CHULIUS CAESAR

Quitter

2007-08-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

I am now officially a grad school dropout.

I've lived in DC for six years. I've had two internships and two real jobs. I'm halfway through a masters program at Georgetown University.

Naturally, I've changed quite a bit since I first arrived, wet behind the ears and right out of college, naive to the cruel ways of the real world. I'm older, heavier, even more cynical than I was before, been married to the same woman in two ceremonies on as many continents, made new friends and lost touch with old ones.

Things I've learned:
-The political class of this country consists of two kinds of people: those who read Orwell's 1984 and thought to themselves, "You know, that Newspeak's not a bad idea," and those who rail against the first group and are listened to by practically no one.
-I hate, HATE, being told what to do and how to do it.
-What to look for when you're interviewing someone.
-I perform best when doing a multitude of things during the day, not doing one thing all the time.
-A Chulius without a creative outlet is an unpleasant Chulius.
-Working full time and going to school at night part time sucks ass.
-Republicans love to cruise public restrooms for dick.

After much careful thought, I've decided that my future is going to take me away from here at some point in the relatively near future. Money need be saved, stock taken, and then it's off to do my own (as yet, undecided) thing before I dig myself deeper into student loan debt for a degree I don't want and really can't imagine myself using.

So, adios, G'town. I can't really say it's been fun.

The Worst Enemy

2007-01-24T20:33:00.000-08:00

Ryszard Kapuscinski, in my opinion one of the greatest journalists of the 20th Century, died yesterday at the age of 74. His writing and reporting, usually about subjects and places that the West had little interest in, revealed much about the human condition, about the ways that people survive hardships and war. That his works maintain such impact even when translated from the original speaks to his skill.

I recommend his works to everyone. I've read both The Soccer War and Another Day of Life, and both are truly incredible. For anyone who's interested, I've included a passage from The Soccer War below.

SILENCE. People who write history devote too much attention to so-called events heard round the world, while neglecting the periods of silence. This neglect reveals the absence of that infallible intuition that every mother has when her child falls suddenly silent in its room. A mother knows that this silence signifies something bad. That the silence is hiding something. She runs to intervene because she can feel evil hanging in the air. Silence fulfills the same role in history and politics. Silence is a signal of unhappiness and, often, of crime. It is the same sort of political instrument as the chatter of weapons or a speech at a rally. Silence is necessary to tyrants and occupiers, who take pains to have their actions accompanied by quiet. Look at how colonialism has always fostered silence; at how discreetly the Holy Inquisition functioned...

Today one hears of noise pollution, but silence pollution is worse. Noise pollution affects the nerves; silence pollution is a matter of human lives. No one defends the maker of a loud noise, whereas those who establish silence in their own states are protected by an apparatus of repression. That is why the battle against silence is so difficult.

Mischief

2006-10-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

The Samness explains all.

--AZ-Sen: Jon Kyl

--AZ-01: Rick Renzi

--AZ-05: J.D. Hayworth

--CA-04: John Doolittle

--CA-11: Richard Pombo

--CA-50: Brian Bilbray

--CO-04: Marilyn Musgrave

--CO-05: Doug Lamborn

--CO-07: Rick O'Donnell

--CT-04: Christopher Shays

--FL-13: Vernon Buchanan

--FL-16: Joe Negron

--FL-22: Clay Shaw

--ID-01: Bill Sali

--IL-06: Peter Roskam

--IL-10: Mark Kirk

--IL-14: Dennis Hastert

--IN-02: Chris Chocola

--IN-08: John Hostettler

--IA-01: Mike Whalen

--KS-02: Jim Ryun

--KY-03: Anne Northup

--KY-04: Geoff Davis

--MD-Sen: Michael Steele

--MN-01: Gil Gutknecht

--MN-06: Michele Bachmann

--MO-Sen: Jim Talent

--MT-Sen: Conrad Burns

--NV-03: Jon Porter

--NH-02: Charlie Bass

--NJ-07: Mike Ferguson

--NM-01: Heather Wilson

--NY-03: Peter King

--NY-20: John Sweeney

--NY-26: Tom Reynolds

--NY-29: Randy Kuhl

--NC-08: Robin Hayes

--NC-11: Charles Taylor

--OH-01: Steve Chabot

--OH-02: Jean Schmidt

--OH-15: Deborah Pryce

--OH-18: Joy Padgett

--PA-04: Melissa Hart

--PA-07: Curt Weldon

--PA-08: Mike Fitzpatrick

--PA-10: Don Sherwood

--RI-Sen: Lincoln Chafee

--TN-Sen: Bob Corker

--VA-Sen: George Allen

--VA-10: Frank Wolf

--WA-Sen: Mike McGavick

--WA-08: Dave Reichert

I just hope he doesn't tell his fans to kill me

2005-11-02T17:49:00.000-08:00

The power of Warren Ellis is truly awe-inspiring. Or is it the power of Katie West?

There's only one way to settle it, of course, and this way involves high voltage electrical cables, Tabasco, a `68 Mustang fastback (forest green), and a special edition copy of Visitor Q. Time and place to be announced.

(Some links not necessarily sfw)

Back after a long hiatus

2005-10-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

L8r Sk8r
Originally uploaded by Chulius Caesar.

So, now I'm married. NonScarlett GF is now officially NonScarlett Wife. It was a really nice ceremony, family and friends were in abundance, the food looked pretty good. There's so much to report, I hardly know where to start.

Jackie the Mick fulfilled his duties as best man with aplomb. Aplomb I say. If ever you're in need of someone to throw you a batchelor party, I can certainly recommend you ask him to be your best man.

Alas, there has been and likely will not be any honeymoon, at least for the foreseeable future. Back to work and school for me, and the missus has to play Suzie Homemaker until the federal government decides it's okay for her to work.

There will be another post in the near future, with further details once they return to my scattered little brain.

Oh, we also got a BIG ASS TV. And you didn't.

The Time For Retardation Has Passed

2005-09-01T18:45:00.000-07:00

Antennae
Originally uploaded by Chulius Caesar.

Enough time has elapsed that I am now able to post the pictures from my most recent sojourn to the Old World on the old flickr. Sally forth and enjoy.

So I was watching "Fellowship of the Ring" again...

2005-08-28T19:09:00.000-07:00

and it gets to the point where Frodo's been stabbed by the badasses in black and he's all "ooh I'm hurt wahwahwah" and then Liv Tyler comes along and runs away (like a girl, natch) with the wee one. She's looking foxy in her elf-ears and semi-transparent clothes and a light goes off in my head. Wasn't she pregnant recently? And didn't she say that she'd pose naked after she had the baby? The answers, of course, are yes and yes.

Time to pay the piper, sweetheart.

Moving along...

Not a whole lot up with your beloved Imperator. I had gradschool orientation a few days ago. And it felt really, really weird. It's been four years since I was in school, and a lot of the people in my program are of the super-motivated variety. As most of you know, I am not one of those people. Then they start sounding off about how they went to Columbia and Stanford and so on. And then I feel like someone with a blazer is going to take me aside (they always wear blazers...fuckers) and say: "Mr. Caesar, I'm sure you understand we find this very embarassing, but it seems there's been a bit of a mistake. You actually should not be here and I'm afraid these two burly gentlemen with barcodes tattoed on their necks will have to 'escort' you off the property. Oh, and we're keeping your money too. Ta!" That feeling makes me want to set something on fire.

The day of my wedding approaches evermore close. That's a bright light in an otherwise pretty dim corner of the world. NonScarlett GF will arrive in all her glory, goats will be sacrificied, and linens will be bought. Speaking of linens, should anyone be of a mind to buy something as a contribution to NonScarlett GF's dowry, may I suggest something from here (bwo boing boing). I haven't passed this by the future missus yet, but I have a feeling she'd approve. And that feeling also makes me want to set something on fire.

Revisiting this earlier post: Fox has fucked me again. Not only do they have a show starring Carrot Top's less endearing cousin, they moved the best program to grace broadcast television in many many years to Monday night. Why is that so bad? Because Monday night is the ONLY NIGHT OF THE WEEK I HAVE CLASS. Maybe the memo about the world stopping and starting at my convenience got lost. But you and I know that's not what happened. Rupert Murdoch thinks I'll just bend over and take it like a prag in gen-pop. That's why I'm saying this now: I'll see you in Thunderdome, motherfucker. You know the rule. Two men enter, one man leaves. Seriously, I need to get tivo or something.

And Natalie Portman has a mohawk. She hasn't been this hot since she was ten years old. As Dennis Leary said, "I'm going to hell for that bit...and you're all coming with me."

Finally, here's a few bits of goodness from screenhead:

Commercial adveritizing as it should be.
A LOTR remix that one could put on European radio and absolutely no one on the continent would think you are making a joke.
Finally, a flash-animation retelling of Star Wars Episode IV. Words can't accurately describe this one, but suffice it to say I have a huge kill-boner right now.

That is all.

I find your lack of deodorant disturbing

2005-08-09T20:12:00.000-07:00

It's now a week since I returned from the Old World. I had a very nice time, to say the least, in various Germanic and Slavic countries with NonScarlett GF. I got twelve stamps in my passport, which makes me much more excited than it should. And I've been to a hot spring in Hungary, a first for me.

I can say without reservation Hungarian is the strangest language I've ever heard. Normally, when I go to a country that doesn't speak English like God intended, there are at least a few words that are familiar. Not so in Hungary. Even pronunciation is a complete mystery. For example, we passed through a village that the sign describes as "Becsehely Ujmajor" (with a peculiar umlaut or two thrown in). Now, to my mind, that would probably be pronounced "betchyahelly oomayor" or something. However, I can guarantee you it is not. It probably sounds like "reginald weatherbottom the third." You think I'm joking.

Another thing I noticed: Hungarians tend to be, shall we say, a stocky people. Not fat, just... broad.

Otherwise, most of our time was spent with NonScarlett GF's folks in North Croatia. No trips to the coast this year, so no eurotitties to be seen. However, a few young lasses at the previously mentioned hot spring were wearing thongs, so that was okay. They didn't really have the goods to pull off that particular piece of swimwear, but "A" for effort.

Soon after I got back, I posted pics from the trip to my flickr page. In my infinite wisdom, I posted the highest resolution pictures I could, and since I have a free account, that totaled five. In an attempt to fortify these meager photographic scraps, I deleted the huge pictures, hoping to replace them with a larger quantity of relatively smaller pictures. Alas, it was not to be. Once you've maxed out your free monthly uploads, they're gone for good. So now there's one picture from the trip on there, and the rest will have to wait. But next month, oh the wonders you will see! They include the pizzeria of the DEVIL and a town called "bitch."

I suppose the big news is that sometime next month NonScarlett GF is coming to our United States so that she and I can be married on the first of October. So if any of you think you really deserve an invitation, send the relevant details to the e-mail address in the blogger profile.

And many belated congratulations and salutations to Briantologist and his special lady friend on their new addition. I hear they go great with barbecue sauce.

I'm not a stabbin' hobo, I'm a singin' hobo

2005-07-10T21:36:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty busy lately, so this post is going to be more a random collection of things than a coherent bit of prose.

For those who haven't been to my flickr lately, or indeed, ever, photos from NonScarlett GF's recent trip to Croatia with her amiga Braun Bear are up. Two cute girls, ancient architecture, and brides of Christ: there's something for everyone.

Since I don't have cable, my Sunday night viewing habits are pretty restricted. Usually, the Fox network is my salvation. However, tonight was the premiere of the Douchebags of Malibu. Jesus H. Christ. Where are the fucking Jacobins when you need them? Never was Arrested Development missed so acutely. And are the masses clamoring for a family-based situation comedy with Michael Rapaport as the star? I hope not.

I hate Michael Rapaport soooooooooooooo much.

The saving grace of tonight's Fox line-up was the full hour of the Family Guy. Oh man. Stewie's monologue about the nature of fratboydom was Socratic in its clarity and beauty. And I have a feeling I'm in the minority in this opinion, but I thought the ipecac contest between Peter, Brian, Stewie, and Chris was one of the funniest animated sequences I've seen in a while.

I'm almost finished with Accelerando by Charles Stross. It's really good scifi. It's also available as a free download. So, if you are a nerd and/or just don't like to pay for books (like some people I could name) you should check it out.

The Island. I'm not sure what to think, to be honest. The Logan's Run-meets-Matrix premise doesn't exactly knock me over. And it's PG-13, indicating that neither my celebrity exemption nor Mr. MacGregor will be putting the goods on display for either the fellas or the ladies, respectively. I guess I'm saying it looks like a pass. So apparently I do know what to think.

I don't know if Natalie Portman is still bald or not, but for this commentator's money, she's pretty hot when she is.

To continue on with this theme: if these pictures are indicative of the future arc of Cyborg Squirrel's career, then he will do very well. All that practice molesting developmentally challenged children really paid off.

Oh, the Sleater Kinney show I mentioned a while back? Fucking awesome. How awesome was it? During the encore, they did a cover of "Mother" by Danzig, that's how awesome it was. And Carrie Brownstein can thrash like nobody's business. I've got a total guy-groupie crush on her. Had I been wearing underwear, I might've thrown them at her.

Enough of my jibber-jabber.

L8r.

mmmm.

2005-06-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

headshot
Originally uploaded by Chulius Caesar.

I was inspired by the folks at preshrunk. I have taken pictures of all my t-shirts. They're mostly either band shirts or shirts from Chuy's in Houston. Go forth and enjoy.

They are shitty pictures. You have been forewarned.

I have not forsaken thee

2005-06-19T22:00:00.000-07:00

Don't worry my pretties. I'll think of something to say eventually.

You mean I'm gonna STAY this color???

2005-05-23T21:53:00.000-07:00

I have a ticket to the Sleater-Kinney show next month. Many many many thanks to DCeiver for bringing this to my attention. Your kung fu is mighty. I let several other people know about the show, but apparently they'd all rather stay in Virginia listening to their Randy Travis cassettes than come to the big scary city and rock out with their cocks out. Fair enough.

As most of you know, I am recently returned from the state north of Louisiana and all the activities therein. Foremost amongst said activities was the Annual Imperial Crawfish Boil, which was delicious as always. It was also Roscoe the Furious Mick's christening in the cayenne-soaked ways of his swarthy semi-Latin uncle's people, Les Acadiens.

Please note the bitchin' kicks Roscoe is sportin', courtesy of his Uncle Chulius.

Something Jackie said during today's e-mail correspondence caused me to google my old roommate Brady, and what should I discover? His blog. Investigating a bit further and I find the blog coauthored by, among others, his loving wife Mary and his former lead singer John Murry. Since our time together, Brady has moved to Los Angeles, where apparently he spends a lot of time being rescued by transvestites. And John Murry has a daughter, so many congratulations and best wishes to him and his.

This is the part where Don Chulius gets a bit emo, so if you don't care to see me this way it's best you go back to looking for the porn you so desperately crave...

The combination of hanging out with the homies last weekend and finding my old roomie's blog today has given rise to my more melancholic humours. I'm thinking back to my days in Memphis where I had an appartment twice the size of the one I'm in now at half the rent, my lady friend was a hop skip and a jump away, and my best friends weren't at least a fourteen hour drive distant.

Don't get me wrong: I loves me the DC. Having spent my formative years in the Hole on the Border, any place with somewhat functional mass transit seems wondrous and magical to my bumpkin-like eyes. "I'm just a caveman..." and all that. I'm probably engaging in some level of romanticizing the past, I suppose. Memphis was a fun place to be most of the time and I miss it. But I don't miss it enough to give up the line of work I enjoy and wouldn't be able to pursue were I there. So, as Robert Plant said, "Nobody's fault but mine." Actually, some old bluesman probably said it first and Plant later stole it, if Zep's similar opa are any guide, but so it goes.

Alright, enough of that business.

Here: here's a link to some titties. And one for some guns.

There. I feel better.

Please excuse me while I go slaughter some Christians as "minnows" nible at my loins.

Babylon's burnin', y'all.

imageshack (is ghey)

Cover your balls, `cause We know kung fu

2005-04-16T23:05:00.000-07:00

Hello hello, one and all. Things have been a bit busy for me the past week and a half or so. I'm actually getting to carry some water around the workplace, which is interesting. Maybe one day I'll even get a cost-of-living increase to my paycheck. Who knows? We can dream.

Big happy fun time news: I went to the first MLB game played in DC in 34 years. One of the veeps where I work was kind enough to share one of his season tickets. It was quite a good game, the hometeam won 5-3, and with their win tonight remain uncontested #1 in the National Leage-East. Cheerio and all that.

Here's what the game looked like from where I was sitting:

Not bad, eh? First row of the deck, directly behind home plate.

The Prez-o-dent threw out the ceremonial first pitch. A fair number of those in the bleachers were booing, the guy behind me especially. From where I was sitting I could see the presidential box, and who should be observing our national pasttime but one of the filiae casae blancae. Yes, ladies and gents, Jenna. She did no butt-dancing as far as I could see, but I must admit, I'd poke `er. You know you would too.

I hope you remember kids: This is what Cyborg Squirrel looks like.

And Czech girls love sausage.

Last but not least: I am going to hell for linking to this. And you're all coming with me.

imageshack blah blah blah

Lollipop

2005-04-06T11:30:00.000-07:00

Who loves ya, baby?

Diatribe

2005-04-04T21:35:00.000-07:00

Springtime in la District. One of the two times of the year this city is a bearable place to be, climatologically speaking. The warm, yet not too warm, sun shines bright. A cool breeze from the northwest blows gently by. Trees bud, flowers bloom. The cuts of the ladies' blouses get lower and the hemlines get higher. The dudes are by and large still the same khaki-pantsed buttondowns they always are, but for a time it's forgivable. ("Dude, where we going tonight? McFaddens? Oh, fuck yeah. They let chicks dance on the bar for like two whole songs! Wha? Oh ya know it's gotta be Brooks Bros, bra! Gotta look fierce for the ladiez." Definitely the only place I've ever been where chinos and a buttoncollar dress shirt are considered the uniform for a night on the town. But I digress...) Birds sing, windows open, people are out and about. The city is utopian, bucolic, even the suburbs become bearable for a fleeting instant.

Then the idyll is shattered by the arrival of the tourorists.

Matching t-shirts, white sneakers, ambling along and wondering why the McDonalds don't have drivethroughs (I shit you not). To quote DCeiver: "They'll waddle up to the FareCard machines, and you can see their flyover brains erupt in a Ring of Fire stop-error as they collapse puddling like in a ridiculous display of melodrama and confusion."

I'm not pointing any fingers but people like him and him get a rise out of misdirecting our more centrally-located bretheren. Because I love my people, Our Imperial Majesty is not so callous. If I'm outside, partaking of the love the RJ Reynolds company shares with me, and I'm interrupted with an "excuse me, but could you tell me..." or a "pardon me" and our interchange concludes with a "thank you," then I'll do my best to get you where you're going. I like to travel. Travel to cities. And invariably at some point I get lost, so the help of a kindly native is always appreciated. Golden Rule and all that bullshit.

HOWEVER, if I even get a whiff of a "you owe it to me for some reason to give me all the information I should've gotten myself before I left the hotel" kinda vibe, in the very near future your ass is gonna be reading a sign that says:

Welcome to Prince Georges County...hope you brought a lot of ammunition

Just because I live in DC don't mean I work for you, motherfucker. Take a look around. Your tax dollars ain't payin' for shit.

Ahhhhh, that was refreshing.

Here's something else refreshing (by way of Warren Ellis) : The Perry Bible Fellowship. Must be seen to be believed. "This has been a blessed day, brother. We are truly free now that father is dead."

One last thought for all making their way to Districtus Columbianus. When you're on the Metro escalators, musing on how this whole concept of "mass transit" is a communist plot on par with fluoridation of drinking water and how it makes Baby Jesus cry, stand to the fucking right. We're coming for your fat ass. Just you wait. Some ex-linebacker lobbyist typing away on a Blackberry is gonna connect like a freight train and knock your ass clear from 19th Street to the platform, and believe you me, that's a long way to fall.

You have been warned.

Bow to your sensei BOW TO YOUR SENSEI

2005-03-29T22:11:00.000-08:00

I thought I was going to be out having a cold one or two with Cyborgsquirrel right now. Apparently, I thought wrong. That's alright though. I'm still going to help him comply with the court order he received that requires him to post this picture as many places as is humanly possible. Said court order was prompted by the conflagration of a shortbus, a secluded park, and a "bathing suit area." I'll let you paint your own picture.

The government of my fine city says I owe them several hundred dollars. Naturally, the DC bureaucracy, gold standard of efficiency and paragon of precision that it is, is absolutely fucking wrong. And I have the cleared checks to prove it. Repeated calls to the examiner assigned to my case: unanswered. Repeated calls to the examiner's supervisor: unanswered. This year's tax refund: applied towards the money that I don't owe. No wonder everyone moves to Virginia. At least there you can pack twice the heat when you go to the Office of Tax and Revenue to discuss your case.

This picture of FJ has been driving me absolutely fucking insane. I know, I KNOW that she looks exactly like a specific actress or model or subject of a painting or curiously shaped rock formation or something that I have seen sometime in my life. I just cannot for the life of me figure out who/what it is I'm thinking of. My initial response, that it was somehow related to film classic The Ice Pirates, turned out to be inaccurate. Although to answer FJ's question, Robert Ulrich was not the only A-lister in the film: Anjelica Huston also made a major contribution. But you don't look like her either.

How about some music? You like music, don't you? Thought so. This song has been in heavy rotation in the Chulius' juke. This one's damn good too. One of them's a bit dirty, but it's still nothing compared to this. All links ripped straight from webjay, just so you know.

That's it for me, I guess. Before I leave, I want to make sure you remember: shortbus + park + bad touch = cyborgsquirrel.

"N" is for Neville, who died of ennui.

2005-03-08T15:29:00.000-08:00

A boring day at the broom factory for your beloved emperor. There are all of three people in the office today, including me. Can I go home, there being so little to do? Oh, what folly that would be. So, here I am, updating my shrine to narcissism.

If you'll direct your attention to your left, you'll see that a number of links have been added and/or updated. High on the list is the blog of comedian Patton Oswalt (of "King of Queens" fame). One post of his in particular much of my readership will identify with. It has to do with his stay in Charleston, West Virginia, and the large number of meth kitchens exploding as reported by the local news. Having spent some formative years in West-Northwestern Arkansas, this is a very familiar phenomenon. He also makes one of the best analyses of the condition of our great unstoppable nation I've seen so far:

It's weird—I feel like me and my friends have been mockingly lip-synching to Kelly Clarkson, showing each other how hip and above it we are, while outside the whole country turned into one giant meth lab, run by people who believe in angels.

Also new is The Superficial (the content of which is occasionally not safe for the working). Mr. Superficial is basically the male (and hetero, far as I can tell) equivalent of the ladies at go fug yourself. The evidence I cite is this: he is my competition for the hand of Miss Scarlett Johansson. I see a cage match to the death sometime in our future. As happens so often, a quote from Christopher Lambert is appropriate: "There can be only one."

Warren Ellis once again offers something extremely disturbing.

In local news:

The Washington Post has been running commercials featuring resident Washingtonians talking about their favorite parts of the newspaper. In one, there is a slightly pudgy man with very suspect facial hair who LOVES the obituaries. Like, wants to marry them. I'm puzzled as to why the Post thought that this person, with his latent necrophilia, would entice people to purchase their periodical.

Alliteration is fun.

More fun facts: almost everyday, as I'm walking towards the Metro on my way home, I pass by a middle-aged Latino gentleman with a Charlie Chaplin moustache. I had thought that Hitler had put the kibosh on the moustachaplin as a fashion option, but I guess I was wrong.

Ode to the Umlaut

2005-02-27T20:36:00.000-08:00

I just recently returned from a visit to Non-Scarlett GF's residence in Germany. Everything was nice (except for the weather) and the old socialist-democratic system of governance is sputtering along. So, yay for them.

The visit did remind me how much I wish the English language had embraced the umlaut (Ä, Ö, and Ü) back in its formative days. As of now, the only real examples of umlaut usage in our collective mother tongue are "Motörhead" and "Crüe." This is a damn shame. Let us all embrace the double-dotted wonder that is the umlaut.

I must emphasize, however, that I am not advocating that we go apeshit with umlauts like the Finns. The Finns, bless their pseudo-nordic souls, don't know when to stop. Take this example from the Mäntsälä-lehti newspaper:

Näin totesivat luennoitsijat limnologi Juha Keto ja ympäristösihteeri Katariina Serenius Sälinkään kylätoimintaryhmän järjestämässä teemaillassa viime tiistaina.

Jesus H. Christ. Multiple flags on the play: excessive umlaut usage; absurdly long verbage with improper consonant-to-vowel ratio. Fifteen yard penalty, still second down.

Two Examples Of Why Warren Ellis Gets Paid To Write Things And I Do Not

2005-02-08T17:49:00.000-08:00

Warren Ellis, formerly of diepunyhumans, is a funny, funny man. I cite two examples:

Example 1:

The story begins:

So I’m reading this argument against GM crops over here in Little Britain ...

And continues on:

So this thing says, "Don’t we want our food to have stories?"

First off, someone who examines their own turds for anything has no place talking to me about food. Let’s make that clear. People who make things out of wicker and weave their own underwear out of dog fur dyed with cabbage juice do not have a vote here.

He goes on to describe a number of the possible stories food might have and concludes:

I’ve got a food with a story for you. Soylent fucking Green. It’s got a story, a soundtrack and Charlton fucking Heston. Soylent Green is made out of people, and thank Christ for that because I bastard hate lentils. All the books say that people taste like pork.

Yeah, that’s the story I want to hear. Organically-reared hippie, humanely slaughtered while making wicker basket. Presented to you freshly washed of all weak-minded bullshit intended to annoy the living fuck out of fragile writers first thing on a Thursday morning.

The peoples of Great Britain and the United States, united in the Anglo-Saxonic tradition of hippie-hatred. Truly heartwarming.

Example 2:

A somewhat interesting essay about the unremarkable change of millenia and the similarities between modern-day America and Weimar Germany. Here is the special awesomeness from this particular piece:

And certainly we’re in a time where anger in art has largely gone away. This isn’t the cool detachment of post-modernism, so much as just a turning inward. The kind of stuttery lurching rise of emo over the last couple of years is a case in point: a total defanging of pretty much any working definition of punk in service of whining about how you’ve got no fucking girlfriend. “Emotional punk” = Crying Ugly Kid Music.

Mr. Ellis is also cool because he posts things like this

Rock Ayuss.

Images hosted by Imageshack

durrrrrrrrrr the second

2005-01-28T23:21:00.000-08:00

A is for age: 25
B is for booze: Yes please. Bourbon if you have it.
C is for carreer: World Dominator
D is for Dad's name: Ronald; Ronnie P.
E is for essential items to bring to party: Camels and a condescending attitude.
F is for favorite song at the moment: Big Youth-Waterhouse Rock.
G is for girlfriend: Non-Scarlett GF
H is for Hometown: Le Bayou
I is for instruments I play: Saxophone, I suppose, but it's more making unpleasant noises while remembering how much I hated Ms. Buchanan than "playing."
J is for jam or jelly: I prefer syrup. Wait, what?
K is for Kids: None that I know of.
L is for living arrangements: All by my lonesome.
M is for mom's name: Betty. Not Elizabeth. Betty.
N is for name of friend: ShovelJackie the FuriousNon-ScarlettBitterBlatzyHok Squirrel.
O is for overnight hospital stays: One.
P is for Phobias: Mayonnaise. I hate and fear mayonnaise.
Q is for quotes you like: "Mistah Kurtz, he dead."
R is for longest Relationship: 4+years and counting.
S is for sexual position: I ain't picky, I likes `em all.
T is for time you wake up: Way too fucking early.
U is for unique traits and features: I'm equal parts coon ass and white trash. And this time yesterday I was running a fever of 102 degrees.
V is for vegetable you love: Not such a fan of the veg. I'll eat them, I just don't enjoy them all that much.
W is for worst trait/feature: My crippling fear of mayonnaise.
X is for x-rays you've had: At least ten, the coolest of which depicts my kneecap being quite far from where it should have been. Not cool at the time, but cool in retrospect.
Y is for yummy food I can make: I make a mean roast chicken.
Z is for zodiac sign: Gemini. Two Chulii for the price of one.

durrrrrrrrrrrrr

2005-01-18T22:42:00.000-08:00

Right now I'm appartment-sitting for my boss. Lemme tell ya, folks, this place is swank. My appartment is nice. I like it. It has "charm." But this place...it has a balcony. Right now it's too cold to enjoy the balcony, but it's there nonetheless. It has a rad kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and of course all the accoutrements of a couple who spent over thirty years in the foreign service. It's so nice that it would take six years of me saving every penny of my net income to afford the down payment.

Of course, I'm not here for the appartment's sake. I'm here for the sake of a sixteen year-old miniature poodle. She must be walked, she must be fed, she must be medicated. I'm sure it cuts quite the funny picture in Northwest DC to see Chulius, that strapping bit of manflesh, walking an elderly miniature poodle around. Quite funny indeed.

Did I mention it's cold? Because it is. Very cold. Dick-freezing-to-my-thigh cold. I am not built for cold weather. I'm designed for peak performance in a climate just shy of tropical.

Today, on the way home from work, I got a little taste of what the next few days are going to be like. It took approximately thirty-five minutes for the bus I was riding to go one city block. All because some jackass said he had a bomb somewhere or something. This wasn't even a fun thing to scare the squares, like learning where little baby subway trains come from or the tractor man. This was just lame. (The inauguration is in a couple of days, in case anyone doesn't know. One hundred square blocks of downtown DC are being closed off. Snipers, plainclothes policemen, identity checks and metal detectors: basically all the cliches associated with living in a free society.)

The dog just vomited.

Another item of note: Jaden finally posted some actual porno in the porno section of her site. Umbrellas and buildings and old Japanese women are nice, I suppose, but when a young man sees something labeled "porno" certain expectations are sure to follow. Unfortunately said porno isn't some first person "Night in the Life of Jaden" material, but one day perhaps. Maybe one day soon...

And finally, a plea: There are people in this world who are in dire need of our assistance. People who struggle valiantly against the shackles of quote-un-quote normal society.

The people I'm talking about are the young ladies of roller derby.

These women are working under horrifying work conditions and suffering grave bodily harm. Sometimes not even that is enough. This wee lass has been reduced to candystriping to make ends meet. The horror.

There's so much you can do to help. Volunteer to be a referree. Join a league so you can learn firsthand their trials and tribulations. Just showing up at one of their meets shows them that you know they're there and that you respect and love them as the beautiful children of God that they are.

Please, look deep in your heart and give`til it hurts.

Without further ado...

2005-01-04T14:01:00.001-08:00

That's right, me droogies, Our Imperial Majesty has returned. Fresh from holiday feasting and rocking out with the homeez. The Fourth Annual PBall, the "Gods and Goddesseses" bacchanal, while not necessarily a resounding success, was still quite a good time.

What?

You say you want proof?

Well then, proof you shall have.

(Keeping in mind that the streets will run with the blood of the unbelievers.)

Odin (aka Shovelhead)

Mme Marie Laveau (the ignorant should look her up)(aka Non-Scarlett GF)

Dionysus (bartender of the gods)(aka St. Adam)

Ganymede (aka BigZach Attackh) suckling at the teat of Ares (aka Dark Wombat) as Odin looks on with lust in his eyes... errr... eye

Loki (aka Jackie the Mick)

Jehovah (aka Hokmayen)

Your humble narrator Chulius Caesar Imperator as Pan

And finally, the piece de resistance, the crowning glory, she who took the "rock out with your cock out" title that night, Furious Jessy as Hel:

It looks like she went Hannibal Lector on a clown.

And that is fucking awesome.

_______UPDATE_______________________________

The above picture is not an accurate representation of how FJ's night started. This is how she started the evening:

Pretty foxy, no? That was before she started saying things like "Where the slutzes cuz I wanna gidinna FIGHT!!!"

Special thanks to ImageShack for Free Image Hosting

A Post Designed Expressly to Piss Furious Jessy Off

2004-12-09T14:58:00.000-08:00

I'm tough because I love.

Neil Young: "Like the poor and Pauline Fowler, Neil Young is always with us, a reminder of the drearier things of life. Venerated by paunchy Mojo-reading types, Young - whose reedy voice is the exact timbre of a continental dial tone - has changed neither his riffs nor his plaid shirt since he left Buffalo Springfield in 1968. Forever droning on about a mythical, moral America, Young has even-handedly bored three generations equally thoroughly, and unleashed some unspeakable musical atrocities. His last record, Greendale, was a concept album apparently scripted by William McGonagall, the anti-communist dirge Rockin' In The Free World remains one of the direst songs ever penned, and so relentlessly maudlin is Young that poor, impressionable Kurt Cobain quoted him in his suicide note. The apologists who boast that Neil Young has "never sold out" forget the main reason things don't sell out: people don't want to buy them."

The Beatles: "Thanks to these four, Britain's high watermark of musical creativity is still considered to be pub rock made by white idiots. As if polluting the 1960s with their safe, insipid music wasn't bad enough, they've exerted a stranglehold on culture since, inspiring generations of terrible bands and being feted by Chris Evans and Alan Partridge. Between their toe-curling rhyming couplets, tax-dodging, horseshit "spirituality" and Octopus's Garden, the Beatles embody everything wrong with the 60s in general and hippies in particular."

Both of these little tidbits from here.

To show I'm not completely mean-spirited (all of the time), I'll give myself some of my own business.

The Rolling Stones: "For years the debate raged - who's best: the Beatles or the Stones? Well, the debate raged between cretins, anyhow. Anyone with an ounce of sense and a pair of functioning ears knew there was no contest: the Beatles were better by a factor of 15,000. The Stones recorded some undeniably great tracks. But they also shat out a load of dull, ugly, clumsy rock. And don't start protesting that Mick Jagger is the most charismatic frontman the rock world has ever seen - he's a hideous, tulip-mouthed cadaver with nothing interesting to say, and the most grating voice this side of Sybil Fawlty (ed. note: ???). The most interesting thing about the Rolling Stones is the amount of drugs they took - and there's nothing more boring than that."

The Clash: "They had white jeans and big gums and they went "WEUUUURRRGH " because they were punks. Only, unlike the Sex Pistols, who turned punk's musical limitations into a corking art-school pantomime, the Clash were beholden to cliche, their every discount riff, "spontaneous " guitar demolition and mucus-filled roar plucked from the lichen betwixt the flagstones of 60s rock. What's more, Sandinista! - a triple album of rubbish reggae, children's choirs and rub-a-dub dub - proved they were as prone to self-indulgence as the prog-rock braggards they had avowed to overthrow. "But," bleat the apologists, "they were political." The only sensible response to which being: "So was Enoch Powell (ed. note: once again, ???), but even he'd have drawn the line at white jeans."

To conclude, something with which I think we all can agree:

Jim Morrison: "Only a blowhard stockbroker's son like Oliver Stone could fall in love with a boorish, spoiled admiral's brat like Jim Morrison. He styled himself "the Lizard King - I can do anything". This lizard didn't even survive a strenuous wank in a hotel bathtub, but he popped his alligator boots just in time to secure unwarranted legend status. If he'd lived another two years they'd have found him out - as they would James Dean. Cool band, though, for two albums (out of seven) and a couple of singles; pity about the pretentious name and the ridiculous high-school revolutionary lyrics. I cite the album Waiting For The Sun and the alleged poetry on the RIP-exploitation disc, An American Prayer, as evidence of Jim's profound inch-deepness. The one time it all came together, on LA Woman, he had to screw it up with all that "Mr Mojo Rising" crap in the middle. Always the knob with Morrison. Arthur Lee's Love is the real 1967 LA band. Who are those fools at his grave?"

`Tis the Season to Shop Walmart

2004-12-01T21:26:00.000-08:00

That's right kids, it's the second annual Gifts that Chulius Caesar would give were he richer and/or omnipotent-er than he currently is Christmas list. Friends, family, and people whose blogs have pleased me shall all reap the spoils of my largesse. So, without further ado:

Non-Scarlett GF: A fully refurbished Diocletian's Palace (i.e., less "churchy" than it currently is) for use as her personal summer retreat.

Maw Caesar: The original cast of Les Miserables at her beck and call.

Paw Caesar: The ability to tune out the original cast of Les Miserables completely.

Sistah Caesar: It involves a plane going down over Afghanistan, with one particular person being the only casualty. That's all I'll say.

Jackie the Mick: May his foist child be a masculine child...What? Already did that, you say? Okay. Hmm. How's this: Wes Anderson shoots all the nipper's significant life events, Lemmy Kilmister does the soundtrack.

Furious Mama: A monster truck and a license to kill. And another dragon. (I gave her a dragon last year.)

Roscoe the Furious Mick: A Flying V forged in the fires of Mount Doom with which he may slay his pre-k enemies.

Its name?

Son of HammerSlammer.

Saint Adam: St. Adam will be designated successor to Kim Jong Il of North Korea, thereby fulfilling his dream of becoming a Communist dictator.

Hokmayen: For one whole year, Hok is possessed (moreso than he already is) by the spirit of Keith Moon. Many a car shall be driven into many a Holiday Inn lobby.

Blatz: A mohawk of such magnificence it can be seen from SPACE.

Bitter Neko: The body of Elliott Smith, preserved Lenin-style. She'll be the envy of all her emo friends.

Cyborg Squirrel: He gets to manage the Meatmen's worldwide reunion tour.

Cyborg Squirrel's SSO: The Victoria's Secrets modelship she's always craved.

Manny: A record collection that does not include any Steely Dan albums. For fuck's sake, man. Steely Dan?

Big Zach Attach(k): No matter what happens, nothing Wayne Damage can ever do will result in Zach going to prison.

Dark Wombat: If memory serves, I gave Dark Wombat a Tokyo appartment filled to the brim with Japanese schoolgirls last year. I really can't think of a present to top that, so I guess I'll just replace what/whomever he might have broken in the past year.

Shovelhead: His interpretive dance performance earns him NEA funding and a Tony.

Briantology: Sole ownership of the Glenfiddich distillery.

Jaden: A lifetime supply of Prince-flavored blowpops.

WIHDC: Ummm....He gets to move out of Virginia?

Brian Wanamaker: He gets his wish. "Too bad he has to DIE," says Oderus Urungus.

DCeiver: Local sports commentator George Michael (heh) conducts an interview with Mark Brunell completely in Aramaic. At the end of the interview, Brunell is flayed and crucified.

Zzzzzoe: All the yoga-friendly bondage gear her heart desires.

Knats: A cape that will flutter magnificently as he rides his horse across the Texas plains. I haven't the faintest idea what Knats would want. I guess he can share the Glenfiddich distillery with Briantologist.

That took entirely too long. If I left you out, let me know. I probably did it on purpose, but the memory isn't what it used to be, so you never know.

And if you don't like your present I have two things to say to you.

Tough.

Titties.

T Minus 29 And Counting

2004-11-19T20:06:00.000-08:00

A big happy birfday to Jackie the Mick. At the quarter-century mark he has a kid and a wife who's way out of his league.

Kudos!

Twenty-nine days to go `til it's time for the Ball. Four years and still going strong. Theme: Gods and Goddessesses. Let's take a moment to remember PBalls gone by, shall we?

Andy

The ever-sociable Blatz

That's one sexy lady

Francesco getting down

See something you like, fella? Me and him's gonna have some words this time round. She's my propertah!

Hot shit. Not technically PBall, but why quibble?

Thanks to FJ for letting me snake some of her pitters. Once again she proves herself to be the awesome.

And because it's his birfday, here's a pic of Jackie with a boner. As he stands next to a redneck.