Rants: Round 1 / Match 1 - King Feeb out

The best rant is...

Total votes: 15

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Davey the Fat Boy
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Rants: Round 1 / Match 1 - King Feeb out

Postby Davey the Fat Boy » 22 Sep 2007, 20:36


WARNING: contains appetite spoilers!

My Shitty Day or Why Intelligent Design is a Load of Bollocks

I've been working a lot lately, but I was able to finally schedule a couple of well-deserved days off. Today was the first day of my little mini-vacation. And how did I spend this day? Did I visit friends? Go to the zoo? Have wild sex with Lindsay Lohan? Write the Great American Novel? Clean up my disgusting kitchen? No, friends, I spent large chunk of my day off with my ass stuck through the cold, hard hole of my toilet. I've got some kind of Goddamn stomach bug!

Today started out normally. I woke up and immediately had to poo. Nothing out of the ordinary, and I produced a nice satisfying toilet-clogger of a deuce. It was so firm and healthy that I wanted to put that turd into the back seat of a Cadillac convertible and have a big ticker-tape parade down Fifth Avenue.

I figured I was done until tomorrow...but my gastro-intestinal tract had other plans.

Twenty minutes later, an overwhelming urge forced me back onto the toilet. This time the shit was smaller, an unhealthy yellowish loop of plop with a thick reek similar to an explosion at the Union Carbide chemical plant. The poop was surrounded by a mucous broth. Not a good sign. I wiped, cleaned up, pulled up my pants...and immediately had to crap again.

This time, it was mostly liquid with a few pieces of tar-like feces that clung to my buttcheeks like sepia-toned Elmer's Glue. It took about a half of a roll of toilet paper to contain that mess. The stench was unbearable, like a gas fire at the potato chip factory. There were disturbing fibres protruding from the tiny turdballs, floating like ganglion in the placid toilet water.

It got worse. Less than an hour later, I was walking into the living room and noticed a wet sensation in the back of my pants. A blob of diarrhea had silently snuck out of the backdoor, lodging itself in the back of my Fruit Of The Looms. Mortified, I sprinted back to the toilet where my twisting guts suddenly produced gallons of diarrhea, propelled out of my bunghole by a series of foul and painful fart blasts. If I had more advance notice, I could've at least cued-up "The 1812 Overture" and enjoyed the spectacle of it all. For a half hour, what resembled pale ale with bits of used chewing tobacco was continuously jettisoned from my duodinum. But the spew was mostly stomach acid by that point, and it fucking burned my butthole...no amount of toilet paper cleaning could take care of the burning sensation, so I stepped into the shower.

It was there that I began having dark thoughts about the Christian Right's anti-evolutionary concept of intelligent design. If we are "intelligently designed' by a Master Creator, we wouldn't have a digestive system that is prone to bouts of severe distress such as this. Is it because bacteria and viruses are also intelligently designed? Maybe there's no way out.

Well, if stomach flu is a "given", then why are we "designed" with wrinkly, puckered, hard-to-clean bungholes instead of an exhaust pipe? Or maybe a retractable, self-cleaning poo-nozzle, so that I don't have to waste a whole roll of toilet paper wiping ass-tar off of my buttcheeks! Obviously, the "intelligent designer" needs to be given his walking papers...you or I could certainly do better!

It is things like this that make me futilely shake my fist at the uncaring sky like an angry little monkey .

So now I'm sitting here at two in the morning, having slept a few hours. I have a pounding headache and I'm considering the possibility of eating a couple of slices of toast or something, but I fear that doing so might reawaken the ass-fury. I'm just trying to get my shit together. Wish me luck.


Is there any such thing as a 'Rock Star' these days?

I'm not talking about today's popular 'musicians' who just happen to play 'rock' music. And I'm certainly not talking about any of the queefy douches I see on those thankfully rare occasions when someone puts the Clockwork Orange crown of thorns on my bean and forces me to watch MTV/VH1. Most of the minges I see there are as genteel, and well-behaved as a bob-tailed schoolgirl at an ice cream social; an event a real rock star would mangle as thoroughly as a crunchy bat in Ozzy's drooling maw. Shit, I heard the guy from Coldplay has an actual va-jay-jay.

Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but...

The simple answer is: No. There are no real Rock Stars left.

You know the kind I'm talking about. I'm talking about coke-snorting, whiskey drinking, whore-mongering tornados made of hair, teeth, and sputum. I'm talking about people who sell millions of records, own mansions, fast cars, and private jets, which they then use to spread a flaming global contrail of sold out stadiums, traffic jams, and fucking.

I'm talking about the myth; the legend; the goddamned, motherfucking Rock Star!

Sure, Axl Rose, the Howard Hughes of rock, is still alive. He's up there in his mountain lair, wearing only a radiation suit and a gas mask. He's been awake for 9 years, snorting Lysol and eating nothing but bon-bons. His finger nails are 7 inches long, and his hair...well...what exactly happened there? It's like he saw Elton and said, 'Yeah...those plugs look AWESOME! Where can I get some of that action?'

Anyway...he's out there, re-mixing Chinese Democracy for the 94th time, slowly melting....

He USED to be a Rock Star. They're all gone, I tell you! Extinct. There are no Diamond Daves; no Hendrixes; no Jaggers. They're all either dead, about to be dead, wish they were dead, or replaced by cybernetic Borg-monsters. The Rock Star is dead, long live the Pop Star.

I take that back. Fuck the Pop Star.

I blame Kurt Cobain, the last great Rock Star. His suicide took Rock Stardom down with him, and, some might argue, rightly so. But what we've been left with are the silty remains of soiled starlets, and bands who can't make one good album, let alone a string of them. What we're left with has been gutted, stuffed, and de-balled.

You can keep your Bono, and your Dave Matthews. Preening pooftas! You can keep your crusty, washed-up dinosaurs, and their would-be, never-were imitators. They should all burn in a flaming lake of piss while giant wasps sting their taints! None of them, not a one, even begins to approach the hole in my psyche where the Rock Star used to live. The Rock Star was audacious; fool-hearty, even. The Rock Star was half-mad, and unburdened by our Earthly rules. The Rock Star was a symbol, an archetypal anti-hero sent to show us all that rock and roll ain't noise pollution; that drugs are awesome, and that there is no God. And if there is a God, surely he doesn't have the time to count every sperm.

How can the world go on without such a hero?

But, no. The world is all fractals and entropy, and now that the age of the Rock Star is finished, Britney is what we're left with. The closest thing we have to a real Rock Star today is Amy Winehouse, and the generic 'Rap Mogul'. Frankly, in terms of satisfying my own archetypal needs, I find them wholly insufficient.

There are no more Rock Stars, and while James Blunt and John Mayer are busy 71-ing each other, I'll just sit over here with my ipod jacked into my skull, slooshying 'Voodoo Chile', and giving myself over to the lovely, lovely images of thronging hordes, and flaming guitars.

Of course, it's just my opinion. I could be wrong.
Last edited by Davey the Fat Boy on 26 Sep 2007, 16:54, edited 1 time in total.
“Remember I have said good things about benevolent despots before.” - Jimbo


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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 1

Postby sloopjohnc » 23 Sep 2007, 04:32

Both are weak, but B. You had two goddamn weeks folks.

A didn't make its metaphorical connection strong or quick enough. It came out of the blue.

Rants can go off on tangents, but they have to be quickly brought back in some way.

B's theme was nothing new, but it least it had a cohesive and unified beginning, middle and end.

Like a fireworks show, this better get better.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 1

Postby & » 23 Sep 2007, 19:15

I like both these better than the ones on Match 2.
Voted B for coherency.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 1

Postby toomanyhatz » 24 Sep 2007, 03:02

B, though I'm not terribly impressed so far. A is not really a rant, though it's a nice parody of John Coan. Self-parody? I'm guessing not, but who knows?
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 1

Postby The Red Heifer » 24 Sep 2007, 07:56

A, because I as well had bunghole drama today.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 1 - King Feeb out

Postby Davey the Fat Boy » 26 Sep 2007, 16:56

B wins. The author is requested send me an entry for round 2 by Sunday night.
“Remember I have said good things about benevolent despots before.” - Jimbo