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?
Friday, October 20, 2006
Friday, October 06, 2006
MY i.m. EXCHANGE WITH REP. MARK FOLEY
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
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
Friday, September 29, 2006
A TERRIBLE SECRET REVEALED! : THE POD WOMEN OF TARGET CORPORATION
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
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
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I LOVE LIVING IN THE CITY
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
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
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
WHAT I WANTED TO SAY (AND WHAT I SAID)
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."
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."
Monday, September 11, 2006
THANKS FOR NOTHING, "SO-CALLED" STREET TEAM
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I'VE WRITTEN A "SIGN-OFF" PHRASE FOR KATIE COURIC!
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/
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/
Monday, September 04, 2006
MY INTERVIEW WITH GEORGE W. BUSH (PT. 2)
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?
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?
Thursday, August 31, 2006
JOIN THE "BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM"
(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.)
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
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!"
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)
(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!
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
(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.
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
(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
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)
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.
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.
Friday, June 30, 2006
ENEMIES LIST (PT. 1)
(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
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!
(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
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
(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.
(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
(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.)
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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