But my guess is they are the ones in the $9000 range.

I say if you're going to do it, go with the metal ones. They're the least expensive option, and this will show people that your vanity is tempered with a certain amount of prudence.

More than your choice to get braces, what most concerns me is your need to make a decision, "A.S.A.P"

The only cause for such urgency I could come up with is that you are dating an impossibly dull orthodontist-- as opposed the charming and dynamic sort! --and were hoping to take advantage of his skills before dumping him. This would be a mistake, as braces require periodic tightening and adjusting, and those subsequent visits couldn't help but be incredibly awkward.

Best of Luck,

Mr. Shuey

Just for fun, here are some photos of REALLY BAD TEETH:

http://www.strangepersons.com/images/content/101457.jpg

http://www.thegrid.org.uk/learning/science/ks1-2/resources/examples/livingthings/teeth/badteeth.jpg

http://www.mikesjournal.com/October%202006/Bad%20Teeth%201.jpg

Ask Mr. Shuey No. 6: "All About Balls"

2007-06-28T23:33:00.000-05:00

(From May 24, 2007)

Dear Mr. Shuey,

Is it ok to hit a man in the "nuts?"
And furthermore, are you ready to get hit in the "nuts?"

Mary,
Minneapolis

Mary,

This is important. I want to be as clear as possible. Unless a person is defending herself from grievous bodily harm or some cruel violation, IT IS NEVER OK TO HIT A MAN IN THE NUTS.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts because you think it is funny.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts to make a point.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts to get his attention.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts because you just got "BINGO," and are excited.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts because you disagree with him over the role of labor in various economic models.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts because he didn't notice your new haircut.

It is not ok to hit a man in the nuts because he is a Cubs fan. (Although, if he is a Cubs fan, it is unlikely he has nuts to begin with.)

Evolution placed our testicles on the outside of our body for a reason. Scrotal expansion and contraction regulates the temperature of the testicles so they can perform their primary function, which is the production of sperm. Sperm is our admittedly modest contribution to the making of babies, and men in sexual maturity are pretty much making it all the time. This is nature's way of telling us, "You never know what's waiting 'round the corner!"

Not surprisingly, this arrangement puts the testicles at an increased risk of being damaged. Physicians divide testicular trauma into three main categories: BLUNT, PENETRATION and DEGLOVING. (Degloving means just what it sounds like, and I find I cannot type the word with out getting slightly ill.)

Hitting a man in the nuts would likely only result in blunt trauma. While certainly less troubling than penetration or degloving it's still no damn fun. Blunt testicular trauma is most often associated with athletic activity and while permanent damage is rare, it is not unheard of. Also, it hurts. I mean, it hurts A LOT. Men may never know the pain of childbirth, but women will never know the pain that can result from having ones sensitive reproductive organs on the outside. Just sort of hanging there. All vulnerable and such.

By the way, if like me you were wondering what the commonest causes of testicular penetration (and the dreaded degloving) are I will spare you the details. Just be glad you don't work around farm equipment.

As to the second part of your question, the answer is "no." I am not ready to get hit in the nuts. I do consider myself ready NOT TO get hit in the nuts, which I think is an important distinction.

And that is in no way intended as a challenge.

Best of luck,

Mr. Shuey

P.S. I include the following photo links for two reasons. First, to let people know the serious consequences of testicular trauma. And second, to demonstrate the lengths I go to in your humble service.

WARNING: Not for the faint of heart.

http://wwwscielo.isciii.es/img/aue/v28n5/images/393-395f1.jpg

http://www.uroatlas.net/trauma/fotos/dfc-cr04p.JPG

Ask Mr. Shuey No. 5: "Diet Dilemma"

2007-06-28T23:29:00.000-05:00

(From May 7, 2007)

Dear Mr. Shuey,

How can I get myself to eat healthier? I don't really like vegetables or fruits. I like burgers and fried chicken. Eating this type of garbage all the time makes me feel like a disgusting slob. Sometimes I force-feed myself good food on principal, but it doesn't make me hate it any less.

Please Help.

Thanks,

Andy

Minneapolis

Well Andy, I'm sorry to say that short of getting married to a health-nut there is little hope for you. But I'll do what I can.

I too am guilty of having a poor diet. For me it's too much frozen pizza and pasta. I often force myself to buy fruits and vegetables, but other than the occasional apple or some snow peas in my stir-fry, most of the time these items end-up turning to compost in my crisper.

We are BACHELORS, my friend. This is how we were meant to eat.

Here are a few suggestions that may help, but I should point out that even with my renowned good sense and almost super-human will power I have failed to see much improvement in my own diet. So honestly, what are your chances?

TRY TO EAT IN: For whatever reason, dietician's say that homemade shitty food is less shitty than restaurant shitty food. How much less shitty? (I'm guessing only a little less shitty.) The reason for this is simple: fat and salt are relatively CHEAP and make food TASTE GOOD. So to keep you coming back the restaurants pile it on. And why not? They will never have to visit you in the hospital or attend your funeral. (Which is a shame, because a sympathy card from Colonel Sanders would be a hell of a thing to see!)

DATE A REALLY ATTRACTIVE GIRL: I don't know how far this will go to improving your diet, I just think that as bachelors we should all be dating really attractive girls. Couldn't hurt.

DESIGNATE ONE DAY A WEEK AS "HEALTHFUL FOOD DAY": Take Monday, for instance, and make that the day of the week that you eat a healthy, balanced diet. Or failing that, just don't eat anything at all on Monday.

TRY A LITTLE AVERSION THERAPY: Here are some links to sites that have images of coronary artery disease, blocked colons, and the like:

http://www.cs.nsw.gov.au/concord/Departs/gastro/boweldisease/Crohn.html

http://www.heart-health-for-life.com/cholesterol-and-heart-disease.html

http://blogs.kansascity.com/photos/uncategorized/larryking1.jpg

http://navigator.medschool.pitt.edu/Introduction%20to%20GI%20Imaging3EDIT_files/image016.jpg

Print them out and tape them to your refrigerator and any cupboards that contain food. The image of a blocked colon may just convince you NOT to reach for the NASCAR-APPROVED Southern Family Size sleeve of frozen hamburger patties I am certain sits waiting for you in your freezer (next to the Ore-Ida French Fries.)

For added incentive, I included a picture of well-known heart patient and talk show host Larry King. In searching for gross heart disease images his portrait was easily the most stomach-turning picture available.

And for any of you out there that want to stop eating all together, do a Google Image Search for "Skin Diseases." Tape those pictures on your fridge and I guarantee you'll never eat anything again, healthy or otherwise.

Best of luck!

(Keep those questions coming, kids!)

ASK MR. SHUEY No.4: NAILBITER

2007-05-03T10:41:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Shuey,

I've tried just about everything to quit biting my fingernails, to no avail. Sometimes I bite the cuticles to the point that they bleed and scab...it's gross and I want to stop. Please help. P.S. Please do not suggest any kind of exercise regimen. Thank you,

Sarah,
Minneapolis

Sarah,

First of all, I appreciate your use of, "please" and "thank you." Your parents have done well by you. If we can eliminate your nail biting you will easily be the nearest thing to a proper young woman that this town has ever produced. (And you'll be a veritable Queen Victoria by south Minneapolis standards!)

On to your problem. I don't imagine you are biting your nails because you are hungry. And outside of this city's West Bank neighborhood, scabby cuticles are not considered a fashion or political statement. My guess is that we have a compulsion brought on by an overabundance of nervous energy. We must therefore eliminate, block or redirect this energy.

Here a few suggestions:

JUST FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!: Seriously, quit being such a twitchy spazz all the time! (Did that do it? Yeah, I didn't think it would.)
As a twitchy spazz myself, I know that nothing makes me more anxious than being TOLD to relax. Even with medication, meditation, hypnosis or the like this is who you are. Eliminating the nervousness is outside our poor powers.

TRY WEARING GLOVES: I've seen this recommended for children with nail biting problems. I can only imagine how popular a kid is with his classmates when he is forced to wear gloves year round indoors and out. Why not just give him a sweatshirt to wear with "LEPER" written on it. Adults should leave children the hell alone sometimes.

Should you choose this route your grown-up friends, acquaintances and co-workers will likely --but not necessarily-- be a bit more sensitive. To deflect potential snickering about the gloves you may try telling them, "I wear these gloves because I disfigured my hands while pulling a baby from a burning building."

This will engender so much respect from people that they wouldn't dream of saying anything unkind about your gloves.

Conversely, you could choose to tell people you burned your hands throwing a baby INTO a burning building. In which case I guarantee no one will say shit about you ever again!

TAKE UP SMOKING: If you haven't already done so I highly recommend smoking cigarettes. (And you thought I was going to suggest an exercise regimen?) The problem with this is that you can't smoke ALL THE TIME. (Believe me, I've tried.) And absent the comforting presence of a cigarette you are bound to go right back to your nails.

OVER-THE-COUNTER REMEDIES: Orly makes a product called, "No-Bite" which it describes as, "a bitter flavored nail biting deterrent." You can get it online for $7.00. I have also read that similar products are "available in most corner pharmacies." (Although not, I suppose, in those pharmacies located in the middle of the block.)

And finally, MR. SHUEY'S PATENTED CURE FOR CHRONIC ONYCHOPHAGIA: This is a real whiz-banger! Every morning before you go about your day, dip the tips of your fingers in botulism toxin. (How you get it from the cosmetic surgeon is your business.)
Make sure you pin a note on your person that reads, "Sarah, remember how this morning you dipped your fingers in botulism toxin? Well, keep them the hell out of your mouth or you will get sick and die!"

If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will.

Best of luck!

EVERGREEN RESTAURANT FORTUNE COOKIES

2007-04-20T22:48:00.000-05:00

From April 15, 2007

Living on Nicollet and 25th I have many choices for Asian take-out. My favorite is the Taiwanese place, "Evergreen" Their chicken and cashews is the best around. But the prognostications in their fortune cookies are always well off the mark.

Here is what it foretold:

"There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same."

This is how it should have read:

"You will get an order of chicken and cashews on Tuesday because you are too lazy to cook for yourself. Delicious though it will be, it will give you gas that smells unsettlingly like the dish itself for 16 hours afterwards. The balance of your work-week will be tedious but tolerable and the weekend will bring no real surprises. On Saturday morning you will wake up and brew coffee while listening to a Rudy Ray Moore record lent to you by your friend Srinivas. By the time side "A" is winding down you will realize that you probably should have cleaned the record before you put it on. When you flip it you will clean side "B" and when it's done there won't be a big wad of dust on the needle when you pick up the tone arm. You will make a breakfast of scrambled eggs and Bays Brand English Muffins and eat it while watching the last half of "Citizen Kane" on TCM. You will have another cup of coffee and a cigarette and then you will do all the dishes from breakfast. You will shower and dress. Dave will pick you up and you will go to the practice space to do guitar over dubs because you can do guitars at the space because all the basic tracks are already down. You will take a break for dinner at 7:30 and go to "Whitey's" for a roast beef sandwich. You will watch the TWINS kind of pound the shit out of the DEVIL RAYS on the TV set. Then you will grab more coffee at the really gay coffee shop in North East that's name references Oscar Wilde and in your five minutes there will have occasion to always remember 'Key Lime Pie and Chocolate Cake!' as being something really funny someone said. You will go back to the space to do even more guitar shit and it will occur to you that you are drinking coffee later than you ordinarily allow yourself to. You will get a bit twitchy. You will try to combat this by drinking two bottles of the SPATEN pils you bought at Surdyk's earlier in the day. Then you will remember that just this morning you were looking on the internet to see if any of the weird small towns in Germany that you had visited a decade ago were noticeably different. They didn't seem to be. But who knows, really? Strange interlude where you and Dave try-out all available keyboard instruments in the practice space to try and salvage a perplexing verse part in a song that didn't seem perplexing until just now. Hairs are getting pulled out. Time to quit. Go to the Triple Rock for last call. Doug Stanhope did his act there earlier. THE STNNING followed. See a girl who's bra seems to be doing something bra's shouldn't be able to do. Randomly end up talking to her and she's a a world class twit. Imagine that? Bar closes. Go home. Open a beer because you knew a long time ago that you had too much coffee today."

Hungry?

Fortune Cookie anyone?

The fortune reads, 'There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same.'"

ASK MR. SHUEY #3: THE END OF THE WORLD

2007-04-20T22:43:00.000-05:00

From April, 10 2007

Mr. Shuey,

I've been hearing a lot about global warming, but it's still fucking cold outside. Someone told me that it's going to snow this weekend. Is that complete bullshit? I also heard that Al Gore has decided to try his luck as a concert promoter. Do you think rock and roll can save the planet, or should I keep working on my escape pod?

Shanai
Minneapolis

Shanai,

This weekend ended yesterday, and I didn't see any snow. So yes, the phenomenon known as global warming is complete hokum.

Unless of course it's not.

I am not a climate scientist, but with my limited understanding of the subject it's clear that when scientists do talk about global warming they are talking about mean or average temperatures over the whole planet. (That's why they call it GLOBAL warming and not MINNEAPOLIS warming.) People who point to unusually warm days in December or the opposite in April or May to prove or disprove the theory are not really grasping the scientific principles involved and are usually just whiny jerks anyway.

Numbers being numbers, there is little debate over whether global temperatures are on the rise. The real debate is about how much of this is a result of human activity. I don't have the answer to that, but it seems reasonable to me that dumping tons and tons of pollutants into the atmosphere is bound to have SOME effect.

This is why I have chosen to do my part and drive a steam-powered automobile with a boiler that burns clean, low sulfur anthracite coal! It is fast as a horse-and-a-half and gets four miles per twenty pound sack!

(Full disclosure: The Pennsylvania Coal Association has hidden my parents in an abandoned mine shaft in Centralia and their continued care and feeding are attendant on my trumpeting the many fine qualities of clean, hard, delicious anthracite coal.)

And don't count on rock and roll to remedy the situation. Myself being the notable exception, the world of rock and roll is peopled exclusively by juvenile, mentally diseased nitwits.

Think about it, would you let these cretins stay in your apartment unattended?

I didn't think so.

And you expect them to clean-up the Earth?

The line-ups for these, "Live Earth" concerts are almost all has-beens an hacks. None of these alleged artists are cutting checks themselves, but they want you and I to pony-up outlandish sums of money to attend their crummy concerts. All the while they fly in and out on private jets, eat shrimp cocktail backstage and get to hear what swell people they are.

So yes, keep working on your escape pod. And it better be a damn good one. There is but one habitable planet in this solar system, and you're on it.

Speculation about options outside of our own solar system vary, but the nearest opportunity I've read about was discovered by the HARPS spectrograph in the area of a star designated HD 69830. Some astronomers think there may be Earth-like planets in its orbit. Here's the bad part: At the speed of light it will take you 41 years to reach it.

So pack a big lunch.

Best of luck!

P.S As to Al Gore's transition from lawyer to politician to concert promoter I must say it is a demonstrable slide DOWN in the human shit-puddle. I am not sure there is a lower form of life than concert promoter, and that includes presidential candidate.

ASK MR. SHUEY #2: BOSNIAN FILM FUN!

2007-04-20T22:41:00.000-05:00

From April 5, 2007

Mr. Shuey,

I recently found out about a movie on a topic that interests me a significant amount-- my war torn country. The film in question ("Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams") screened at the Walker Art Center in March and I was not able to attend the event as I was in New York at the time. The film is no longer screening anywhere and is not available for sale on DVD. This makes me frustrated. My patience has run out and I am now sad. And angry.

What can I do? Please do not recommend seeing a similar film as this will only anger me more.

Veda,
Minneapolis

Veda,

Well we don't want you sad. And given your background I suppose we really don't want you angry! So let's see if we can't solve this.

The movie in question, "Grbavica: Land of My Dreams" is by Bosnian director Jasmila Zbanic. It deals with a mother and daughter coming to terms with the lingering effects of the Yugoslav war over a decade ago. For those who may have forgotten, among manifold atrocities that took place during this war there were particularly outrageous cruelties perpetrated on Bosnian woman. To try to discuss those turbulent post-Communist years in this humble column would be overreaching, to say the least.

But let's get back to the matter at hand, which is much easier to solve than centuries of ethnic hatred.

The movie is being distributed here in America by STRAND RELEASING. They are an indie film distributor in Culver City, CA who also deal in DVDs. There email address is strand@strandreleasing.com.

I sent them an email asking if they would be handling an American DVD release, but have yet to hear back. My guess is that if they are going to put it out on DVD it won't be any time soon.

The movie IS available on DVD right now, however not in the States. British DOGWOOF PICTURES released a DVD version on March 26 of this year. I found it on http://www.amazon.co.uk/ for 11.99 (that's pounds, not dollars.) You may have encountered a problem finding it because the UK title is, "Esma's Secret."

Another problem you will encounter is that the UK version will be a REGION 2 DVD and won't play on your standard American DVD player. My friend Dave-- master of all things Mac-- assures me that the region coding will be circumvented nicely by any late model Macintosh, and you can just watch it right there on your computer.

So if you've got 23 dollars, a Macintosh, and just a little patience I think we've got this one licked.

But that seems just a bit too easy, doesn't it? After all, it was a SCREENING you missed, so I think we ought to try to get you to a screening to make up for that.

In the next month the film will be shown in Salt Lake City, Denver, Seattle, Philadelphia, Dallas, Washington, D.C. and a few other spots.

Here's my plan:

There is a Bosnia-Herzegovina consulate in Chicago. Their phone number is, (312) 951-1245. Call them up and tell them you'd like to write an article on the film for a local paper but can't get the tightwads in the accounting department to sign-off on your expense account request. (Blame American ignorance of Bosnian culture, and lay it on thick!) See if you can't get them to front you the dough for a trip to one of these fine cities, hotel and passes to the movie. Diplomats being what they are, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if they went for it.

One more thing, make sure you ask them for TWO plane tickets, because after all this research I would kind of like to see the damn thing myself!

Best of luck!

ASK MR. SHUEY #1: COFFEE CONUNDRUM

2007-04-20T22:37:00.000-05:00

From March 21, 2007

Mr. Shuey,

I enjoy a lot of coffee in the morning on my way to work. Are other people suffering because I love coffee?

Tom R.
Minneapolis

Tom,

There are some people, certain philosophers and religious hustlers, who would argue that your VERY EXISTENCE causes other people to suffer. But I choose to be more charitable

As to your question, I would have to say that enjoying "lots" of coffee on your way to work could indeed be causing untold misery-- both at home and abroad.

The United States imports most of its Arabica coffee beans from Columbia. Columbia's top two "official" exports are petroleum and coffee. Oddly, no one ever lists cocaine, but somehow "cut flowers" are always among the top five exports--and I figure that's got to be code for something.
The labor pool and amount of land under cultivation-- while not completely static-- is, for reasons to complex to go into here, somewhat inflexible. As a result, Columbians who might otherwise be engaged in the production of coca-- and its refinement into cocaine-- are wasting their time growing all that extra coffee you "enjoy."

Why is this a problem?

Less coca production means less supply, which means higher prices, which means twitchier American coke fiends, which means more headaches for anyone who has to deal with these people. (Cops, social service workers, and anyone who has to tour manage a rock band.)
There is an upside, though. Less cocaine means less lousy DJ music, which I think we can all agree is in everyone's best interest. Also, if cocaine were cheaper and more available I might start using it myself, and I run my mouth too much as it is.

If you're really worried about the balance sheet of human misery and your impact on the level of parity in Columbian agricultural output I do have a solution.

Skip the coffee every once and awhile and lay down a fat old rail of coke on your dashboard before work. Just do me a favor and avoid my neighborhood on such mornings.

"ASK MR. SHUEY" ONLINE ANSWERS COLUMN!

2007-04-20T22:34:00.000-05:00

From March 14, 2007

Hey Kids,

I know how screwed-up most of your lives are. I see evidence of it everyday. And while I suppose I don't REALLY care all that much, I do find myself blessed with an overabundance of wisdom and rudimentary typing skills.

So I hereby announce the inauguration of the "ASK MR. SHUEY" ONLINE ANSWERS COLUMN!

Consider it a combination of "Miss Manners" "The Straight Dope" "Why Things Are" "Dear Abby" and hell, even "Hints From Heloise."

No question too challenging! No moral quandary too complex! Send them all! I will answer as many as is humanly possible and post them as frequently as is manageable. Anonymity guaranteed!

That's all for now!

BDS

P.S. As Heather C. pointed out, today is the official "Steak and Blowjob" day. Ever the realist, I will happily settle for a hamburger and a hug.

TO THE LIQUOR STORE AND BACK

2007-03-02T20:49:00.000-06:00

I get off work. It is unusually warm. I walk to the liquor store near the corner of Nicollet and Franklin. I buy a 12-pack of Beck's. On the way home the following things occur:

Witness a 13-year-old prostitute get into a rusted out maroon Chevy Nova driven by a rusted out 50-year-old man. Think about where she is about to put her face. Makes me less inclined towards dinner. Good thing I bought beer. Shouldn't think about those things.

Three teenage girls approach. The biggest one shouts at me, "What you lookin' at, motherfucker!" Then she smiles and says, "Naw, psych. I'm just playin'!" as she gently touches my shoulder. A simple, "hello:" would have been just fine. Nice smile, though.

Somalian guy yells at a veiled woman sitting in her car. For no reason he then turns and yells at me. He goes back to yelling at the veiled woman. I think about how she probably had her clitoris mutilated in less than hygienic conditions. You'd think that would be enough bullshit for one lifetime. But no, she's got to deal with this histrionic prick yelling at her in public. Now we're importing pricks. I should be allowed to hit this guy. I really want to hit this fucking guy.

Approaching the bus stop now. People waiting for the bus spit all the time. They just do. I even catch myself doing it from time to time. Piles of people's spit have now thawed and are slowly making there way toward the curb. That's global warming for you. I must hop scotch around rivers of human sputum. I look ridiculous doing my little dance. I must also dodge dog turds and plastic pint bottles of Popov Vodka. And Minneapolis isn't even a particularly dirty city.

Get the signal. Enter the crosswalk. A blind guy in his 20's is my opposite number on the other side. I am getting across faster than he is because my eyes work and any way I just sort of walk fast to begin with. It's just as well for him because there is an abrupt little squeak of tire rubber and I look left and see a Pontiac Grand Am with Wisconsin plates heading towards me. Two fat U. of M. girls (Don't ask me how I know these things. I know these things.) are having a nice little dish session. At the last moment the driver sees me and gives me a sheepish, Midwestern "Aw, jeez. Sorry," look.

As they speed away I use my free hand to make that sort of Italian hand gesture where you swipe the top of your hand along the underside of your chin. Then I realize they probably don't even know what that means. Then I realize I don't really know what that means. Maybe I should have just given them the finger, but I kind of think the finger is getting old. They make a left into the McDonald's Drive-Thru and disappear from sight. By the way, I would have left out the part about them being fat if they hadn't nearly clipped me and a blind guy and then gone right to the McDonald's but you know what, fuck them they were fat.

Almost home. The guy who drives the Head Start bus is leaning against it having a smoke. He asks me if he can "buy" one of my beers off me. I tell him I need all of them (which I'm beginning to think I do.) It's easier than explaining that I'm not in the habit of selling beers off the street to school bus drivers. I'm an idealist.

Finally I am home. I open a beer. I love the sound the bottle cap makes when it strikes the linoleum counter top.

Dinner can wait.

MORE FUN WITH MY NEIGHBORS

2007-03-02T20:46:00.000-06:00

There is a battle brewing in my building surrounding the basement laundry facilities and the hours people use them. In classic Minnesota form, it's playing itself out through a series of whiney, annoyingly passive/aggressive (and anonymous) notes back and forth between aggrieved party and offending party. The landlord has even chimed-in with a note of his own reminding everyone that our lease stipulates that we all be nice to each other. Now that's leadership!

I do not think it will resolve itself anytime soon. In the spirit of playfulness I typed-up the following and posted it:

To All Tenants Concerned,

As many of you know, the young people in our neighborhood often find themselves with little to do in the way of recreation. Playgrounds are in disrepair and the area parks are overrun with nefarious characters. Alleys are narrow and ill suited to stickball and marbles. I have witnessed some young people pitching pennies against the sides of the building. While this may seem harmless enough, I consider the activity to be a "gateway" to gambling.

With wholesome activities sorely lacking and in the spirit of Christian charity I have taken it upon myself to begin operating a late-night roller disco for disadvantaged youth here in the basement common area.

It would be like "Midnight Basketball"--but instead of basketball the kids would roller skate to popular music such as, "ABBA," "A Taste Of Honey," "K.C. And The Sunshine Band," "Star Sisters" and the like. There would be soda pop and treats served. I can't help but think that it will be wildly popular.

I also imagine it could be quite LOUD.

Would this be in any way an inconvenience for anyone?

If so, please respond with a note illegibly scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and taped to the window above the dryers. This seems to be the preferred method of communication in this building.

Thanks.

My note was gone the next day.

I swear, people are no fun at all.

BDS

NO MORE FUCKING TEA!

2007-01-11T13:56:00.000-06:00

So it's been two weeks and I still haven't gotten my voice back yet. I went to the doctor again today and he put me on the Z-Pac and two different kinds of corticosteroids (methylprednisolone pills and a Flovent inhaler.)

So we'll see what Big Pharma can do with this thing.

I appreciate everyone's concern for my health and especially the innovative and wholly original home remedies that have been suggested to me time and time again:

"Have you tried hot tea with honey and lemon?"

What, you mean like hot Echinacea tea with honey and lemon? Hot peppermint tea with honey and lemon? Hot black, green, orange purple and vermillion tea with honey and lemon? Tea of every creed from sea to shining sea by the gulp and by the gallon?

Yes, I have tried hot tea with honey and lemon.

"Have you tried gargling?"

Like with salt water? Like 12 times a day for two weeks until you have exhausted an entire one pound ten ounce canister of nature's finest NaCl and-- like a sailor adrift --are so deranged from the exercise that you are convinced you can see up the yellow dress of the girl on the Morton's Salt label?

Yes, I have tried gargling.

"Have you tried throat drops?"

You mean Hall's? Robitussin? Ricola? Every imaginable variety by the bag and by the bushel until there is a callus on the back of your tongue from where the little fuckers come to rest? Until you never want to SEE another throat drop again?

Yes, I have tried throat drops.

"A humidifier?"

Yes, It's been running 24/7 for days now.

"Lots of fluids?"

Yes! Yes! Yes! Gallons!

What I'm saying is I would have tried the ejaculate of an Andean llama by now if I thought it would work. (I checked with the Chilean consulate, they say it doesn't.)

So hopefully I will have this thing licked soon, but if you see me in the next few days and my voice is still shot, please, please, PLEASE do not suggest I try hot tea with honey and lemon. In
fact, don't suggest anything. Just punch me in the mouth. I haven't tried that yet.

Your (silent) partner,

Brian David Shuey

2006 RECAP ACTION

2007-01-05T00:07:00.000-06:00

Here's a recap of some of the many achievements, honors and awards I garnered in 2006, neatly broken down by month:

JANUARY- I came out of the gate punching-- literally. On January 11 in Tijuana I felled Super-middleweight champ Mikkel Kessler by knockout in the 10th round. But despite the promises of promoter "Gordo" Don Reyes, the bout was not WBA sanctioned and the title continues to elude me. Also, the purse of 10,000 pesos wasn't nearly as lucrative as it sounded. (About $926) I used the money to buy a 1000-ct. bottle of 10 mg Valium tablets. They turned out to be chiclets. I had to hitchhike home. I hate Mexico.

FEBRUARY- Ah, the month of love! Received gushing Valentines from the following persons of repute: Kirsten Dunst, Halle Berry, Kate Beckinsale, Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchett (That's right! The trifecta of British "Kates.") Also, Gwyneth Paltrow, Claire Danes, Michael Richards and Zooey Deschanel. Which reminds me, I have yet to write any of them back.

MARCH- Nothing ever happens to me in March.

APRIL- I was named American League Pitcher of the Month. 3W-1L /1.83 ERA/44 SO. What can I say, I was in the zone.

MAY- Crowned "King of Tulips" at the Orange City, Iowa Tulip Festival. Stripped of the crown while learning the hard way that the "King of Tulips" does not automatically have prerogative to deflower the "Queen of Tulips." Especially when she is the underage daughter of an Iowa State Trooper.

JUNE- Mistakenly received the "Apple Pie Award" for meritorious service from The Million Moms March Committee of Omaha, NE. I did not inform them of their error and in the spirit of irony used the $500 honorarium to purchase a used .38 snub-nosed revolver from out of some guy's trunk

JULY- mensis horribilis! That's a dead tongue, son! --and it does not mean I experienced a difficult menstrual period-- but rather that I endured a terrible month. ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN BEFORE ADJUSTING OR DISCONTINUING YOUR MEDICATION. Trust me on this one. My diminished condition prevented me from traveling to the Gettysburg National Military Park on the 143rd anniversary of the historic battle to receive my honors as, "Civil War Re-Enactor of the Year." Apparently my portrayal of General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard is nonpareil.

AUGUST- Awarded "The Golden Twelve Pack" for my efforts in promoting "Canned Beer Month."

SEPTEMBER- Named "Employee of the Month" at the Red Lobster in Wayzata, MN. (Let's face it, not ALL secret lives are exciting ones.)

OCTOBER- Won the Mann Booker Prize for my touching memoir, "Scarf" about being a Pakistani immigrant girl coming of age in 1970’s London.

NOVEMBER- I finally won my first Latin Grammy in the category, "Cancion del Ano" (Song of the Year.) It was for my hit single, "Mi amor es mi corazón y amor para su corazón, bebé." Catchy title, no?

DECEMBER- On December 6th I was awarded the Nobel Prize in chemistry for creating sugar-free methamphetamine. I consider it the crowning achievement in an admittedly exceptional year.

Happy New Year!

BDS

MY SURE-FIRE MIRACLE CURE FOR THE COMMON COLD

2006-12-14T12:10:00.000-06:00

The common cold-- Group: IV ((+) ssRNA) Family: Picornaviridae. Genus: Rhinovirus.

Scourge of man.

Until now a truly effective treatment has eluded modern medical science. Until now…

I offer the following miracle cure free of charge for the betterment of humankind:

-Lock your door.

-Dim the lights.

-Take four (4) Sudafed.

-Take 800 mg of your favorite analgesic.

-Drink screwdrivers until you have exhausted your supply of orange juice.

-Switch to gin and tonic

-Drink gin and tonic until you have exhausted your supply of tonic water.

-Drink whatever that last beer in the back of the refrigerator is. Do not attempt to figure out how it got there.

-Brew a strong cup of Echinacea tea. Add one ounce of Scotch whiskey. Drink as fast as possible. (This will burn going down.)

-Put on some music. Something slightly bizarre. Brian Eno, CAN, Captain Beefheart, maybe King Crimson. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT play the Velvet Underground. If you do all will be for naught.

-Get into bed. You should be naked save only for a ski cap. Preferably a vintage 1970’s NFL one (One of the “tough” teams: Steelers, Packers, Raiders… a Dolphins or Saints hat will not cut it.)

You will be shaking and sweating profusely by now. This is good. The cold is trying to flee your body in the hope of inhabiting the nearest sane person. Open a window or door a crack to allow the cold to transpose itself to the next unsuspecting passerby.

-You are now cured. Enjoy a restful night’s sleep.

Yours in good health,

Brian David Shuey

Note: You may experience vomiting and abdominal cramping the following morning. This is perfectly normal.

BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM: WINTER UPDATE

2006-12-01T15:13:00.000-06:00

Dear B.S.S.T Members,

I suppose the polite thing to do would be to pretend I was pleased with your performance. And not, as the case will be, call some of you on the carpet publicly. But the fact is this may be the sorriest excuse for a street team ever assembled.

I have some bad news for the following members:

Chris L. from PHOENIX, AZ: I have recently been in contact with the City of Phoenix Chamber of Commerce. Not a soul I spoke to recognized my name. You have had three months now to spread the word about me in that sun-baked hell hole you call home and yet the city fathers still have no idea who I am. MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED

Steve P. from HARRISBURG, PA: It's Harrisburg, Steve! I GREW UP THERE! Yet, a Lexus-Nexus search of central Pennsylvania publications found no mention of me in the last six months. However that other Brian Shuey-- "renowned" Sprint Car racer and presumed cousin-fucking hillbilly-- received twelve notices. I SHALL NOT PLAY SECOND FIDDLE to some Skoal-chomping dirt track circling Carbona-huffing car monkey! MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED

Susan R. from MEMPHIS, TN: Susan, the pictures you sent helped your cause a great deal. I was particularly keen on the one of you roller-skating in pigtails with the giant lollypop. That said, I am going to need to see some actual work product from you if I am to continue to keep you on the team. MEMBERSHIP: UNDER REVIEW

Anthony K. from BILLINGS, MT: The news that the local Kiwanis Club is considering erecting a statue of me to honor my many good works is the one bright spot in this otherwise dismal clusterfuck of incompetence. However, I must remind you that the $25 check towards your membership fee has bounced... again. Please attend to this promptly. MEMBERSHIP: SUSPENDED PENDING APPROPRIATE REMUNERATIONS

I will spare the rest of you the embarrassment reserved for those listed above. Suffice it to say, you're all on notice. And by the way, I'm still cleaning my own toilet. Unacceptable!

Your Fearless Leader,

Brian David Shuey

33 THINGS ABOUT MYSELF AND THE WORLD AROUND ME

2006-11-21T00:36:00.000-06:00

Today is my thirty-third birthday. In honor of that, here are, “33 Things About Myself and The Word Around Me!” by Brian David Shuey. Enjoy.

-”Scrubbing Bubbles” really do. Everything else in this life is a lie.

-As long as you are relatively healthy there is no point in regretting anything. If you had made different choices you might be so overwhelmingly satisfied with your life that you’ll stroll blissfully into the street and completely miss the #4 Bus that is headed straight for you. Think about it.

-I sometimes think going deaf wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it meant never having to overhear another stultifying dull conversation.

-You can write a screenplay about undead samurai racecar drivers who like to solve complex mathematical problems in their spare time, but don’t expect anyone to want to make a movie out of it.

-If you find yourself at a party and you absolutely have to fart, go stand next to the fattest person in the room. Everyone will assume they did it.

-The Clash selling Jaguars? Ramones selling phones? Both were hard to take, but to see The Muppets whoring themselves out for Pizza Hut was more than I could bear.

-Mechanical pencils are bullshit and should be thrown away.

-Take the Kerry-Edwards stickers off your cars. You backed a bum horse. You don't have to be proud of it.

-On a similar note, I was briefly connected with "Patty Wetterling for Congress.” The day after she lost the election I dropped her like a stone. I don't associate with losers.

-It is a well-known fact that I walk much faster than the average person. Sometimes when I am passing people on crutches, in wheelchairs or those who are otherwise infirm I secretly fear that they think I am "showing off." As a result I tend to slow my pace. I don't think this really benefits either party. Still, I can't help doing it.

-Don’t loan me books. I’m real hard on them.

-There are maybe a dozen people in the world at any given time who are doing worthwhile “installation art.” The rest of you hacks need to knock it off already.

- I miss cassette tapes. I really miss TDK-SA90s and Maxell XLIIS 90's. You could beat the shit out of those Maxell’s and they would always play. No one can convince me that any recording could sound better than an LP dubbed at a slightly elevated recording level and played back on a well-maintained mid-1980's Alpine car tape deck. At least I've never heard music sound better. (Note: Dolby NR is for sissies.)

-When an individual employs the phrase, "We'll see you later." It makes me think the that person is mentally unbalanced.

-Chicks love T-Rex.

-It’s clear I don‘t know much about British “sport” when I read a headline like, “Uncapped Joyce Wins Ashes Call-up.” What could that possibly mean?

-I once had a friend confess to me that he was taking “hip-hop” dance lessons. We are not friends anymore.

-I am very active in the M.W.C.O.T.A.P.O. community. In fact, I am its only member since I have never shared with anyone the true meaning of the acronym. But trust me, we’re a very kinky crowd.

-I was born at the following map coordinates: 40.240ºN by 76.920ºW. To this day nothing green will grow there and children whisper as they pass.

-Despite conventional wisdom on the subject I do in fact have one tattoo. It is on the bottom of my right foot and it records the results of two track and field events (long jump/ 100-yard dash) I participated in at the Linglestown Elementary School May Fair in the spring of 1981: I placed FIRST in both. I fear this will go down as the most successful day of my life. At least in terms of “ribbons won.”

-I’ve been told on more than one occasion I have excellent taste in women’s jewelry. I don’t know what to make of that.

-To all prostitutes in the Whittier neighborhood: Please continue to use the front stoop of my building to ply your trade. I plan on using your activities as leverage should my landlord try to increase the rent.

-I have a PlayStation II-- but only one video game for it. It’s a game where you kill Nazis. I enjoy it immensely.

-I have two African violets. One is named, “Jeeves,” the other I call “Wooster” or “Bertie.” Of all the uncool things about me this may be the uncoolest

-It’s time to reevaluate the word, “cool.” I recently overheard an elderly lady in a sweater with a gigantic owl embroidered on its front remark to her companion, “That sure was cool!” To which the second lady—of similar vintage and equally questionable taste in fashion replied, “You betcha’ it was cool!” I have no idea to what they were referring, but if whatever it was was cool then “cool” just ain’t cool anymore.

-The mere act of walking into an office supply store fills me with the overwhelming desire to start my own business. Luckily, the feeling fades quickly.

-To all recent immigrants to the United States: Welcome! I’m excited to have you here and I hope things go well for you. I ask only one favor, please try to remember that there is no haggling in America! Sears is not a suq. Marshall’s is not a Mercado. That laundry soap is $6.99 and no amount of gesticulating on your part is ever going to change that. The people behind you in line have other stuff to do today. Again, welcome and good luck.

-I have never understood why loose-leaf chewing tobacco is offered for sale at convenience stores in major metropolitan areas. It’s the city. Who’s buying this stuff?

-Why is it the first thing some dolt says when they spill something on me is, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.” As if anyone has t-shirts and jeans dry cleaned. Just to throw them I’m going to start demanding $2 in quarters for the coin-op. Clumsy fuckers.

- Anything NOT written in black ink will be considered invalid.

-Why does the weather take ten minutes? Does anyone really need to be told for the one millionth time what happens when a warm, moist air mass meets a dry, cool air mass along a frontal boundary? I don’t need another primer in meteorology. Just tell me if it’s going to rain, man.

-I am fairly certain I have peed in every natural body of water I have ever swam in.

-This is #33. I’m going to have a beer now, okay?

"A FOOL FOR CHRIST" MY INTERVIEW WITH MICHELE BACHMANN

2006-10-20T14:12:00.000-05:00

What follows is a transcript of a telephone interview I conducted with Minnesota State Representative Michele Bachmann, Republican candidate for the U.S. Congress.

BDS: Good afternoon Representative Bachmann, I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me.

MB: GRENN TOOOLK BREEG! NEEEEE! POOT TAMAHK!

BDS: I'm sorry, Mrs. Bachmann. I think there may be a problem with our connection...

MB: BLLEECHK! OOGLE! BLEECK DOOF!

BDS: Mrs. Bachmann?

(muffled noises, a male voice takes over)

MV: I apologize, Mr. Shuey. The Candidate is speaking in tongues again.

BDS: Does she do this often?

MV: Only when Our Lord and Savior is communicating through her.

BDS: Wait, that was Jesus? I thought it was Klingon.

MV: They're actually quite similar.

BDS: So, for the uninitiated, what was it Jesus was saying?

MV: He was just reaffirming his endorsement for Representative Bachmann's candidacy.

BDS: So Jesus is firmly in your camp?

MV: And where else would he be? With Wetterling?

BDS: Well, it's just that I've never really heard of him taking sides before.

MV: Oh, He does. And by the way, when you write "Him," it is properly capitalized.

BDS: Hold on, how did you know I didn't?

MV: Let's just say I know your type.

BDS: Fair enough. So you've got Jesus. Any other big names on board?

MV: Bigger names than Jesus?

BDS: Well, it's just that I've heard Patty Wetterling has Jessica Lange and Sam Shepard behind
her. Maybe Josh Hartnett, too.

MV: They're lightweights! Jesus had the biggest movie in the world two years ago.

BDS: Yeah, two years ago. You know what they say in Hollywood, "What have you done for me lately?"

MV: She's got the First Lady.

BDS: Ha! Laura Bush doesn't put asses in seats. Everyone knows that. I saw her at a Border's Books one time. You could hear crickets.

MV: Listen, the Candidate is confident that The Lord's backing will be enough.

BDS: And how exactly did Mrs. Bachmann secure the Lord's endorsement?

MV: The Candidate and her family joined hands, fasted and prayed for three days.

BDS: So, it was like Martin Luther King kind of thing?

MV: No, he was a Southern Baptist. The candidate and her family attend a very different sort of church.

BDS: Oh, that's right. So, what exactly does a "wealthy suburban mega-church fast" entail?

MV: (long pause)

BDS: Sir?

MV: Mostly imported bottled water and bread from the bakery at Byerly's.

BDS: Wow! It's a miracle they even survived!

MV: I assure you, adjusted for the Bachmann's level of income and ethnic background, it can be quite a transcendental experience of one's faith.

BDS: I'm sure it can! I skipped breakfast one time and had a vision of St. Bernadine of Siena telling me I should be Governor of West Virginia!

MV: Now you're just being smug. It's the arrogance of the godless liberal elite like you that the people of Minnesota will send Representative Bachmann to Washington to combat.

BDS: Elite? I had to crawl over a drunken prostitute just to get into my apartment building this morning. Mrs. Bachmann is a rich-as-shit tax attorney. She lives in a huge house in Stillwater. And suddenly I'm elite? How, precisely does that work?

MV: Wait a moment. You mean to say you're poor?

BDS: Well, I'm not exactly...

MV: Listen, the Candidate doesn't waste time on people who can't even find their own bootstraps. Call back when you've made something of yourself. (click)

BDS: Hello? Hello?

MY i.m. EXCHANGE WITH REP. MARK FOLEY

2006-10-06T14:12:00.000-05:00

What follows is an instant message discussion I had over the internet with an individual claiming to be Rep. Mark Foley of Florida. As the text will clearly demonstrate, this person was obviously an imposter. BDS

Maf54 (7:37:27 PM): how my favorite young stud doing

Shu22 (7:38:01 PM) Good, I guess. I certainly don't FEEL young. I'm a little sore. I was playing racquetball today.

Maf54 (7:39:32 PM): you need a massage

Shu22: (7:41:03 PM) Actually, that might be just the thing.

Maf54 (7:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny

Shu22: (7:48:16PM) Umm... not really. But one time I did have a sort of embarrassing moment at the masseuse. Luckily I didn't have to turn over right away!

Maf54 (7:55:02 PM): completely naked?

Shu22: (7:55:32 PM) I was wearing a towel.

Maf54 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air

Shu22: (7:58:09 PM) No, I was pretty much flat on my stomach the whole time. So anyway, what's Florida like this time of year?

Maf54 (8:00:53 PM): i like steamroom

Shu22: (8:01:11 PM) Yeah, I suppose it is pretty hot down there.

Maf54 (8:01:21 PM): i am hard as a rock..so tell me when your reaches rock

Shu22 (8:04:24 PM) When my what "reaches rock?" I'm not really following you. I must say, for a Congressman you seem to have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the English language. Are all members of the House of Representatives so loose with their grammar?

Maf54 (8:08:31 PM): get a ruler and measure it for me

Shu22: (8:09:14 PM) Measure what? The distance it would take me to "reach rock?"

Maf54 (8:10:40 PM): take it out

Shu22 (8:10:54 PM): Take WHAT out, the rock? I'm telling you I don't have any rocks with me. You're making no sense at all. I thought we were going to discuss healthcare reform.

Maf54 (8:11:06 PM): ok

Shu22 (8:14:02 PM): Fine. So, would you say the Republican-led Congress has made any progress on reforming a healthcare system that 72 percent of Americans say is broken?

Maf54 (8:14:37 PM): i like steamroom

Shu22: (8:22:17 PM) You know what? I don't think you're Rep. Mark Foley (R-FL) at all. I think you're just some weird Internet pervert. This discussion is over!

Maf54 (8:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny

A TERRIBLE SECRET REVEALED! : THE POD WOMEN OF TARGET CORPORATION

2006-09-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

Anyone who has been in downtown Minneapolis on a weekday during lunchtime (or at Happy Hour) has seen them. Their ubiquity is remarkable, but even more conspicuous is their homogeneity. The same hair, clothes and mannerisms. I had always thought it a result of a prevailing corporate culture. The reality is much more disturbing.

My source deep inside The Target Corporation (I’ll call him “Spot”—to protect his identity) revealed to me the REAL reason these women share such uncanny similarities.

Here is what I have learned from him so far:

-Fully 90 % of female employees at The Target Corporation are genetic clones grown in pods at a secret facility in Apple Valley. They are designated as “Target Pod Unit-Female” (Base Models 1-4.) They have a lifespan of only 10 years. (Those tracked for middle management—Models #MM242 and #MM248 have 15 and 20-year life-spans, respectively.)

-The original genetic material from which all TPU-Fs are spawned comes from one source, Beth Aarsvold Olson. She was the “Princess Kay of the Milky Way” butter sculpture winner from the 1977 Minnesota State Fair. How it was she came to be “Eve” to an army of corporate clones is cloudy, but it has something to do with a sordid and short-lived connection to a scientist in the animal husbandry division of Cargill in the early 1980’s.

-While Target essentially “owns” all TPU-Fs, not paying them a regular salary would obviously attract attention, “The Eye” (as “Spot” derisively refers to Target) arranges direct deposits into each pod’s bank account. Through a series of shell companies, Target secretly owns the following downtown Minneapolis drinking and dining establishments: “Brit’s,” “Cosmos,” “The Local” and “Solera.” The recent popularity of The Cosmopolitan and the chocolate martini is no accident. A predisposition for these drinks is genetically programmed into all TPU-Fs. Thus, at $8 a pop Target is able to recapture most of the money it pays out to its clones.

-The predominant hair color used on TPU-Fs (known internally simply as “Target Blond 11”) is available commercially through the L’Oreal Company as #8.2 Champagne Chili (Medium Iridescent Blonde.) Profits from the patent on this popular color are funneled back into the pod research and development program.

-The Target ID badges TPU-Fs wear on lanyards are in fact tracking and control devices. They are never removed, simply tucked away under their blouses.

-Like many women today, TPU-Fs often employ over the counter teeth bleaching products (or pay dentists in Target’s health plan for expensive procedures.) Unbeknownst to the pods, left alone their teeth will actually whiten themselves automatically through a complex process of osmosis originally pioneered by chemists at the Miss America Labs in Atlantic City, NJ. (The chemical process itself is closely guarded, but sources indicate a time-released sodium hypochlorite (NaOCl) compound is imbedded in the dentin.)

The method by which TPU-F’s are eventually “retired” involves the sanitary napkin dispensers in Target office buildings and the details are so horribly unpleasant that decorum prevents me from revealing them.

This is all the information I have at this point. Recent attempts to contact “Spot” have proved fruitless, and I have begun to fear the worst.

Your intrepid investigator,

Brian David Shuey

I LOVE LIVING IN THE CITY

2006-09-19T09:25:00.000-05:00

To the Occupant(s) of Apartment #____,

As best as I can tell, you were pounding on your ceiling (or, as I have come to call it, "my floor") last night. As this is a very limited way in which to communicate, I can only make assumptions about your point. Given the timing of your little outbursts my best guess is that you could hear the floorboards creaking under my feet. They will do that! If you have concerns about the quality of the flooring in this building I would suggest you take it up with the management.

This is my apartment. I live in it. I am not throwing wild parties. I am not operating a 24-hour roller disco. I am not practicing close-order drill in full pack and combat boots. But I repeat: I LIVE IN IT. As I am not invalided or prone in any way to be sedentary I will tend to move about from time to time. In fact, if need (or whim) be I will move about ALL THE TIME. Any time. Night or Day. Once again, MY PLACE. While I have not examined my lease recently (I have lived here quite contentedly and in good standing with both my neighbors and the management for nearly three years...YOU?) I am almost certain WALKING is not listed as a prohibited activity.

Make no mistake, I am not about to engage in some passive-aggressive pissing match with you. You live in an apartment building in the city. If this style of living does not suit you, that is not my concern. I (and many people I know) have dealt with the likes of you before. I suggest you adjust your expectations to match the reality of your situation. Or move. I understand the Boundary Waters in Northern Minnesota offer nearly unmatched solitude. Consider it.

Consider this as well. I have done nothing out of line and you are not going to shame or intimidate me into believing I have. So don't waste your time.

Here neighbor, is the meat of the matter: It is my name that appears on the lease for Apartment #19. And more the point, my name on the rent checks. Should you decide to pay the rent on this apartment perhaps we can reach an agreement on the time and manner in in which I move about in it. Until then, you may pound on your own ceiling until you break your broom or injure yourself. I honestly don't care.

Sincerely,

Brian Shuey

Apt. #19

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY (AND WHAT I SAID)

2006-09-12T22:38:00.000-05:00

So he says: "Now THIS is more like it!" raising his hands to the sky.

What I WANTED to say: "Jesus fucking Christ you fucking CRETIN! Enough about the goddamn weather! Every day for five years I've been coming out here to catch a quick smoke and a bit of peace and quiet and you're always fast on my heels wanted to have a chat. And always the weather! Nothing but the goddamn weather! What's with you, anyway? Haven't you noticed that for four and a half of these five years I have employed every conceivable strategy-- both subtle and overt --to communicate to you that I do not wish to discuss the weather? That I do not, in fact, wish to discuss ANYTHING! That I would merely like to take a brief respite from work for a cigarette and a moment of quiet reflection. And anyway, you're just talking AT me. You don't even notice if I respond. I could be a fucking TREE for all you care. When I'm not here you probably DO talk to the trees, don't you? You probably say things like, 'Well fellas, looks like you're gonna get a free watering today!' Or, 'Getting cold. Guess you'll be losing those leaves soon.' Well sir, I am not a tree! I am a human man! And I demand that you respect the sanctity of my individual human mind and not clutter it up with your inane and pointless meteorological observations! Damn you, sir! Damn you!"

What I said: "Sure is! Much nicer than yesterday."

THANKS FOR NOTHING, "SO-CALLED" STREET TEAM

2006-09-11T22:45:00.000-05:00

Well, the first event in "The Brian Shuey Street Team" calendar has come and gone and the turnout was less than spectacular. In fact, not one of you could trouble yourself to attend. I know I did not officially announce the date, but then ANTICIPATING MY NEEDS is clearly implied in the job description.

Nonetheless, "Fall House Cleaning 2006" was not a total loss. One potential recruit did wander in, no doubt enticed by the smell of fresh brownies and cherry Kool-Aid (By the way, I made enough FOR ALL OF YOU, so I guess I will be eating brownies for a while.) He had quite an appetite and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his free "BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM FALL HOUSE CLEANING 2006" t-shirt, but I could not get him to do any actual work. He stole a tray of Jell-O treats while my back was turned and scampered off down the hallway.

So it fell upon me to do all the work myself. Sweeping, mopping, cleaning toilets. That's right, "Street Team," Saturday afternoon saw your fearless leader on his hands and knees scrubbing floors like a common charwoman. These are precisely the sorts of tasks you folks were assembled to unburden me of.

In addition to the cleaning, there was a great deal of sorting junk to do. I filled two contractor bags brimming with discardables and carried them three floors down to the dumpster. Again, with no one's aid. Your loss, because here are...

JUST A FEW OF THE THINGS YOU COULD HAVE HAD BUT THAT I THREW AWAY BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO SHOW UP:

-300 books of matches- all with at least one match left. Also, dozens of disposable lighters that had, at best one more "light" left in them.

-All my post-9/11 pornographic magazines. They say "everything changed" that day, including it would seem, porn. I can't say I've enjoyed the changes.

-A bunch of wrist watches. (I dislike watches immensely but often receive them as gifts.)

-A VHS tape of rock videos recorded off of MTV's "120 Minutes" in the late 1980's—including the Depeche Mode video that was playing when I lost my virginity.

-One full box of galvanized roofing nails. (It occurred to me that while I do have a roof over my head, nailing it is not my responsibility.)

-A very old computer who's hard drive contained the majority of my tortured adolescent poetry. (Including at least one work with a couplet rhyming "rain" and "pain.")

-So many rubber bands.

So yes, any or all of these goodies could have been yours, but your laziness and disregard for me prevented that.

I am currently reevaluating your individual positions on the Street Team and the Team's existence as a whole.

Brian David Shuey

Note: Groveling messages of apology will go a long way to maintaining your active status on the BSST.

I'VE WRITTEN A "SIGN-OFF" PHRASE FOR KATIE COURIC!

2006-09-06T14:24:00.000-05:00

Apparently, Katie Couric has asked America to help her come up with a "sign-off" phrase for her nightly news casts. (It would seem CBS is suffering from a shortage of writers.)

What follows is the email I sent to "The CBS Evening News."

Greetings,

So as I understand it, Katie Couric is looking for a "sign-off" phrase a la Ed Murrow's "Good night and good luck."

Might I suggest the following:

"Thanks for sharing part of your dinner hour with me. As you scrape the un-eaten peas from your cold, neglectful husband's TV dinner tray into that flimsy, off-brand garbage bag and drag it to the curb in front of your sqalid, miserable little house remember: I make $13 million dollars a year to look pretty, smile and read the news. I'm Katie Couric. Good night, suckers!"

Too much?

Best regards,

Brian David Shuey

Minneapolis, MN

http://mrshuey.blogspot.com/

MY INTERVIEW WITH GEORGE W. BUSH (PT. 2)

2006-09-04T11:19:00.000-05:00

BDS: So, Mr. President, the last time we spoke you were enthusiastically touting your new, "Moving Forward" initiative. How's that going?

GWB: Done. It's a done deal. Dead in the water.

BDS: So I'm guessing you got a letter from...

GWB: Yeah, we got one of those "Seize and Detest" letters from Toyota.

BDS: You mean, "Cease and Desist?"

GWB: Whatever. Harriet's on it. (Ed. Note: White House Counsel Harriet Miers.) She says she thinks we might be able to fight it, but knowing it wasn't really MY IDEA makes me kind of just want to drop the whole thing.

BDS: So you'll be taking down the shark posters?

GWB: Hell NO! Harriet says so long as I cross out the words real good with a magic marker they can stay up. So they're stayin' up! The sharks will remind me to do a little more research before I jump feet-first into something. What can I say, I'm a charger. I charge ahead. It's my nature.

BDS: So you're beginning to think that maybe that's not always the best approach?

GWB: No, I'm still a charger. But now I'm gonna try to be a "cautious" charger.

BDS: So, for instance, Iraq: Charger. Iran: Cautious charger?

GWB: Yeah! Now you're getting it!

BDS: Now last week I tried to discuss this fall's elections. What do you think...

GWB: Whoa! Hold on. There's ELECTIONS this fall? Hell, I ain't even campaigned yet.

BDS: No sir. These are mid-term Congressional elections. You know, House and Senate seats?

GWB: Oh... Well, when am I up for election again?

BDS: Well sir, your term ends in 2008, but the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution prohibits you from running again. A President may only be serve two terms in office.

GWB: Oh, that's right. It's Jeb's turn next.

BDS: I suppose you could serve again if you changed the Constitution.

GWB: Really? You mean it?

BDS: Well, strictly speaking the President doesn't change the Constitution. Congress does it through the process of adding amendments. And then the legislative bodies of the several States must approve. But I suppose there's no harm in bringing it up with them.

GWB: Man, that Constitution's really somethin' else! I should read it sometime. Hey, what if I let Jeb have it for four years, and then I could have it back after him? I'll tell ya, I don't think America is gonna take to him quite the way they took to me.

BDS: I don't see why not. Congress can fashion the amendment to suit that.

GWB: So I take a break for awhile and come back all rested and ready in 2014.

BDS: Actually, it would be 2012.

GWB: 2012! Hot Damn! Ill be 63 years old in 2012, just hittin' my prime.

BDS: Well, in truth you'd be 66.

GWB: Really?

BDS: Yes, sir. You were born on July 6, 1946.

GWB: '46. Really? Huh? Now see, I know my birthday's right after the 4th of July because one birthday I remember having my hand all bandaged-up from a Roman candle thing going wrong. That's before I took the Lord into my heart. You know, back then.

BDS: The drinking days?

GWB: Yeah. Drinking and fireworks are just bad together. Fun though.

BDS: How about the Lord and fireworks?

GWB: They go together just fine.

BDS: So you think Jesus would approve of fireworks?

GWB: I don't think He'd use them himself, but I don't think he'd mind so much if his children did. Except maybe for Roman candles, on account of the trouble he had with Rome.

BDS: Perhaps that's why it was a Roman candle that blew-up in your hand. Maybe He was trying to tell you something.

GWB: Hey! You know, I never thought about it that way. Is there any such thing as Jewish fireworks? You know, "Jewish Candles?"

BDS: Ummm... I think a Jewish candle is a Menorah.

GWB: Never mind. Did you see, "The Passion?"

BDS: Well, to be honest sir, someone spoiled the ending for me so I just skipped it.

GWB: (To Karl Rove, in the other room) Hey! Turd-blossom! Get the projector cranked-up! We're watching "The Passion" again.

BDS: Actually sir, if we could just finish the interview I would...

GWB: Stuff the interview! You ain't leaving here until you see "The Passion." You like Orville Redenbacher?

BDS: The man or the popcorn?

GWB: It's always a fucking question with you, isn't it?

JOIN THE "BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM"

2006-08-31T11:47:00.000-05:00

(8.25.06)

So I've decided to assemble a street team to get the word out about me. I've noticed that rock bands, skateboard companies and even major corporations have had a great deal of success with this somewhat novel marketing concept. And since I'm too lazy to go out and promote myself, this seemed like the only way to go.

STREET TEAM MEMBER BENEFITS INCLUDE:

FREE ADMISSION TO ALL BRIAN SHUEY EVENTS: These happen throughout the year. The next big one is, "Fall House Cleaning 2006" This will take place at my apartment and Street Team Members will get the exclusive right to participate. Just a few of the fun activities...

-"What's that under the dresser?"

-"Mop Race Rally!"

-"Scavenger Hunt:" (or) "Lets find out where Brian stored his goddamn fucking winter hat/scarf/gloves so he doesnt have to buy all new ones like he does every year."

FREE BRIAN SHUEY MERCHANDISE: This is pretty much limited to things I have but don't want anymore. Ill-fitting clothes, old Econ textbooks that I've been inexplicably carting around with me since college, a VHS copy of "Blade Runner" taped off of TBS in 1988 with (most of) the commercials cut out, and rubber bands. Lots of rubber bands.

FREE SUBSCRIPTION TO THE BRIAN SHUEY NEWSLETTER! A glossy, twice-monthly publication to keep everyone updated on my many exciting activities. (Note: Production of the Brian Shuey Newsletter-- including all costs incurred-- shall be the responsibility of Street Team Members.)

For all these GREAT BENEFITS, you will simply be asked to:

-Tell your friends about BRIAN SHUEY and his many fine qualities.

-Call radio stations and encourage the hosts to talk about BRIAN SHUEY-- regardless of the topic at hand and ignoring the fact that no one knows who I am. This is how "buzz" is generated.

-Attend public events and distribute BRIAN SHUEY-related promotional materials. Buttons, stickers, t-shirts, etc. (Note: production of BRIAN SHUEY-related promotional materials-- including all costs incurred-- shall be the responsibility of Street Team Members.)

It's that easy!

So join the fun and help spread the word!

All the best,

Brian Shuey

(Note: Street Team Members will be issued pagers and will be required to be "on-call" 24 hours a day, seven days a week.)

THE BEST JOKE ABOUT A HORSE I'VE WRITTEN TODAY

2006-08-31T11:43:00.000-05:00

A horse walks into a bar...

Bartender: "Hey buddy, why the long face?"

Horse: "Well, I'm a member of the genus Equus. Equus caballus, to be exact. We're part of a larger group of odd-toed ungulate mammals. The face is an adaptation developed over millions of years. Zoologists theorize that it is intended to facilitate grazing on short plains grasses."

Bartender: "Really? You don't say? Well, what'll it be?"

Horse: "I'd love a carrot... If you've got any?"

Bartender: "Sure thing, pal. Coming right up!"

MY INTERVIEW WITH GEORGE W. BUSH (PT. 1)

2006-08-31T11:37:00.000-05:00

(8.16.06)

Note: What follows is an interview I conducted with President Bush in the west wing of the White House in mid-August of 2006. BDS

BDS: Good afternoon, Mr. President. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.

GWB: Call me George. No wait, call me "Thumper." That's what they called me in school. You wanna know why?

BDS: I suppose I could guess.

GWB: Wait, this is "on the record," right? That's the one where you can print whatever I say?

BDS: It is.

GWB: Better go with "George," then. Or, "President George."

BDS: How about just, "Mr. President."

GWB: That'll do 'er!

BDS: Now then, Mr. President. You're half-way through your second term, how would you say things are going?

GWB: I'll tell you Brian, things are going GREAT! We got a new motto here at the White House, "Moving Forward." Things are really moving forward right now. Forward momentum. Like a rocket to the moon.

BDS: Or Mars.

GWB: What?

BDS: You may recall, you announced an initiative to realize the dream of manned exploration of the planet Mars.

GWB: I did?

BDS: Yes, some time ago.

GWB: And how's that going?

BDS: Well, we're not there yet, sir.

GWB: Hmm, guess I better kick a few butts over at NASA. Get 'em "Moving Forward," eh? (chuckles)

BDS: Yes, I'm beginning to see the wisdom of your new approach.

GWB: You know where I got it from, don't ya? From, "Shark Week." You know, on The Discovery Channel. That's Channel 58 on satellite here in D.C. But it's something different down in Crawford. I wish they could do something about that. Every time I go down there I have to flip around forever to figure out which one is The Discovery Channel. And then, when I find it as soon as I change the channel I forget and I can't get back to it without doing the whole dang thing over again. ESPN's the same in both places. It's 32. I don't know why, though.

BDS: So, um... back to Shark Week?

GWB: Oh yeah. So I learned on Shark Week that sharks have to keep moving forward in the water or they'll die.

(In the background:) Aide #1: Except for Nurse sharks, of course.

GWB: What?

Aide #2: Never mind. Its just an "I.F.," sir.

BDS: "I.F.?"

Aide #2: "Inconvenient Fact." They impede forward momentum. They are contra to the President's paradigm. The paradigm requires that the President ignore them. They are dealt with by people like me.

(Aide #1 is led from the room. Door closes. Some muffled noises on the other side.)

GWB: Yeah, so anyway it's something about the air in the water. And I just thought that was really neat and then I thought it would be a heckuva motto for my administration. Now I got pictures of sharks all over the White House. All sorts of different ones. Hammerheads are the scariest, don't you think? Or maybe Great Whites? They have those down in Australia. You know Australia's a member of "THE COALITION OF THE WILLING," right? Hell, they sent eight or nine guys to Iraq. I know it don't sound like much, but if they're all like Mad Max, well then I bet they could really do some damage!

BDS: Perhaps we should have asked the Australians for some of their sharks?

GWB: Now why didn't I think of that? Teddy! (to Aide #3) Get what's-his-nuts on the phone!

Aide #3: Prime Minister Howard?

GWB: Yeah, him. Tell him I want to talk to him about getting some sharks.

Aide #3: Can do, sir!

BDS: So, these shark posters. Did you have a motivational products company make them?

GWB: Hell no! I DID IT MYSELF! It was decided that it was an important initiative. In fact, they thought it was so important that Dick even gave me the code to run the color copier. Want to know what it is?

BDS: Actually, sir I think that...

GWB: Oh, come on. It won't hurt none, as long as you don't PRINT it. It's... (silently mouths a four-number series.)

BDS: Well yes, I can see why...

GWB: Now I can have you killed. You know... (whispers) to protect the secret.

BDS: Ummm...

GWB: Oh hell! Im just messin' with you little buddy! In fact, why don't you go ahead and remember that. I may need to call you about it if I forget. Dick doesn't like to tell me things twice. And I've learned not to ask twice.

BDS: It will be our secret, sir. Now then, if we could move on to the matter of the coming mid-term elections, I'd like to know what you think the biggest challenge to

(Aide #3 interrupts): Sir, I've got Prime Minister Howard on line 3.

GWB: Aw, hell! I better take this now or I'll never remember what it was I wanted to talk to him about. Can you come back next week? We can finish up then.

BDS: Of course, Mr. President. Perhaps we can discuss something other than sharks?

GWB: Whatever. Sharks. BBQ. The war. Shit! Its all good!

MR. SHUEY'S SEVEN TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE APOCALYPSE

2006-08-31T11:34:00.000-05:00

(7.18.06)

As most of you know, I am an atheist. However, I'm also practical, and can see the wisdom in preparing for any eventuality, however farcical or remote.
According to the Bible--Thats the book you have to move aside in your hotel room night table when you're looking for matches or the handy list of local delivery joints-- the End Times are just around the corner. In fact, they have been for a couple of millennia now. With the current dust-up in the Middle East, contemporary prophets of doom contend that they are really, REALLY just around the corner.

If you are devout Christian, apparently you're all set (A note to devout Christians: I'd keep paying those credit card bills all the same.)
But what about the rest of us? I now present...

MR. SHUEY'S SEVEN TIPS FOR SURVIVING THE APOCALYPSE

1) The right shoes are a must: Make sure they fit properly (no "pinching") but are not too loose either. It's going to be either really hot or really cold (they are unclear on this) so have a supply of wool AND cotton socks on hand.

2) Stock-up on lots of water: Get the least expensive distilled water available. God will not be impressed by Evian or Voss, and having the expensive kinds around may lose you essential "piety" points.

3) Have a Bible on you: Couldn't hurt. Just make sure you didn't steal it from the hotel room. Those are for sharing.

4) Clean-up your apartment: Throw-out the porn. Don't just hide it. Jesus is coming, not your Mom. However, unlike your Mom, you do not need to dust on Jesus' account. (I don't think, anyway.) Do not throw out the booze, though. If you don't make the cut you're going to need it. In fact...

5) Secure plenty of booze: I put my odds of getting "Left Behind" at a very high order of probability. And I don't plan on being sober for The Rapture anymore than I plan on being sober this weekend.

6) Get a really good umbrella: Ask the guy at the store if it will protect you from raining sulfur. When he gives you a stupid look just buy the most expensive one they have. Go out in style, thats my motto.

7) Fuck it! Go apeshit!: You know what? I'm still writing this (and you're still reading it) so chances are we're BOTH going to hell. And as much as I hate people mucking-up my floors and spilling beer on my records, THE RAPTURE PARTY'S AT MY PLACE! A no-hold-barred naked, drunken freak-fest that would make Caligula blush. I promise it will be the best (and last) party you ever attend. See you there.

MR. SHUEY'S NOVEL "HEADLINE" MENTAL HEALTH TEST

2006-08-31T11:23:00.000-05:00

(7.9.06)

So here's a little game I've invented. There are 20 headlines below. Some are real, some I've made-up. Think you know which are which? I'll bet you don't! (Note: this is not a "trick" in which they're ALL made-up. Honest. I wouldn't pull something like that. That's something a dick does.)Feel free to send me your guesses. The "winner" will get a prize to be determined later.

1) Aspirin kills/saves lives

2) 5 G.I.s Charged in Iraq rape-slay

3) Which Hot Styles Best Fit Her Face?

4) Fresh Israeli strikes target Gaza

5) New "Poison" to cure cancer?

6) Cruise to court Catholics?

7) Getting the Most Out Of Doggie playtime

8) Zarqawi comic book stash

9) Mexico Vote Flap to postpone Bullfights

10) Security Plan Staggers on

11) "Orphan Train" in Bangladesh catches fire; 22 Dead

12) Babies at 70? New Trend?

13) Next World Cup in Africa?

14) Study: Women Sweat More Than Men

15) Boy loses Fingers to Alligator; Will Keep as Pet

16) French P.M.: Head-butts "tres mauvais"

17) Toothpaste "ban" in Russian Province

18) Love All As Wimbledon Denies David Hasselhoff Row

19) Mexico Genocide Charges dropped

20) Rocket Size of Football Pitch New N. Korean threat?

Good luck!

Mr. Shuey

WARNING! FRAYED FUCKING EDGES! (7.7.06)

2006-08-31T11:17:00.000-05:00

So I sincerely hope this is taken in the spirit intended, but one never knows.

For reasons manifold and complex I am currently near the end of my fucking rope. I have come to believe that letting people know this is preferable to exploding without warning. So I guess what I'm asking for is a little leeway. I usually try to do the honorable thing and --when these moods take hold-- sequester myself until things blow over.

Unfortunately, that is not always an option.

Make no mistake. Being out and about (especially with friends and acquaintances) can be one of life's true pleasures. Unfortunately, when the "mood" takes hold it can be exactly the opposite. Small things, ordinarily brushed-off can become blasting caps. For instance:

DON'T BUMP INTO ME OR SHOVE PAST ME WITHOUT SAYING "EXCUSE ME:" I haven't punched anyone in years, but I'm getting damn close.

TALK WITH ME, NOT AT ME: If you'd like to have a conversation, that's swell. If you'd like to talk without pause in my general direction and expect me to sit there and nod politely, go fuck yourself. Go fuck yourself a lot.

UNSOLICITED ADVICE IS ALWAYS UNWELCOME: If you're doing so goddamned great, why are you sitting in a bar talking to a loser like me? Shouldn't you be on your yacht?

(AND ON A SIMILAR NOTE) THE RIGHT TEA AIN'T GONNA FIX THIS: It seems odd that someone like me would know so many well-meaning moon-bats who seem intent on forcing teas, balms, roots and "essences" down my throat (or "up" other places) with the promise of immediate blissful happiness. And they all seem to believe that it's the pharmaceutical companies who are the hustlers, not the folks at THE WEDGE. (HINT: They're BOTH hustlers.)

Long experience has taught me one simple truth: VALIUM WORKS! (Everything else is bullshit.)

So perhaps this was less a warning rather than a subtle way of trying to secure some Valium? Who knows? Like I said, I'm a little frayed!

Either way, I thought it best to let you folks know where things stand.

ENEMIES LIST (PT. 1)

2006-06-30T11:52:00.000-05:00

(6.28.06)

I have been compiling my comprehensive "Enemies List" for well over a decade now. It has filled many a notebook. Nixon-- perhaps as a result of his legendary paranoia-- sought to keep his secret. I choose to share mine freely. Here are a few recent additions:

PIGEONS: This needs no explanation. Loud, nefarious, disease-ridded shit machines. "Satans Songbirds." They are a plague upon me.

VICE ADMIRAL RICHARD H. CARMONA M.D, M.P.H., F.A.C.S.-- SURGEON GENERAL, U.S.A.: The Admiral's recently released report on second-hand smoke (long on bullshit, short on science) goes so far as to suggest that being 50 feet down wind of a cigarette could cause instant death. This is bound to saddle me with a great deal of aggravation in the near future.

NORWEGIAN-AMERICAN WOMEN OVER THE AGE OF 65: For my money, the most disagreeable sub-set of humanity I have ever encountered. They are devoid of all human warmth. They are physically incapable of smiling. Playwright Syl Jones calls them, "The Ice People." I call them "Stone Faces" or "Stonies."

THE FUCKING DOUCHEBAG I SAT NEXT TO AT THE TWINS GAME THE OTHER NIGHT: We had scored great seats for this one. One draw-back to this; in my experience, the "better" (read: more "expensive") the seats, the worse the company (CLASS WAR NOW!) The guy to my right showed-up an inning and a half in, was rude to his fiancé, spilled beer on my shoes, seemed to have very little interest in the game, would get up during crucial pitches for refreshments, and most irritating of all, he kept bumping me on the shoulder every time he removed his black RAZR phone from his pocket. He was doing this so he could stay in constant contact with a friend who was also somewhere in the crowd.

"Dude, I'm in, like, 129, come on down!" "No seriously, come on down dude!"

I would have loved to crack this fucker in the mouth, but getting into a fight at a Twins game gets you ejected, and all I could think about was that color-man Bert Blyleven would comment as I was led away, " There go a couple of clowns getting thrown out for fighting."
The thought of being referred to as a "clown" by Bert Blyleven was enough to keep me in line.

JOE FRANCIS, PRODUCER "GIRLS GONE WILD" VIDEO SERIES: I have yet to actually see one of these videos, but the other evening I saw a commercial for one and it is with a great deal of shame that I admit it kind of turned me on. This says less about the video and more about my slide towards middle age. I blame Joe Francis for reminding me of this. Prick.

ANN COULTER: Bitch, I want my underpants and NAKED RAYGUN records back! I know where you live! (242 Seabreeze Ave, Palm Beach, FL 33480-6129)

MY ULCER: Here's a head-scratcher: Does the act of cultivating a long and varied list of enemies cause an ulcer? Or is it the ulcer that causes one to have-- or perceive to have-- so many enemies?

MY FRIENDS ENEMIES: "My friends enemies are MY enemies." Hey, it's the least I can do for you guys

ALUMINUM BASEBALL BATS=INSTRUMENTS OF THE DEVIL!

2006-06-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

(6.20.06)

There are two interesting articles at foxsports.com that discuss how folks are rethinking the wisdom of using aluminum baseball bats (especially for youth leagues.)

http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697038

http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/5697040

Most of the debate seems to center around safety issues (i.e. the ball leaves the bat too quickly/Timmy doesn't see the ball coming/ball cracks Timmy in the skull/Timmy goes into a coma/Timmy don't wake-up-- or else wakes-up "all wrong".)

They also talk about what using aluminum bats does to the skill level of young players and how many are unable to make the adjustment when circumstances eventually require them to use REAL bats. ("Real," meaning wood.)

My only complaint is that none of the sources quoted could bring themselves to state that which we all know to be true; that aluminum baseball bats are fucking lame and should be gathered up-- by force of law, if necessary-- and melted down into something useful.

Beer cans come to mind.

Brian David Shuey
Current Status: 30-Day Disabled List

BROKEN FINGER

2006-06-30T11:48:00.000-05:00

(6.15.06)

(This is mostly for the Sunday Baseball crowd)

So for the few of you who showed-up for Wednesday's infield/batting practice-- That ground ball I took off the tip of my middle finger? X-Rays reveal that the finger in question is broken. This would explain why it's swollen to three times it's normal size and black (not "black and blue" mind you-- black.)

The only consolation I take from this is that I feel much less nebbish for all the carping I did about how much it fucking stung.

I see an orthopedic doctor next week, but my guess is I won't be at 1st base for at least 3-4 weeks. So fellow infielders, be nice to who ever takes over... and for Christ's sake try to get your throws out of the dirt. (No names.)

To non-ballplayers, my Sundays are now free for:

-coffee
-shopping for pants
-matinee movies
-naked "McLaughlin Group" viewing
-walks around Lake Calhoun
-Chinese checkers
-regular "American" checkers
-competitive cigarette smoking

Man, this is going to suck...

P.S. As it is the middle finger on my RIGHT hand, no scheduled DIE ELECTRIC! shows will need be cancelled. Sorry, you're not getting off that easy. However, I must admit that practice tonight revealed that playing with a splint on is something of a motherfucker, and the subsequent throbbing is no picnic.

I LEARNED SOMETHING ODD ABOUT MYSELF TODAY

2006-06-30T11:46:00.000-05:00

(6.11.06)

Watching a cellist slowly and carefully apply rosin to her bow before a performance is something I very much enjoy being witness to.

Is that weird?

(No, there are no websites for this sort of thing... not that I was able to find anyway.)

ON WEARING SHORTS

2006-06-30T11:44:00.000-05:00

ON THE WEARING OF "SHORTS" (6.5.06)

So heres the deal:Throughout my adult life I have had some fairly strict rules regarding the wearing of "shorts."
They break-down roughly as such:

1992-1996: Only when a) skateboarding b) in summertime outdoor BBQ situations c) particularly hot band practices. NEVER after sundown.

1997-2000: Never, ever, under any circumstances.2001-2003: Only during daylight hours when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees. Or when riding a bicycle. Maybe at a hot band practice.

2004-2005: Any time --day or night-- when the temperature exceeded 95 degrees.

2006-: I've had it! Seriously, it's early June and we've had how many 90+ days? I officially declare the right to wear shorts any time I goddamn please. I have no air conditioning in my apartment. I don't drive (so no cruising around in air conditioned bliss there.) I'm not about to spend the summer going to shitty movies just to escape the heat. Should I need to, for instance, walk all over town doing errands when it's terrifically hot, I'm sorry, but you may be exposed to my legs-- from the knee to the ankle. There is nothing unseemly about this part of my body. Just deal with it.

I mention all of this because there have been a few occasions in the last week where I was in public wearing shorts (the HORROR!) and not a soul I know could refrain from making a smart-ass little comment. I don't need this shit from you people. Here's a secret: I'm not nearly as good-natured as is reputed, and mark this; The next motherfucker who thinks he's being "cute" and opens up on me about it is going to find THEMSELVES critiqued in a manner so withering and hurtful that they will wish they had kept their mouth shut. Dig?

I promise you this and this alone: You will never see me play a show in shorts. That remains my only proviso. Otherwise, all bets are off.

2006-06-30T11:40:00.000-05:00

SATURDAY WAS A-OKAY! (6.4.06)

So here's what I did:
Woke up.
Made coffee.
Smoked cigarettes.
Drank coffee.
Made breakfast.
Ate breakfast.
Listened to records.(While I listened to records I watched the NCAA softball finals-- no, there was no baseball on at the time-- and just when I thought I hated softball more than anything, realized there was something I hated even more... THE UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA SOFTBALL TEAM. The reasons why are too manifold and complex to go into now, but UCLA beat them so those fucking ladies can go home and cry into their sun visors!)
Talked on the phone with my Mom and Dad in Pennsylvania.
Drank more coffee.
Went to Blazer's "Going Away" pig roast.
Threw the baseball around.
Drank beer.
Played badmitton.
Sustained a batmitton-related injury. (YES, it's possible. If you give it your all!)
Ate some unbelievably delicious pig.
Darnk beer. (No, that's not a typo.)
Played a game of poker.
Won $15.
Went to the Triple Rock.Saw The Holy Ghostriders.Saw Birthday Suits.Saw The Riverboat Gamblers.
Took a "mystery" pill.
Got sort of sleepy/happy.
Came home.
Started typing.
Tomorrow I get to play baseball.
I guess my point is, things aren't so bad.

JUST IN TIME FOR WEDDING SEASON: "MR. SHUEY'S SHORT GUIDE TO WEDDING ETTIQUITE"

2006-06-02T16:30:00.000-05:00

(NOTE: I was tempted to title this, "Weddiquite," but then I remembered that the Marquis de la Fontaine was hanged by Louis XIV in 1682 for making the very same lousy joke. LOOK IT UP!) BDS

ARRIVAL:

Always arrive late, preferably during a key point in the ceremony. Make a lot of noise. Make a fuss. This will reassure the Bride and Groom that the event is a "hot ticket." Lets face it; if it wasn't you would have waited outside until it was over.

HECKLING:

Is generally frowned upon. However, if I have to watch someone cart out the bride's emotionally unbalanced third cousin to read Corinthian's 13:4-8 again I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

"Love is not boastful, arrogant, rude, irritable or resentful?" Really? You could have fooled me. (You see, this is the kind of wisdom you get from a book that talks about invisible people in the sky.)

That said, the Bible's a big book and not without useful advice. For instance, take this little gem from Leviticus: "Never have sexual intercourse with a woman and her daughter or a woman and her granddaughter. They are related. Doing this is perverted."

This passage will help remind the congregants of the importance of family and may serve to keep things from getting too "freaky" at the reception. Then again...

THE RECEIVING LINE:

Unless you really want a better idea of how the bride looks in her dress, skip it. The real line is forming at the bar.

THE RECEPTION:

This is really the Main Event. In fact, I have always thought that the actual wedding should simply be video taped and shown on a loop at the reception. That way, anyone who really wanted to see it can.

YOUR ROLE:

Get drunk. Get drunk fast. In fact, get drunk faster than anybody else. (You wouldn't believe the pressure this takes off the other guests.) Especially the married men. Every one of them has a wife who is fully expecting that it will be HER husband who will be the most drunken, boorish lout in the place. Imagine her surprise and delight when that role is taken on BY YOU! Think of all the arguments you will be preventing! You may, in fact, end up saving some of these peoples marriages. So with each shot you take, quietly tell yourself, "What I do tonight, I do for Love."

MAKE A TOAST:

This is traditionally the purview of the Best Man. However, legendary stories of embarrassing, drunken wedding toasts have caused grooms to become notoriously safe in choosing their best men. The result is predictable, bland, overly sentimental toasts. This is where you come in. Inject a little edginess into the affair. Drop a bomb, so to speak. For instance, if you happen to know the groom to be gay-- HOW you know is your business-- a toast is a good time to "out" him. This may seem heavy-handed, but I assure you you'll be saving the blissful couple a lot of pain and confusion in the coming years.

While the groom is fair game, whatever your inclinations, NEVER SAY ANYTHING UNTOWARD ABOUT THE BRIDE. I don't hold much to be above scorn, but a bride on her wedding day is. No matter what you may think of her, no matter what you may know, THE BRIDE GETS A FREE PASS.

PERSONS AT THE RECEPTION TO AVOID (OR EMBRACE):

EMBRACE: Any divorced, forty-something aunt chain smoking Marlboro Light 100s from one of those soft leather snap cases and periodically exclaiming, "Whoo Hoo!" I've noticed a tendency for people to steer clear of these woman. That's a mistake. They are my personal favorites. Be a gentleman and see that such ladies are never without a drink. They deserve a good time.

AVOID: Any down-on-his-heels uncle who cant get two words into a conversation without pitching a "sure-fire" business scheme.

AVOID: The Bride's parents. This is a safety measure. They paid for the event, and as a result are the only one's who's opinion of your behavior really matters.

AVOID: All children. Scrubbed-up and on their best behavior they might end up give you some perverse notions... like having one's of your own.

EMBRACE: Grandmas.

GETTING HOME:

What ever you do, do not drive home in your condition. Getting yourself killed on someone else's wedding night is considered "upstaging" and is quite rude. If you must, sleep in your car. Cops are surprisingly patient with people sleeping in their cars-- so long as they are well dressed. (Oddly, this is something the Kennedy's never really learned.)

Good luck, and enjoy the wedding season.

YOUR DEFINITIONS FOR THE DAY

2006-06-02T16:28:00.000-05:00

"INCONGRUITY" defined: Finding a discarded wad of wintergreen Skoal in the bathroom urinal at a fine arts museum.

"MISPLACED CURIOSITY" defined: The manner by which one discovers it was indeed wintergreen.

THE ANT WHISPERER

2006-06-02T16:25:00.000-05:00

Today I sat on a bench in the courtyard smoking a cigarette and upon examining the pavement under my feet saw a curious sight. An ant barely the size of a pin-head dragging what looked to be a small fragment of potato chip at least TEN TIMES its size and weight.

I followed its progress with no small amount of fascination as it moved the behemoth one inch, then two, then nearly three before seemingly giving up and moving some distance away from it.

"DON'T QUIT NOW, YOU PUSS!" I exclaimed-- much to the bemusement of some passersby!

Sure enough, the ant revisited the morsel, circling it a few times as if to size it up, and then returned to the slavish task of transporting it.

It felt good to know I had shamed the ant into fulfilling its obligation to the collective back at the ant hill.

I felt a little bit like Stalin.

And it was strangely satisfying.

NO MORE NICKEL MOUSTACHE RIDES!

2006-06-02T16:21:00.000-05:00

So as some of you know, I shaved off my moustache yesterday. It was time for it to go.
However, my friend Arman pointed out that one consequence of losing the moustache is that I will no longer be able to provide "Moustache Rides"

Eschewing inflation-- and in keeping with the exchange rate established by humorous 1970's t-shirts--I was still providing them for a mere 5 cents. Virtually unheard of in this day and age!
Even at such a paltry sum, it occurs to me that I have quite thoughtlessly eliminated a significant portion of my yearly income.

To supplement that loss, I propose the following:

"I WILL SCREW YOU FOR ONE THIN DIME!"

(The t-shirts are on order. I'll let you know how it goes.)

MR. SHUEY'S HAPPY-TIME BEEF STEW

2006-06-02T16:18:00.000-05:00

Another delicious bachelor delicacy!

INGREDIENTS:
(1) can Dinty Moore Brand Beef Stew
(2) tablespoons BBQ sauce
(1/2) teaspoon pepper
garlic powder and basil to taste

COOKING INSTRUCTIONS:
1) Open can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Be careful not to cut yourself. Blood is not one of the ingredients in this recipe.
2) Remove about 1/2 total number of carrots. They always put too many fucking carrots in. The "health conscious" among you may also take this opportunity to remove some of the lard that has congealed at the top of the can. (I don't recommend this, but I know how it is with you kids today.) Pour remaining contents in to a saucepan. DO NOT MICROWAVE, you lazy prick. It won't come out as well and always explodes-- leading to a very messy microwave that smells like cheap beef stew.
3) Simmer on low heat for five minutes, adding additional ingredients as it begins to bubble.

Serve with warm buttered bread and a large glass of Hershey's Chocolate Milk. MMMM!

ALTERNATE: remove all carrots, cook to reduction and serve over egg noodles. Double MMMM!

Enjoy!

"LITTLE PINK SHIT MACHINE"

2006-06-02T16:14:00.000-05:00

A Very Short Work of Fiction by Brian David Shuey

"And how old is it?"
"Seven weeks."
"It's seven weeks OLD, or you've had it for seven weeks?"
"I've had it for seven weeks."
"So how old is it?"
"I don't know, what's it matter?"
"Well, I'm just wondering how big it will get."
"Pretty big...I guess."
"And you're just going to keep it in that box?"
"That's the box it came with."
"What does it DO?"
"It pretty much just makes that noise and fouls itself."
"And why did you buy this thing again?"
"I don't know, it looked cute in the store."
"What do you feed it?"
"The guy gave me this white stuff."
"That's all it eats?"
"He said that's all it eats until it gets a bit older.""But I guess most of them don't make it that long."
"What do you call it?"
"I'm thinking of calling it, 'The Little Pink Shit Machine.'"
"Cute, but really, what are you going to NAME it?"
"I don't want to give it a proper name just yet in case it dies."
"That makes sense."
"What did they call it at the store.""HUMAN."
"That's weird."
"Yeah, they're kind of new."

$10 BONSAI CONTEST: QUARTERLY REPORT

2006-04-25T21:41:00.000-05:00

For the many thousands of you who entered the "$10 Bonsai Pool" back in January, we now find ourselves at the three month mark and an update on my progress seems only proper.

There were a handful of un-believers who's wagers had me killing-off the tree within the first few months--or weeks, in some cases. I won't mention any names, but your lack of faith in me did not go unmarked!

Rest assured, YOU WILL NEVER SEE THAT $10 BILL!

And as if to rub it in, the Treasury Department has just issued new tens-- and they're very smart looking!

It is with great pleasure (and no small amount of pride) that I report the bonsai tree is ALIVE and THRIVING!

For those of you who would have any doubts, you may go to my profile page and look at pictures section. There you will find an image of the tree looking quite robust and holding a copy of this past Sunday's STAR TRIBUNE.

(By the way, my bonsai wanted me to mention that he found the Strib's coverage of the University of Minnesota Stadium debate pandering and short-sighted. It seems he would much rather see the money spent on an arboretum. I tried to explain to him that, "politics is the allocation of scarce resources." He told me to, "shut the fuck up" and get him another beer.)

Semper Fi Bonsai!

A SHORTY AND SOME SHOWS... (FROM APRIL 21, 2006)

2006-04-25T21:37:00.000-05:00

A very short work of fiction, "SATURDAY NIGHT." by Brian David Shuey

"What was THAT all about?"
"What?"
"The look that women gave you?"
"She gave me a look?"
"Yeah, that red-head that just walked by." "Do you know her?"
"Ummmm..."
"Well she certainly seems to know YOU."
"I still don't know who you're talking about."
"That RED-HEADED SLUT that just breezed by us!" "She gave ME a look, too."
"What kind of look?"
"I don't know, a red-headed slut kind of look. Like she knew something."
"Knew something about WHAT?"
"That's what I'd like YOU to tell ME!"
"Listen, it's crowded as fuck in here, I can't even figure out who it is you're talking about."
"You're not a very good liar, you know that?"
"Oh Jesus, not this again?"
"Not WHAT again?"
"Listen, I'm going to the bar to get a drink."
"Say hello to your little red-headed friend!"
"You know what, FUCK YOU!"

DIE ELECTRIC! SHOWS NEXT WEEK:

THURSDAY, APRIL 27: UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN, STOUT (w/ THE CARDINAL SIN)

FRIDAY, APRIL 28: THE TURF CLUB, ST. PAUL (for THUNDER IN THE VALLEY'S CD RELEASE)

SATURDAY, APRIL 29: THE VARSITY THEATER, MPLS, MN (FOR THE "EYES AND HANDS" FESTIVAL)

FUNNY THING... (FROM APRIL 19, 2006)

2006-04-25T21:34:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting on my front steps waiting for a ride the other night when a dude comes up and asks if he can join me.

"Why not?" I say.

Now, nothing he would do in the next five minutes would in any way bother me, but in light of his parting comment I couldn't help finding the whole interaction rather amusing. In that brief span of time he would:

-ask me for a money (misdemeanor- panhandling)

-enjoy an alcoholic beverage on a public street (misdemeanor- open container)

-attempt to sell me marijuana (misdemeanor- drug offense)

-attempt to sell three passersby marijuana (3 more drug offenses)

-loiter (misdemeanor)

-litter (misdemeanor)

- Attempt to sell three passersby memory cards for their cell phones. (Possession and attempted sale of stolen goods)

(To be fair, perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt on the last one. I don't know what an "authorized" independent late-night cellular phone memory card street vendor looks like-- or even if such a thing exists-- but then, if they do I don't imagine they carry open cans of malt liquor.)

As I said, I didn't really give a shit about any of it, but when the police seemed to have ceased their runs on Nicollet, he took his leave, saying, "Thanks for letting me duck-down here. Those motherfuckers got nothing better to do than drive up and down the street hassling innocent people!"

At that, it took some restraint on my part not to bust-out laughing.

People like that really make my day.

"SHALL MAKE NO LAW..." SEEMS PRETTY CLEAR TO ME (FROM APRIL 17, 2006)

2006-04-25T21:30:00.000-05:00

Hey, citizens!The 2006 THOMAS JEFFERSON, "MUZZLE AWARDS" HAVE BEEN ANNOUNCED!

The Thomas Jefferson Center for the Protection of Free Expression yearly awards the dubious "Muzzle"s to persons or groups who WOULD ABRIDGE THE RIGHT OF FREE EXPRESSION for any number of reasons-- from the evil to the benign to the well-intentioned (if misguided.)

"YOU KNOW WHO," (shhh.. he could be listening) topped the list for his charmingly retro, Nixonesque warrentless wiretaps.

The rest of these swine comprise a diverse rogue's gallery that serve to remind that there are folks all over the political spectrum that think they know what's best for us.

to view the "MUZZLES," go here:http://www.tjcenter.org/muzzles.html

Need a brush-up on our Constitution? Go here:http://www.usconstitution.net/const.html

Too lazy for all that shit? Here's the amendment that all the kids are talking about:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

Pretty neat, Huh?

ZOMBIES AND KNIFE-WIELDING LUNATICS (FROM APRIL 12, 2006)

2006-04-25T21:17:00.000-05:00

For years now, even if I am not in the mood to put away ALL the dishes, I will at least put any large kitchen knives back in the drawer. I do this because if a lunatic were to break into my apartment, I don't want anything big and sharp to be handy. I mean, if he's going to kill me with my own knife I would really rather he had to root around in the drawer for it.

In fact, I would prefer he bring his own weapon, because I would hate for my last thoughts to be, "You asshole! Why did you have to buy such a good knife?"

"'TOP OF THE LINE-- SHARP AND STURDY,' it said on the box!"

"This prick can stab you all night with this thing and it will never dull or break!"

Then that got me thinking about how a few years ago I took to practicing getting my keys out of my pocket and into the door as quickly as possible. I did this because I figured that if I were being chased by zombies (and they weren't slow, like in the movies) it would be a handy skill to develop. I know that no locked door can keep the zombies out forever, but at least it would provide anyone who happened to be watching with a more dramatic narrative.

Zombies are also the reason that for years I was a bit nervous about not really having the hang of "driving stick." I was convinced that in an attempt to escape the zombies unquenchable lust for brains, I would no doubt find myself behind the wheel of a car with a standard transmission. As I stalled repeatedly I would think, "You asshole! Why didn't get around to learning to drive a stick-shift?" ("And why did you leave your good kitchen knife at home in a drawer?")

So now I can drive a stick with the best of them, am quick with the keys, and all my dangerous cutlery is securely stowed away.

(And yet, I still have trouble sleeping at night...)

I SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO WATCH THE SCI-FI CHANNEL ANYMORE

2006-04-25T21:14:00.000-05:00

Alright kids, tell me if you think this indicates a problem...I opened a post yesterday marked "CHAINMAIL" because I immediately thought the subject must relate to:"chain mail"(noun) Flexible armor made of joined metal links or scalesa)

It never occured to me that they meant the "other" kind of chain mail.

Why was I instantly drawn-in by the subject of medieval armor? I honestly had a moment where I struck my own forehead and thought, "Oh, you dork, they meant a chain letter!"

(On the same subject and only slightly less disturbing: We have a show Friday night and I keep thinking about how sound check will cause me to miss a new episode of, "Doctor Who"

Is that fucked up?

TO ANYONE WHO HAD TO PUT UP WITH ME LAST NIGHT (THANKS!) (FROM MARCH, 19 2006)

2006-04-25T21:11:00.000-05:00

Oyez! Oyez! Citoyen! (That's FRENCH, chumps! The language of international diplomacy.)

So here goes: It's 11:03 Sunday morning and I think I am still sort of drunk. The McLaughlin Group is on, but my head can't take all that yelling. I blame Andy. (Or thank Andy, I'm not sure which is more appropriate.) Andy, I am NOT funnier than you, I'm just funnier than you. Dig?
Last night I went down to the Dragon for Amanda Johnson (ne: Becker's) birthday. I saw a great many people who I really don't encounter as much as I used to. If you are among those people than I will say again that it was a joy to be with all of you. (I can only assume I said it repeatedly last night.)

I made one innocent observation: "You know, Andy. Vodka is the most popular spirit in the United States, yet how often do you see people drinking it straight?"
It was that off-hand comment that would be my undoing. I had three (possibly four) double shots of Stoli and that was three (possibly four) more than I needed. Those of you who know me well know that a few years back when the doctor told me I had an ulcer I sort of swore off liquor and resigned myself to a "beer only" consumption regimen. That has worked pretty well, but occasionally I throw caution to the wind and the results are… well, you saw them last night.

I take some comfort in the fact that I am not a "mean" drunk, but rather a silly, sentimental one. And--as I am slowly sobering as I write this-- I can assure you the sentiment is genuine. The group of people who I had the pleasure of keeping company with last night are of late rarely assembled outside of a wedding or similarly officious occasion. I won't say that it is unfortunate. It's just the way life goes. But goddamn if it wasn't nice to see all of you. And with the exception of those who answered the siren call of SXSW, just about all of my favorite people were in one place last night. And it was a hell of a thing.

OBSERVATIONS MOST RANDOM:

a) I bought my ticket for the Bob Pollard show yesterday. Mark said he hasn't sold that many yet. Who's going with me?

b) Japan beat Korea in the WBC semifinal last night. In light of their shared history, I was kind of pulling for Korea. Also, Ichiro continues to blow my mind. He had what I can only describe as a "drag single" to second base that he beat-out by a fraction of a step. Is anyone not named Nick Thalhuber faster? That said, they highlighted a quote from Ichiro on his desire to demonstrate Japanese dominance--in baseball-- over Korea and Chinese Taipei that was eerily reminiscent of "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" rhetoric of the late-nineteenth-early twentieth century . It was fucking creepy.

c) Still On Baseball: Harold Reynolds should kill Tim McCarver and feast on his corpse. Reynolds calls a game like a thing of beauty, yet some asshole somewhere gives all the big games to McCarver. (Dave G. and I have discussed this at some length.) What is to be done?

d) STILL On Baseball: GODDAMN I can't wait to start playing baseball again.

e) On Rock and Roll: While I was watching the game last night I was listening to a live recording of Fred Sonic Smith's Ascension in Detroit, 1973. GODDAMN DO I LOVE ROCK AND ROLL.

f) On Apple Pie: GODDAMN do I love apple pie. What's more, I love MY MOM'S apple pie. Seriously, it's amazing. Is it possible I am the truest example of the red-blooded American to currently tread the earth? FUCK YOU, BILL O"REILLY! FUCK YOU IN THE MOUTH WITH A RUBBER DICK!* (*borrowed from George Carlin, another great American.)

g) Kid Mankato and I are going to Punch Pizza for lunch. Any takers?

h) If any of you actually read this to the end…. Thanks.

MAKING YOUR CLOTHES FROM OLD ARMY TENTS WILL DO NOTHING TO STOP THE WAR

2006-04-25T21:09:00.000-05:00

The anti-war protesters who were working the intersections in Uptown today were remarkably sorry-assed-looking bunch. Is there a special level of earnestness that prevents one from examining oneself in a mirror? As far as I can tell, avoiding wearing pants that actually "fit" and clothes that have been "laundered" has little if any effect on expansionist U.S. foreign policy.

It's an odd thing, because while I agree with their sentiments, part of me kind of didn't want to. Then it hit me, if you look at film from old civil rights protests the people looked GOOD. Crisp, clean white shirts. Pants were pressed. They had dignity. (Perhaps it was because it was dignity that they were marching for.) Either way, an observer would be hard-pressed to argue that they didn't deserve to be taken seriously.

The people I saw today just looked like a bunch of fucking clowns. Sorry, but its true.

THAT'S RIGHT! WE'RE BIG TIME! (AND I'VE COMPOSED A "RIDER" TO PROVE IT!)

2006-03-16T11:48:00.000-06:00

DIE ELECTRIC! PERFORMANCE CONTRACT AND ARTIST RIDER

1) PAYMENT: DIE ELECTRIC! (Hereafter referred to as ARTIST) demand no less than $25.00 per performance. This amount MUST BE DIVIDED EXACTLY THREE WAYS. As that comes to $8.33333333333... per band member, MANAGEMENT (Hereafter referred to as BABYSITTER) recommends you start dividing pennies well in advance of settling.(A few years ago would have been a good time to have started.)

2) TRANSPORTATION TO THE PERFORMANCE VENUE: (Hereafter referred to as VENUE or SHITHOLE) Transportation shall be the responsibility of ARTIST. SHITHOLE must provide nearby (within 23 blocks) parking. SHITHOLE will also be responsible for providing ARTIST with a clean 3-foot(91.5cm)length of RUBBER HOSE for siphoning fuel from nearby vehicles. SHITHOLE will also be responsible for providing one (1) bottle of Original Listerine. NO SUBSTITUTIONS ACCEPTABLE!!!

3) ARRIVAL AT THE VENUE: ARTIST will arrive at VENUE no more than 1/2 hour after the performance was scheduled to begin. VENUE STAFF (Hereafter referred to as THOSE DAMNED TO WALK THE EARTH IN ETERNAL MISERY or THE ONES WHO DREAM OF THE 4 A.M. FROZEN PIZZA/PLAYSTATION 2 ORGY or simply, THE DAMNED) should treat ARTIST in as surly a manner as possible. BABYSITTER will then impotently attempt to intervene, while ARTIST will smoke, drag feet maddeningly and become distracted by any bright, shiny object(s) or female(s) exhibiting secondary sex characteristics. ARTIST will then stupidly ask if there will be a SOUND CHECK. The SOUND MAN (hereafter referred to as HE WHO IS THE MOST DAMNED OF ALL) will be expected to clench fists, shake head and walk away before losing his cool.

4)BACKSTAGE/DRESSING ROOM REQUIREMENTS: The backstage area (hereafter referred to as THE UTILITY CLOSET or IMPOSSIBLY CRAMPED BASEMENT or HALLWAY NEXT TO/BEHIND STAGE or BUSTED OUT PORTION OF WALL TO SHOVE COATS INTO or simply, HOLE IN THE SHITHOLE) should conform to the following requirements:

a) CLEANLINESS: Only trace amounts of vomit, blood, urine or feces should be detectable. Any of these contaminants that are sufficiently desiccated to have been left there over a week prior will be tolerated. However, THE DAMNED should make all reasonable attempts to hose-off any fluids (vomit, particularly) left behind by the all-ages band that played SHITHOLE only hours before and snuck a bottle(s) of JIM BEAM in with predictable results.

b) CLIMATE CONTROL: Regardless of season, HOLE IN THE SHITHOLE should be either UNBEARABLY HOT or IMPOSSIBLY COLD. No "new" air should have been allowed to circulate into the room since the Reagan Administration.

c) SUNDRIES: To ensure the best possible performance from ARTIST, the following items should be provided: (NO SUBSTITUTIONS!!!!!)

-(4) Cases of canned domestic beer
-(1) 1 lt. bottle of olive oil
-(1) tub of CLEAN ice (for olive oil)
-(1) box of kitchen matches.
-(1) .45 caliber automatic
-(2) boxes of ammunition
-(4) days concentrated emergency rations
-(1) drug issue: (containing: antibiotics, morphine, vitamin pills, pep pills, sleeping pills, tranquilizer pills)
-(1) miniature combination Russian phrase book and Bible
-(100) dollars in Rubles
-(100) dollars in gold
-(9) packs of chewing gum
-(1) issue of prophylactics
-(3) lipsticks
-(3) pairs of nylon stockings

5) BABYSITTER'S OFFICE: Must be directly adjacent to ARTIST'S dressing room. Should be at least 3'x 4'. MUST CONTAIN A CLEAN GARBAGE CAN.
MUST BE ADEQUATLY SOUND-PROOFED TO:

a) Prevent BABYSITTER from having to endure ARTIST set.

b) Prevent ARTIST from hearing BABYSITTER'S pathetic, mournful whimpering as he contemplates the many missteps that landed him in his current, unbearable position. (And any ensuing gunshots.)

6) SETTLING: At the close of the evening, VENUE will present BABYSITTER with three (3) clean, white envelopes containing the aforementioned payment. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD PAYMENT BE GIVEN TO ARTIST!!!!! (You have been warned!!!!)

NOTE: NON-COMPLIANCE WITH ANY OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED CONDITIONS WILL CONSTITUTE BREACH OF CONTRACT!!!!!!!!!

______ (initial)
______ (date)

DEAR GOD, SOMETHING IS KILLING ALL OF OUR HILLBILLIES!

2006-03-13T23:50:00.000-06:00

So CNN's Paula Zahn is on TV right now feigning concern over the fate of young, dumb white kids engaged in the "epidemic" of back-yard wrestling.

"What could possess these young people to participate in an activity that could cripple or even KILL them?"

I don't know, bitch. Have you ever BEEN to West Virginia?

Looks to me like a hell of a lot more fun than chewing Skoal and playing grab-ass in the parking lot of the local Hardee's. (Although that does sound fun right about now…)

What gets me is that the tenor of the piece is very much like the one's exposing the rural meth "epidemic." By that I mean the subtext suggests that, "Yeah, these are just white-trash briar-hoppers, but before you know it they'll be doing it in Prince George's County, and our best and brightest will be at risk!"

"Talk to your kids today, Yuppie! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"

Fuck you, Paula Zahn.

MY AUTHORIZED BIOGRAPHY OF THE EVENING RIG

2006-03-08T00:26:00.000-06:00

Note: Much of the following information was taken from court documents that, by Minnesota State law, should have remained permanently sealed. The method by which I obtained them and their source is a secret I shall take with me to my grave. Unless of course I am threatened with prosecution, in which case I will no doubt quickly turn rat to save my own skin. Like all writers, I am a contemptible little coward. (BDS)

A standard biography of a band like THE EVENING RIG would probably dwell on the obvious. Former and current bands (THE CRUSH, THE CARDINAL SIN, APRIL EPIDEMIC, CADILLAC BLINDSIDE) or the impossibly dull subject of influences (Johnny Cash, The Wedding Present, Bryan Adams, The Replacements, Drive-By-Truckers, The blah-blah-blahs.) But really, who cares about that shit.

It’s the story of how these three musicians met that I think will prove most illuminating.

Jason Miller, Jake Jarpey and Becky Hanten first crossed paths at the Minnesota River Valley Juvenile Detention Center in New Ulm, Minnesota. The year was 1992.

Miller was the "white collar" criminal of the bunch. He was taken down in a scheme to pocket fundraiser candy bar money. Using his prodigious charms --one’s a court-appointed psychologist would later describe as "typical of a sociopathic personality"-- Miller recruited a cadre of "special needs" girls from his school to sell an allotment of 12 Hershey’s 52-ct Variety Packs. He planned to collect the money from the girls and then frame them for the candy’s disappearance. The plan would have netted him a cool six hundred dollars and change, money he planned on using to buy a second-hand Gibson Les Paul. Unfortunately for Miller, a swim coach witnessed him in the locker room planting evidence among the girls’ belongings (half-eaten candy, wrappers and a few stray bills.) After quickly pulling on his Speedo, the coach apprehended Miller and dragged him before authorities. Oddly, just what this 46-year-old male swim coach was doing in the girl’s locker room somehow seemed to pass without comment.

At his trial, Ansel P. Winkleman, the presiding judge in the case described Miller‘s scheme as, "the most heinously cynical act ever perpetrated by a 14-year-old."

So Miller was shipped off to juvy where he was quickly tagged with the nicknames, "Fresh Meat" and "Dimples." He was an obvious target for those elements inclined to "use him as one would a woman." Always a shrewd one, he paid one of the older kids $11and a carton of KOOL cigarettes for his protection. That kids name was Jake Jarpey. Unfortunately, since Jarpey was monitored closely and expressly forbidden from having matches or a lighter he ended up squeezing the tobacco from its paper tubes and eating it. He used the $11 to buy stomach medicine.

Nevertheless, a bond was formed.

Jarpey, you see, was what cops call a "Firebug."

He had started small, incinerating armies of plastic soldiers deployed in the woods behind his house using home-brewed napalm he created with ordinary gasoline and his older sister’s "L.A. Looks" hair gel. (She bought the stuff by the tub.)

It escalated from there; old Christmas trees left out at the curb, a neighbor’s woodpile, the cardboard dumpster behind the local Pizza Hut.

His coup de gras was burning the name of the band METALLICA into the turf of the school’s football field. Unfortunately, the "lightning bolt" portion of the "A" came too close the field house and adjoining bleachers. From there it spread to a maintenance shed that housed lawn tractors and the gasoline to fuel them. The shed’s explosion rained fiery debris down on the school itself, which having had all of its asbestos removed, quickly burned to the ground. (But not before the blaze inexplicably took the Dunkin’ Donuts across the street with it.) This strange occurrence lent credence to a long-held belief among the students that an underground passageway linked the basement faculty lounge to the Dunkin Donuts. Thus allowing teachers to, "totally duck-out and get donuts and coffee and shit!"

Becky "The Kid" Hanten was the last to arrive. She grew up in Rapid City, SD and had been by all accounts a model young person. She was a fine student and a youth golfer of some regard. However, a breathtakingly commonplace act of bullying would eventually reveal Hanten’s terrifyingly violent nature.

Becky had a "My Pretty Pony" lunch box. It was quite dear to her. (More dear to her than anyone could have imagined.) One fateful day at third period lunch some rough-necked brown baggers took it upon themselves to snatch it away. A humiliating game of "keep away" ensued, with the usually composed Hanten growing, as one witness described it, "all funny and scary and stuff."

Finally, driven to the point of madness, she savagely blinded one of her tormentors using only the straw from her Capri Sun juice bag. They say the blood flowed like spring rain that day. Hanten was about to take a trip up the river. Another result of the gory scene, V8 and Hawaiian Punch were pulled from the cafeteria’s menu, never to return again.

Family connections saw to it that she would serve her time away from South Dakota in the relatively "soft" juvenile rehabilitation system of Minnesota. Once there, it wouldn’t take long before she fell-in with the likes of Miller and Jarpey.

Their exploits at MRVJDC would become the stuff of legend. But that story will have to wait for another time…

It’s time to look to the future. And the future is, THE EVENING RIG.

Brian David Shuey March 2006

MY LETTER TO THE MINNESOTA SWARM

2006-02-23T01:22:00.000-06:00

So some marketing monkey at the Minnesota Swarm Lacrosse team is trolling MySpace trying to get bands to participate in an "Extreme Battle of the Bands" at the Xcel Energy Center. They sent a message to the Die Electric! page. What follows is my response:

Jora Deziel
Account Service Executive Minnesota Wild Hockey Club
Minnesota Swarm Lacrosse

Jora,

A "Battle of the Bands," you say?

That could be fun. And may I add that your use of the word “extreme” sure makes it sound exciting! Can I assume Mountain Dew be served?

We in the band, Die Electric! would love to know more! For instance; what kind of weapons will be allowed? In past battle of the bands we have fought, only one’s chosen instrument could be wielded. That’s fine by us, but since it’s “EXTREME,” we were kind of wondering if we could use samurai and/or broad swords? I’m guessing the answer is “no,“ but then it never hurts to ask.

If swords are proscribed, I will be sure to bring my, “hitting people” guitar, rather than my “guitar playing” guitar.

Before I forget, are blows to the head allowed? At the Hopkins Area High School battle of the bands a few years back, I was disqualified for striking a teenage keyboard player in a Cars cover band “above the neck.” (As far as I know, he still accepts all sustenance through a complicated apparatus of pumps and tubes.)

(They may have said, “no heads” before we started, but I sure don’t remember hearing it!)

And what about the classic, “Drum Stick Eye Gouge?” This maneuver was perfected by Rick Buckler of The Jam at the “City of Manchester Community Centre Battle of the Bands” in April of 1976. It has fallen out of favor with many of the kids today, but our drummer, Josh, is a masterful practitioner of the move. He would like to know if it is accepted in your rules.

On a similar note, are nylon-tipped sticks allowed? While not the best for actually playing the drums, they are particularly well-suited to the eye gouge because the tips themselves easily detach and become lodged behind the Sclera, thus exerting pressure on the optic nerve and rendering the opponent temporarily without sight.

Or, permanently. Either way.

Our bass player, Dave, is primarily concerned with what he calls, “the electrocution question.” Possessed of astonishing wiring and electronics skills, he has developed a method of channeling electrical output from his SUNN COLUSEIUM amp through the body of his bass (he has quite ingeniously come up with a way to keep himself fully “grounded”) whereupon the current travels to the tip of the headstock and can then be discharged into an opponents chest, usually stopping their very heart from beating.

Boy, it’s something to see! (Lots of twitching, if you know what I mean?)

So yes, more specific information on the rules and how to register would be most welcome.

We would very much like to help you promote an exciting activity like Professional Indoor Lacrosse! Let’s face it, a “sport” practiced almost exclusively by well-to-do white kids at prep schools and eastern universities --and UNDERGROUND ROCK MUSIC, largely played by people who grew-up wanting to rid the world of such people-- just seems like a perfect combination!

(Note: Whoever signed-off on this in your Marketing Department deserves a raise!)

Yours Most Sincerely,

Brian David Shuey Die Electric!

MY LETTER TO THE ALUMNI DIRECTORY

2006-02-16T12:31:00.000-06:00

I recently received a mailing indicating that a company in Virginia is compiling an Alumni Directory for my old high school, Central Dauphin (which is in fact, in Pennsylvania.) They included an address in Norfolk or, for my convenience, a toll-free telephone number to reach them. It seems they would really rather not print the directory without my current biographical information. I agree that that would be unfortunate. My immediate response is "urgently requested." What follows is the letter I sent them:

Alvin J. Himmelman
xxxx Nicollet Ave S. #xx
Minneapolis, MN 55404

To Whom It May Concern,

My name is Alvin Himmelman. I am writing you regarding your recent attempts to contact Brian Shuey for the purposes of including him in the Central Dauphin High School Alumni Directory. While Mr. Shuey did at one time reside at the address in your records (he was my roommate) he left Minneapolis for a life on the high seas over six months ago.

The last time anyone heard from him, he was working on a tramp steamer that sailed out of Jakarta. Two months ago the "Lady Macbeth" was reported attacked and boarded by pirates 20 miles out of Medan in the Straits of Malacca. It has not been heard from since.

So it is with regrets that I inform you that Brian Shuey (Personal ID#: JZK0018671-LB) is currently listed by the U.S. State Department as, "whereabouts unknown."

Anyone who knew Brian would tell you that he was a cheap hustler and something of a swine. However, in honor of his memory I have little doubt that he would like to be listed in your directory as, "Whereabouts Unknown. Presumed Lost At Sea." (It would befit his overly dramatic nature.)

At the present time I have no more detailed information than this. However, if you should somehow manage to track him down, please inform him of the following:

-Your dog, "King Vitamin" is dead. It was not my fault. Not surprisingly, it was his fondness for chasing the #18 that finally did him in.

-I never returned those movies to Nicollet Village Video like I said I would.

-Stuff with me and Becky just sort of happened. Neither one of us planned it. Don't be too mad.

-Needless to say, you have been fired from your job.

-Your Mom keeps calling. I just let the machine get it. She sounds worried.

-I broke one of the controllers on your PlayStation. It was the one that kind of stuck anyway.

-You owe me a lot of money for bills. In light of the Becky thing, I'm willing to call it even.

Thank you for your time and attention to these matters. You may feel free to contact me by mail with any further questions.

Best Regards,

Alvin J. Himmelman

Is It Okay If I Have A Cigarette AFTER I Fuck Your Wife?

2006-02-09T08:36:00.000-06:00

Those of you who know me are aware that I AM A SMOKER. You will also know that I am quite unapologetic about it. I am an adult. It is a legal product. I, in no way consider myself to be a social deviant. What's more, I kind of resent anyone who regards me as such.

Bearing this in mind, I have of late noticed a very odd trend running through the "sex classifieds" in the back of our local alternative weekly. Offers of, and requests for the most puerile, freaky and dare I say, unwholesome sexual acts are punctuated by the stipulation that the participant be a NON-SMOKER! (Emphasis theirs.)

Am I the only one-- smoker or otherwise-- who finds something perplexing in this. To wit:

WILD TIMES: ISO hot 18-30 guy. Fuck my ass until I scream! Come on my chest! N/S

Let me get this straight, "WILD TIMES." You are in no way concerned about my height, weight, personal hygiene, or political affiliations? As long as I don't smoke I am welcome to make your hind quarters the very gardens of my delight? You don't think that maybe your concerns ought to lay somewhere else?

Here's one that appeared recently:

BISEXUAL THREE WAYS: I am a bisexual male, 5'7", 140lbs, nice-looking, late 30's looking for others who enjoy Male-Male-Female three ways. Nonsmoker preferred (He will be "providing" the Female.)

So you would have no problem inviting a total stranger into your home to-- among other things-- WATCH HIM FUCK YOUR WIFE, but you'd really rather I didn't smoke? Because hey, lets face it. That would just be gross. (The smoking, I mean.)

Am I losing my mind? How did I end up getting kicked to society's margins by people who allow strangers to stick their fists in places ill-equipped to accept them while wearing S.S uniforms and listening to the original cast album from, "The Sound Of Music?"

In the interest of fostering openness and friendship, I would like to propose that we come to an understanding. I do not now and have never had a problem with the folks who place these ads. What grown-ups do with other grown-ups is nobody's business but theirs. Just don't be so damn snooty about the whole smoking thing. I'm starting to feel like an outcast. Remember how that feels?

Brian David Shuey

Confidential to swinging suburban couples: If she doesn't move too much I know for a fact that I can balance an ashtray on the small of her back. Are you hot yet? CALL ME!

MY WORST NIGHTMARE REALIZED

2006-02-04T23:08:00.000-06:00

So my previous "Worst Nightmare Realized" was being stuck between floors on an elevator with a half dozen teenage musical theater students.

You can't imagine what torture is until you are trapped in a 8'x5'* box and forced to witness a gang of 14-year-old drama kids go from practicing their lines to, "living-out a REAL LIFE drama!" (An actual quote from one.) When we finally got out (after five minutes) they all hugged and wanted to talk about how, "it had changed them." Jesus.

My experiences today were almost on par.

I found myself with a savage hangover being shoved this way and that in the opressivly narrow confines of The Unique Thrift Store. It's truly depressing to witness a person surrender what's left of their dignity to shove a fellow human being out of the way... just to get to a BROKEN LEMON-YELLOW BUTTER DISH!

The only person who actually said, "excuse me" did so as though I had just pissed on her coffee table. THEN she knocked me out of the way. (I think it was to get at a used VHS copy of "The Heavenly Kid")

I could possibly have handled it all, but for the fact that the entire time Billy Joel's, "Piano Man" was being pumped through every tinny loud speaker-- broken only by screeching employees paging countless parents to come claim their countless lost children. Most were still waiting unclaimed in a corral as I left. Free babysitting.

The only revenge I got-- if you can call it that-- was to set every mechanical alarm clock in the place to go off ten minutes after I had left. For my own sake I would like to imagine it caused more mayhem than it probably did... "OHH baby, lookie thar, an alarm clock! An' it ain't even broke! Let's git 'er!"Brian David Shuey

* 1.52 meters by 2.44 meters, for my metric savvy friends.

STAND BACK, PEOPLE. I'M ABOUT TO GO METRIC!

2006-01-27T22:17:00.000-06:00

In the course of recent home improvement projects it has become painfully clear to me that the “standard” system of weights and measures in common use in the United States is an outmoded, confounding pile of shit.

I remember as an elementary school student there was a brief flirtation with “converting” all of us to metric. This ended right around the time the well-meaning but criminally naïve Jimmy Carter was drummed out of office and Cowboy Ronny rode into town and declared, “Morning in America.” (I think they turned the thermostats back up, too.)

Following that it was just the odd math or science teacher (usually something of a hippy) that would fruitlessly waste his time proselytizing to us with the banner cry, “WE’RE FALLING BEHIND THE REST OF THE WORLD, PEOPLE!”

Oh how I wish I had heeded his call! (Well, they say it’s never too late.)

So before the Chinese take over the world and force the inevitable on all of us, I am RESOLVED TO CONVERT TO THE METRIC SYSTEM. I urge all of you to join me!

You can get the ball rolling with the following handy conversion tools:

http://www.texloc.com/closet/cl_conversion.html
http://ts.nist.gov/ts/htdocs/200/202/5425.htm

I know what you’re thinking. All that math is so dry and boring! But if you if you can work it into your daily life (and have some fun with it) you’ll be METRIC before you know it!

METRICS IN THE KITCHEN:

-The 9” FROZEN PIZZA I had for dinner was actually 23 CENTIMETERS!

-The GLAZED BLUEBERRY CAKE DOUGHNUT I had for dessert was not a scant 3 ½” in diameter… but 9 CENTIMETERS!

(When I am deft enough to calculate the spike my serum cholesterol levels took in metric units, I’ll let you know.)

-Oh, and the HEINEKIN I washed it all down with wasn’t 12ozs…but a refreshing 354 MILLILITERS!

METRIC IS EVERYWHERE! EVEN YOUR BODY IS METRIC:

-How long is YOUR index finger? Mine’s 8 CENTIMETERS! (Impressed?)

-The distance between my elbow and tip of my middle finger? 42 CENTIMETERS!

-The space between my nipples? (inside edge to inside edge) 20 WHOLE CENTIMETERS! (Wow! I never would have guessed!)

BEHOLD THE WONDERS OF THE METRIC MEDICINE CABINET:

The world of medicine has been on board with the METRIC SYSTEM for ages now. I know this because the pill I take every morning (the one that is supposed to stop me from doing things like measuring the distance between my nipples) is… 100 MILLIGRAMS!

So come on kids, climb on the METRIC BANDWAGON!

Uh oh, gotta go. My coffee’s ready.. all 350 MILLILITERS OF IT!

Your friend in metrics,

Brian David Shuey

ENTER THE AMAZING $10 BONSAI POOL! (NO KITTENS INVOLVED!)

2006-01-21T16:00:00.000-06:00

So here's the deal:

I just bought a bonsai tree at Minneapolis Floral. (I'm probably more excited about it than I should be.) But yeah, it's really cool.

The question is: How long can I keep it alive?

So I'm taking bets on it. The winner will receive $10 from me. It will be in U.S. funds and you may spend it on whatever you like.

What you do is send me you "target date for demise" (example: "Brian, you will have killed your bonsai by April 16, 2006.")

I'll write all of them down and place the dates in a sealed envelope. The person who guesses closest to the date gets the prize. I promise there will be no monkey business. Dead is dead and I'll know it when I see it.

(Before you select your date you should know that my thumb is greener than one would imagine.)

Good Luck! And may God continue to bless this great nation of ours,

Mr. Shuey

DEATH SENTENCE

2006-01-19T14:32:00.000-06:00

DEATH SENTENCE

Occasionally I come across what I like to call a "death sentence." I name it thus because the very act of reading it makes me want to hunt down it's architect and KILL THE MOTHERFUCKER.

Here is one from today:

"A soap that multitasks, just like YOU!"

(It's a hand soap that is also an air freshener. The implications are truly revolutionary!)

I honestly don't know how a human being could construct such a sentence and not immediately vomit from self-loathing.

I'm going to find out, though. And I swear on the corpse of Henry Louis Mencken that this person will never see another peaceful night's sleep for what remains of their wretched, pointless little life.

Brian David Shuey

Confidential to Dr. K,
(My dosage may need adjusting. What do you think?)

NEVER FORGET: YOU ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF LIFE ON THE PLANET

2006-01-13T22:02:00.000-06:00

(Note: This is an excerpt from a much larger piece I’m writing on the manifold absurdities surrounding a grown man playing in rock and roll band. The title of the whole piece appears above. What follows is the second part of two-part section that deals with arranging for accommodations while on the road. It’s entitled, "Where You Guys Staying Tonight?" I do hope you enjoy it.) Brian David Shuey

It seems to be a widely held assumption that a band on the road is always looking for a party. This is not entirely true. What they ARE always looking for is a clean place to sleep. If they can manage both, all the better. But honestly, you are lucky if you manage one of the two. You may therefore have to choose. Ask yourself the following question: "Do you want to party?"
More to the point, ask yourself, "DO YOU WANT TO PARTY, MOTHERFUCKER!" Do it in just such a fashion, and you may realize is all you really want to do is sleep. But let’s assume you have chosen to party. There are exactly six types of parties you will encounter on tour. They are as follows:

THE PARTY THAT IS NOT A PARTY: This involves the following players

A) Your host.

B) One or more of his roommates who—if they had known there would be bands staying at the house every other week-- would never have signed the lease. *

C) The refrigerator. The refrigerator has exactly two beers in it. No more, no less.

Two minutes after you arrive, one of the roommates will poke his head out of his bedroom and with the most menacing look he can muster, shout, "I got work in the morning, shut the fuck up!"

The host will then whisper, "That’s my roommate Jim, He’s an asshole."

(Jim is, of course, not an asshole at all. He’s just a guy who has to work in the morning. Also, since you are a band on tour, he is keenly aware that YOU haven’t been to work in weeks. That does not put you much in his favor. And of course, don't forget our principal rule: YOU ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF LIFE ON THE PLANET. Put it all together and you may begin to see why he doesn’t want you there.)

After Jim's outburst the host will tiptoe into the kitchen to retrieve the two beers. He will take one for himself and give the other to you to split--possibly five ways. Fifteen minutes of uncomfortable whispering will then ensure as the host attempts to answer the age-old question, "How low can you play a Stooges album before it ceases to be a Stooges album and in fact becomes ‘silence.’"

You will then attempt to get a good night’s sleep on a hardwood floor knowing that not ten feet away a total stranger is burning with hatred for you.

* A word of advice: To avoid Jim’s fate, think real hard before you decide to live with a college radio DJ or self-styled "promoter."

THE PARTY THAT WAS ALMOST A PARTY:

Same scenario as above, add two more beers.

THE GOOD PARTY: The most rare of all, but they DO occasionally occur.

First of all, it’s not being held in the same place you will be staying. This is nice because it means you will not have to sleep in spilled malt liquor and cigarette butts. Also, when your host says, "It’s real close by, though." He isn’t bullshitting. This is key because it means you won’t get lost going from one place to the other.

The people at the "Good Party" are bright and charming. They have lots of booze and seem happy to share it with you. Some of them may have even seen you play earlier, and one or two will even say something complimentary.

Even though you are far from home, at the "Good Party" you will invariably encounter someone with whom you share a mutual friend. You will end up getting along famously with this person and laughing a great deal. They will remind you a lot of this mutual friend. You will instantly feel less homesick.

-No one will try to fight you.
-No one will throw up on your stuff.
-Your van will not be broken into.

THE NOT-SO-BAD PARTY:

Same scenario as above, but you will have to drive all over an unfamiliar city following your host who does not use his turn signals and runs through every yellow light. You will get lost a few times on the way there. When you arrive, it’s still the "Good Party," but since it took you half the night to find it, it’s pretty much over.

THE BLACK LABEL PUNK ROCK HOUSE PARTY!!!

Remember our question from earlier? "DO YOU WANT TO PARTY, MOTHERFUCKER?" Well, if you find yourself at the B.L.P.R.H.P., your answer better have been "yes."

The first thing you will notice about the B.L.P.R.H.P. is that everything is broken. Items you didn’t even think were CAPABLE of breaking lay shattered everywhere.

"Did you have you had your tetanus booster before you left home?"

If not, don’t touch anything.

The second thing you’ll notice is the smell. No one should smell worse than a band that has been on tour for three weeks, yet somehow everyone there smells worse than you. The women won’t even talk to you because you are not sufficiently filthy. Your presence is mildly tolerated because you are in a band, but because that band isn’t MISERY, no one will really want to have anything to do with you.

Some of the guest’s young children may also be present. You will recognize them as such because their personal hygiene habits will have been passed down to them from their parents. Do not try to interact with these kids. I mean it. They bite.

The most remarkable feature, however, will be the truly astounding quantities of "Carling’s Black Label" in 12-ounce cans. The stuff will literally be shoved into every open space not occupied by a human being, dog, filthy child or broken object. It is-- in almost all cases-- community beer. So drink up. I mean it; keep your head down, your mouth shut and drink as much as you possibly can. The reason for this is simple; if you get good and drunk it will be much easier to deal with the following, inevitable occurrences:

-Your drummer has gotten into a fistfight.
-Someone has thrown up on your stuff.
-Your van has been broken into.

And finally….

THE BLACK LABEL PUNK ROCK HOUSE PARTY…WITH KNIVES!!!

Same scenario as above, but people will be openly brandishing knives. Get the fuck out quick, and maybe your van won’t get broken into.

Brian David Shuey 01/06

Look for more excerpts from NEVER FORGET: YOU ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF LIFE ON THE PLANET to come, including, "Undatable," "Dealing With the Sound Guy" and "Keep It In Your Pants, Junior!"

MY LETTER TO PAT ROBERTSON

2006-01-06T16:20:00.000-06:00

Pat Robertson has suggested that Ariel Sharon’s massive stroke was admonishment from God for having pulled Jewish settlements out of the Gaza strip, in effect “dividing” the land of Israel. (I would have put my money on Sharon’s being grossly overweight and over worked, but then I’m no doctor.)

The God of Pat Robertson is indeed a vengeful one. For those who have been paying attention, it was God who flew those planes into the World Trade Center (HE was mad that we have “homos” here in America, or more specifically, that we don’t stone them in the public square.)

God also has it in for the Township of Dover, PA. I have talked before about how proud I was that the good people of Dover saw fit to kick the “intelligent design” dinks off the school board. Pat didn’t see it that way. He suggested that since Dover had “abandoned” God, they better not count on his “protection.” So when it starts raining blood and fire in southeastern PA, they’ll have no one to blame but themselves. (That reminds me: I should call my parents and warn them!)

This GOD of ROBERTSON is really starting to scare the shit out of me. I need to get in touch with Pat and find out what’s really going on with this spiteful, homicidal lunatic!

I HAVE THEREFORE SENT PAT ROBERTSON THE FOLLOWING EMAIL: (Granted, I am adopting a different sort of tone, and yes, goofing on him quite a lot, at least I am signing my own name to it.) HERE IT IS!

Dear Mr. Robertson,

I am a young American who is VERY scared and VERY confused. The TV said that YOU said that God gave Ariel Sharon his stroke in Israel. Does God really give people strokes? I thought the Devil gave people strokes and God gave people nice things.
Am I wrong?

I went to Sunday school when I was younger, but I’m not sure I got all the right information. The lady who taught it didn’t shave her underarms or legs and sometimes she played the guitar. My Dad said that that meant she didn’t know anything about God. He said, “God wants ladies to BE LADIES and shave some places.”

My Mom told him to hush because, as she said, “it was the only church in town that would have people like us.”

So now I don’t know what to think!

A friend told me that you also said that the Twin Towers thing was God, too. He said that you said that it was because we have so many gay people in America. Well, I wouldn’t know anything about THAT, but when I was in high school we took a trip to France, and there sure were a lot of gay people there. One of them even asked me to dance! (Boy, that was weird.) But the thing is, I saw more gay people in France than I ever did in America, but God didn’t fly planes in French buildings. Then again, the French don’t really have any TALL buildings. So does God just hate gay people when they’re way up in the sky? Or does he just hate American gay people? The gay people in France didn’t seem to be scared at all. (I’ll betcha’ they SHOULD be scared though, right?)

My friend also told me that you’re mad at some town out east. He said that you said that they don’t teach the right things in their schools. He said that the school was trying to do the right thing and teach about God and stuff (Although this is where it gets weird: He said that everybody said they WEREN’T teaching about God-- because you can’t do that in regular schools— but when the people that said they weren’t teaching about God were told they couldn’t teach what they were TRYING to teach it turned out all the people who were upset about it were REALLY INTO GOD.) So were they or weren’t they? Teaching about God, I mean.

Anyway, I said that’s weird that you would say you were mad at them because you don’t live there and you don’t have kids that go to that school so I told him I didn’t think you would think it was your place to tell them what they should teach in their schools. He then said that it was God who was mad at them, not you. He said that you know just what God wants because he tells you and then you tell everybody else. THAT SEEMS LIKE A GOOD SYSTEM TO ME!

So that’s how I figured out I should write you. If God gives people strokes when they do what he doesn’t want them to do, then I want to know what He wants ME to do. I don’t want to get a stroke, because sometimes that means you can only move one side of your body, and it looks frustrating and uncomfortable.

So if you could write me back and tell me what God wants me to do, I sure would appreciate it. My friend says that sometimes it helps to send money, except that I don’t have any right now. Maybe if you let me know what God wants, by the time I get your letter I’ll have a little more money than I do now and I could send you some. Okay?

Oh, one last thing. I was just kind of wondering what those miners in West Virginia did to get God so mad at them? Was it because they were stealing all of God’s coal? I don’t know what God would need with so much coal, but then I guess we’ve established that I don’t know much about God! (My Dad must have been right about the hairy lady with the guitar, huh.) Oh well, bye for now!

Your Friend,

Brian David Shuey

Minneapolis, MN

P.S. My friend wants me to go see that “Brokeback Mountain” movie. I told him if we did we would go to Hell. He told me that we would only go to Hell if it made us FEEL a certain way. I don’t think I should risk it, do you?

SMOKE MORE 2006!

2006-01-03T16:13:00.000-06:00

SMOKE MORE 2006! My New Years resolution is too smoke more cigarettes in 2006 than I have in any previous year. This is no mean feat, I assure you. There are many individuals, laws and institutions that will certainly impede me in my effort. I have enemies, you see. Those that would try to thwart me. They reach far up into the corridors of power, money and prestige. They are many in number and resolute in their purpose. But they will not prevail. These do-gooders (the Waxmans, the Reiners, the Naders, the Rybacks, the Pawlentys) think they've got all the angles covered. And indeed, as I will discuss below, there is much that stands in my way. But if we all pull together, I know I can succeed.

THE DIFFICULTIES:

Experience has taught me that smoking while asleep can prove both costly and dangerous. Obviously, that eliminates a large portion of the time available to achieve my goal. I will therefore, have to be resourceful, as the following other restrictions and limitations further hamper my progress:

In college I experimented extensively with practical problems of smoking in the shower. The best I could come up with was a mildly toxic waterproofing system (patents pending, hustlers!) This had the unfortunate effect of making some of the test subjects pass out and crack their heads on the bathtub enclosure (lawsuits pending.)

Smoking during the physical act of love is-- as I have been informed of time and time again-- considered "tacky."

Smoking during funerals is frowned upon. The same goes for weddings and showers (both bridal and baby.)

Smoking in hospitals, government buildings and courts of law is right out.

One cannot smoke at day care centers, but I consider this to be a perfectly reasonable restriction. (Perhaps the only one.)

And if all that isn't enough, here in Minneapolis, I can no longer smoke in bars and restaurants. (The intention of this law was to decrease smoking. It has, in fact, simply decreased my drinking and dining out.)

If I had to hazard a guess, I would say freshman year in college was probably my peak year for cigarette consumption. Those were the heady days of the 1990s. Times have certainly changed. And given the climate I have so carefully detailed for you, I don't think I can do it alone. So following the example of my friends Jason Miller and Brian Scafaro (and turning their modest proposal quite on it's head) I will hope to enlist the aid of those around me.

THE SOLUTION:

I THEREFORE OFFER THE SUM OF $2006 TO ANYONE WHO CATCHES ME NOT SMOKING IN ANY ACCEPTABLE SITUATION.*

It will be money well spent.

Thanking you in advance for your cooperation, (cough) Brian David Shuey

(*Details of this offer to be determined by my Crack Team of Lawyers. Not to be confused with my Team of Crack Lawyers, who because of their addictions are quite unreliable.)

This is a test. You do not need to read this.

2005-12-29T16:19:00.000-06:00

I just set this up. Working?