Other Freaks I Knew In High School (And Junior High)

Aside from this kid and all the people outlined in these posts.

More? I know, it seems incredible. Remember, though, I went to two different high schools. I was exposed to two times the amount of unbelievable nutcases most kids have to deal with at that age.

The Kid Who Once Filled An Entire 90 Minute Cassette Tape With The “Wayne’s World” Theme Song – He just dubbed it over and over and over again. This is the same kid who spent a good chunk of sophomore year pretending he was wheelchair-bound TV superhero M.A.N.T.I.S. He was so committed to this ruse that written complaints by other friends were filed in protest.

The Kid Who Got Caught Masturbating In The Boy’s Locker Room – Poor bastard never lived that down. “Spanky” was permanently prefixed to his name after that. Later on, this kid was involved in a love triangle with a girl and her boyfriend who was such a redneck he once drove a riding lawnmower to school.

The Other Kid Who Got Caught Masturbating On School Property – Same school, incredibly. I think this incident was on a bus or in the parking lot, though. This guy was on the football team, and I guess he was pretty good, because most people just let his open air bone-fiddling slide. Still, the ick factor was high. You didn’t want to be left alone with this guy (probably because he got caught jerking it in public once).

The Kids Who Put Acid In Their English Teacher’s Coke Bottle – This was a major incident, obviously. I don’t think there was any motivation beyond, “Hey, let’s make the teacher trip balls, LOL.” Nothing crazy happened; I think Mrs. So-And-So just felt weird and had to leave for the day. Someone ratted these guys out and (naturally) they were expelled. A really half-assed protest was held in their honor the next day, primarily attended by the type of kids whose life goals included ingesting every drug known to mankind. One of these acid kids came through the drive-thru when I worked at Taco Bell in college, recognized me, and demanded free tacos. As a joke, I grabbed a handful of hot sauce packets and tossed it in his back seat. Homeboy failed to see the humor; he marched inside the Taco Bell angrier than Bill O’Reilly and started whipping the very same hot sauce packets at my face. Surprisingly, this incident did not end in serious injury or death.

The Kid Who Hulked Out After Not Acing His History Report – This one almost deserves its own post. Basically what happened was a friend of mine sophomore year got a D on this epic World History project we had to do that revolved around the monetary systems of Medieval England or some equally boring-ass shit. This guy IMMEDIATELY began flipping out, following the teacher around and yelling at her as she handed back everyone else’s papers. He became so aggressive that teach had to place him in an adjacent empty room. Moments later, we began to hear the frightening sound of desks being tipped over and/or thrown coupled with indistinct grunts and swearing. Eventually, they had to call this kid’s mother down to the school to talk him out of a complete meltdown. I actually volunteered to go try to calm Hulk down, as he was a pretty good friend of mine, but the teacher didn’t trust my crazy person negotiating skills.

The Kid I Thought Was Hardcore Because He Threw My Lunch Out The Window But Then Later Told Me He Liked Counting Crows So I Lost Respect For Him – Uh, self-explanatory. This guy was actually pretty nice most of the time. He had periods of assholery, though, most likely brought on by the fact he liked Counting Crows.

The Requisite White Kid Who Always Wore A Gigantic Public Enemy Shirt – Another really nice guy. Always easy to spot in a crowd with that famous logo on his chest/back. I’m 95% sure this guy rocked a big diamond earring, too. The 90s were just so delicious sometimes.

The Requisite Seven Foot Tall Kid Who Always Wore A Black Vest And John Lennon Glasses – I wish I could tell you this guy’s last name, because it sounded like the kind of name a magician or genie would have. Believe it or not, this guy was in the Drama Club.

The Kid Who Seriously Accused Me Of Being A Witch In English Class – Junior year, I got into a fight with my English teacher because she demanded (as part of some test) that we write an essay about a western movie we had seen. I had never seen a western aside from Back To The Future III, but she would not accept that as a legitimate example of the genre. Things got kind of heated, although I would like to note I refrained from using any curse words or threatening bodily harm. The next day, our withered old instructor was absent because, we were told, one of her horses had died (what an excuse). As soon as he heard this, the kid sitting across from me widened his eyes and yelled, “Jim! You put a curse on Ms. So-And-So’s horse! How could you?!” In retrospect, Buddy Boy may have been joking. On the other hand, this incident did take place in Florida. Where else would someone automatically jump to black magic to explain the death of a barnyard animal?

The Kid Who Drew Fake Tattoos On His Forearms In Ball Point Pen So He Could Look Like Kane From “Kung Fu” – That’s the kind of thing you’d do in fourth or fifth grade, right? This kid was doing it towards the end of eighth grade. He also had the biggest, most purple pair of Cross Color pants in the world. I think he sailed across the Atlantic on them once. Today, this guy is one of my best friends.

Before you ask, yes, I am planning a massive post about all the fucked up shit I was known for back then (including a wardrobe that consisted primarily of Megadeth shirts and getting my finger caught in a folding chair).

A Real Conversation I Just Had

On my GChat, with the venerable JB.

JB: Here’s one for you – “Macarena” v. “Cha Cha Slide.”

ME: I dislike “The Macarena” way more. Where do you stand on that issue?

JB: I understand “The Macarena” was bigger and very annoying, but I cannot tell you how much I hate “The Cha Cha Slide.” It’s the guy’s voice. He’s leading a poor man’s “Hokey Pokey” and makes it sound like he’s the coolest motherfucker ever.

ME: I hear ya. I just hate the Spanish so much that it’s impossible for me to be objective in this debate. No, I’m kidding. I love Spain, in case they’re reading this.

JB: Good thing you said that; Don Flamenco from “Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!” was reading over my shoulder. He was going to fly to NY to challenge you, although all you would have had to do was dodge his initial uppercut and alternate your left and right handed jabs until you knocked him out.

ME: Whoa. Thanks for the tip

JB: No problem.

Raped Ape + Rape An Ape + Rapier Ape

Last night, I discovered (via Metal Inquisition) the legend of Ft. Lauderdale-based metal band Raped Ape, who apparently ruled the early 90s underground Florida thrash scene with their unrelenting and brutal riffage. It had been quite some time since I had heard a band name that stupefyingly awesome; naturally, I Googled it and learned the reason I never crossed paths with Raped Ape while living as a teen headbanger in the Sunshine State is because they changed their name to the far less amazing Paingod in 1996 (the year I first started paying close attention to independent/regional music). Bummer. At least the artwork and YouTube vids still survive:

I think I found my next tattoo.

Now, when you search for “Raped Ape” on YouTube, the first clip that actually comes up is this next one, a hilarious snippet from some U.K. series called “Time Trumpet”:

“I was one of the few people who actually felt slightly uncomfortable with the rape element. I mean, I loved the makeover, I loved the sketches – it was just the end rape…” LOL.

Naturally, all of this made me think of that “Xtacles” episode in which the bumbling superhero squad attempts to pin a series of crimes on a non-existent villain known as Rape Ape; eventually, they relent and decide to blame the next entry in their massive, self-edited crime computer:

Man. There’s a lot of primate-based sex crime jokes in pop culture these days.

I would like to make it clear I do not condone the actual rape or sexual abuse of apes, gorillas, chimps, spider monkeys, lemurs, or George Wendt.

Happy Geek Pride Day

That’s what today is, according to the never-wrong Wikipedia. I ask you to celebrate by going out to your local magazine retailer, picking up the latest issue of Geek Monthly – Andy Richter’s on the cover – and reading my scathing remembrance of The Phantom Menace (which was released exactly ten years ago last Tuesday). Nothing like a few fresh jabs at Jake Lloyd to get the blood moving.

In the same periodical, you will also find a piece I wrote about the legendary Centralia, PA mine fire and my exclusive interview with Donavan “Hey, Remember Me? I Had A Report Due On Space” Freberg. Although I am not the person officially credited with conjuring up the latter article, I assure you I am solely responsible for its complete and entire existence.

Since GPD is clearly grounded in Star Wars fandom (the original movie came out thirty-two years ago today), let me assail you with the geekiest images I can find related to everyone’s favorite galaxy far, far away…

This last one is me drinking a “Darth Dew” Slurpee from 7-11. You see that joy in my eyes? It would be vaporized about an hour later when, against my better judgment, I took in Revenge Of The Sith. Ga ga ga GOI.

My only regret about this post is my inability to include what I think is the nerdiest Star Wars image of the 21st Century. It was taken outside of “Star Wars Celebration II” in Denver, I believe, and features three costumed fans: one scrawny but passable Han Solo (crouching with his gun in that famous Han Solo pose), one totally chubbed out Lando Calrissian, and one Hoth Rebel Trooper who looks exactly like Steve from “American Dad.”

The best part of this image, aside from the overpowering nerdosity of its three subjects, is how authentic the costumes are. It really looks like these kids went all out and spent the big bucks on master replicas. Respect for that. Respect for anyone who dresses up when it isn’t Halloween. That takes mad bawlz.

I thought I had a copy of this glorious image saved on my hard drive, but I guess not. Google has returned nothing in various searches. Boo. If anyone out there knows the picture I’m talking about and actually has a copy, please, hit me up before this Geek Pride Day comes to a close.

SPECIAL REPORT: JB Breaks Silence On U2 Tape Debacle

JB, the JG2 pal who two years ago went totally nuts at the Ridgefield High Class of ‘97 ten year reunion, has finally unraveled the entire story regarding his refusal to lend me his cassette copy of U2’s Zooropa in the ninth grade. J famously kept the U2 tape out of my grubby little hands by claiming he had left it in a hotel room on a family trip to Rhode Island. This, of course, turned out to be a bigger lie than that can of fart spray I mail ordered from Boy’s Life when I was ten (that shit did NOT smell like farts AT ALL).

When it was first discovered JB had been lying to me about that tape for all these years (a mere twenty-four hours before his alcohol-fueled reunion freak-out, I might add), my pal offered no real explanation as to why he didn’t trust me with his precious copy of Zooropa. At the time, I decided not to press the issue, mainly because I didn’t want it to become a big, stupid thing hanging over our reunion weekend. Besides, with time, I knew the truth would come out.

Well, friends, the not-so-shocking truth came out today, straight from JB’s German lips. Turns out it wasn’t I who was untrustworthy, ’twas J who feared the government. Here’s his verbatim response when I asked him point blank about it today:

“I was really weird about lending my shit out when I was younger. I was seriously afraid of the FBI if I let my friends copy my tapes. I had/have paranoia issues. I’ll tell you this story at the risk that you will no longer respect me, but in middle school I remember not lending one of my friends a Kid n’ Play tape because he said he wanted to copy it. I was all, ‘That’s illegal, dude.’ What a tool I was.”

This FBI fear excuse hold up with me because, for a long time, J was Mr. Super Republican. Always combing his hair, tucking his shirt in, and espousing the philosophies of big shots like Reagan and Nixon. On the straight and narrow, that kid was, fighting the good GOP fight until around the same time Jason Newstead quit Metallica. As we all know, that bit of heavy metal news shook many Right Wingers to the core, forcing them to reevaluate their lives and political standings. But I digress. I accept JB’s Zooropa explanation as 100% fact as it jibes with the accepted JB time line. Issue settled, water under the bridge, let’s get on with our goddamn lives.

Semi-interesting postscript to this tale: a few years ago, as a joke, our mutual friend Jim Rumpf decided to send me a CD copy of Zooropa, building me up beforehand with all this talk of something I’ve always wanted landed on my doorstep very soon. Whatever humor could be gleaned from receiving this U2 album was sullied by Jim Rumpf’s preferred method of packaging: a regular, letter-sized envelope. That’s right – dude just shoved a CD into a normal envelope and dropped it in the mail. Of course the CD case was smashed to pieces when I opened it. The disc still played, though, which was good, because I’d been dying to hear “Lemon” without spending a cent of my money for over a decade at that point.

Page From A Diary That Doesn’t Exist

Talks continue with Chuck Biscuits RE: interview. Still hard to believe I’m going back and forth with that guy. Watch it turn out to be his twin brother Leo Biscuits. That FAIL would sting like an Alfonso Ribeiro steroid scandal.

Hmmm. You know, come to think of it, Carlton did get pretty beefy towards the end of “Fresh Prince.” Compare the following two photos – on the left, a shot of Alfonso circa season one; on the right, an Alfonso promo pic from the show’s final season:

I don’t care where you’re from – that shit is freaky.

“My Name Is Earl” was canceled this week. What’s Jason Lee’s mustache going to do for work now?

Iron Maiden’s Greatest Hits has been sitting next to my bed since Christmas, daring me to a second listen. I don’t know, bro – “Wickerman” was NOT as good as I remembered it being. Plus, Nicko McBrain looks like some kind of lame yacht salesman in every photo on that CD, like he won some contest to hang out with Iron Maiden for a day. I’m not down with that.

Barack Obama hugged John McCain’s son yesterday at the latter’s Naval Academy graduation ceremony. In retaliation, Senator McCain lured the President’s daughters to his secret underground lair in the desert and trapped them both in a giant sand-filled hourglass.

The above joke was my official tryout for any talk show looking for writers. Hollywood – you know where to find me.

@HitlerzBunk: Oh no u guys – thought this pill was vitamins. FML.

@Jonestown: Wouldn’t mind this mass suicide too much if we had some BUG SPRAY LOL.

@ChManson: does any1 know if my dog is ok? I forgot to tell him I was going to prison 4ever.

@CookieMNSTR: frog say we do new movie. sick of eating vegetables. hate children. why i not wear pants? time to poop.

I had lunch yesterday at Amy Ruth’s in Harlem. The menu there has a big section showcasing photos of the owner with various celebrities and heads of state. The one image that really stood out featured Coretta Scott King. While all the other photos were clearly posed – as if these people actually came into Amy Ruth’s for chicken and waffles or whatever – this photo of Mrs. King saw her riding in a golf cart, like she was in some kind of parade or something, while the Amy Ruth’s guy stood in a nearby crowd. He was looking at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Very Fellini-esque, you could say. I guess you have to take whatever you can get sometimes.

Athletico Spizz 80’s Do A Runner album is growing on me, despite my general distaste for British post-punk. Does that speak to its excellence or my maturity? Titty-fuck if I know.

I have been administering my own haircuts for five months now. I feel so liberated. Yet, I do long for the sensitive touch of an elderly male barber. Too bad haircuts cost $25 in this godforsaken city. That’s one thing I miss about the South. It was a scandal if any scissor geez jacked his prices up past six dollars.

There is a park/observatory on the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge that I’d like to visit before I die. Dare I start a bucket list? I think I just figured out what I’m doing with my Saturday.

More On Tom DeLonge’s Weirdness

In the comments section of my last post, “scott182″ noted that Tom DeLonge’s twitching and general odd behavior on “Leno” the other night could be related to surgery the guitarist once underwent to correct a slipped disc. I did some half-assed research on this topic and discovered Tom had his invasive procedure in or around December of 2001. Any sign of long-term side effects related to this event were not immediately apparent in the scores of post-2001 live Blink-182 YouTube clips I consulted for reference. F’r instance, check out Tom pretty much on point during this 2003 performance of “Feeling This” on “Jimmy Kimmel”:

No Frankenstein movements, no side-of-the-mouth singing, no weird-ass accent. Further evidence – this 2002 version of “All The Small Things,” recorded at the TD Waterhouse Centre in Orlando, FL, during the Pop Disaster Tour (yes, I was there):

Not the best quality, but you can hear that Tom is singing the song in a normal manner and not all mush-mouthed.

You know, it’s a funny story about that Blink-182 concert. I went with my friend Jon because a mutual friend didn’t want to go and convinced me Jon already had a ticket. Of course, when I met up with Jon that night, he only had his ticket, and that shit was mad sold out. So, as not to diss my friend and make him watch this cavalcade of pop punk alone (the show also featured Green Day and Jimmy Eat World), I bought entry from a scalper for some ungodly amount of money. It was easily over a hundred dollars.

To make matters worse, this night saw the debut of the JG2 Hemorrhoid House Party Pajama Jammy Jam. That’s right – I got hemorrhoids at the ripe old age of 23. I blame George Bush my parents greenhouse gasses Joe Montana. Think that’s crazy? Try to prove Joe Montana didn’t give me hemorrhoids. You can’t do it, can you? Told you. I’ll see you in court, Montana. I’m gonna get you for every last red cent you’re worth. Anyway, my posterior was a river of moisture and stinging pain by the time I was handing over a serious chunk of my paycheck to some sketchy dude outside TD Waterhouse on that faithful May 2002 night. Had God struck me down right then and there, I can’t say I would have been all that upset about it.

Yet, my suffering was assuaged once inside the former O-rena by a couple of rather cute girls who surprisingly put up with three or four hours of my dumb Star Wars jokes and let me hang out with them close to the stage while Jon lurked in the back like a serial killer (that’s just the way he rolls). In retrospect, these girls were probably underage and just being nice so I might buy them beer. Speaking of getting fucked up, this was also the same eve on which I drank my first can of Battery, the Finnish energy drink Jon’s dad acquired from a coworker at Disney World. At the time, I don’t think any of its ingredients were FDA approved; hence, I was up for like eight days straight. The lack of sleep made me very emotional when neither of those girls from the concert returned any of my phone calls.

BUT I DIGRESS. The more I think about it, the more I reach the conclusion that Tom DeLonge is probably the one Blink who wasn’t entirely on board for this 2009 reunion. That would explain his “unique” approach to “All The Small Things” on “Leno” the other night. He’s probably just not FEELING THIS (OHGODBESTJOKEEVAR!!!!1). I mean, Blink-182 peaked about a decade ago, and Tom DeLonge does have other coals in the fire these days. That vegan shoe company he started doesn’t run itself!

‘Course, like I mentioned yesterday, Tom could be suffering from some disease we don’t know about yet. Or he could be on hella drugs. Or both. We just don’t know.

Man, did I just devote two entire blog entries to Blink-182? What’s next, a “Shasta McNasty” remembrance? Nah, I think I’m the only person who remembers that awesome Jake Busey vehicle.

JAKE BUSEY, Y’ALL!!!!

Dude, WTF Is Up With The Guy From Blink-182?

Because I often pine for those wild, heady days known as the late 1990s/early 2000s, I decided to hit PLAY yesterday morning when a website I frequent offered YouTube-hosted footage of a reunited Blink-182 playing on “Leno” the previous night. After viewing the clip, I was forced to ask aloud to no one in particular, “What the fuck is up with guitar guy (a.k.a. Tom DeLonge)?” Look:

First of all, he looks like the kid from “Smallville” now. Second of all, is he doing an impression of himself? Why is his accent so pronounced all of a sudden? And just what the hell is that accent? California by way of Chicago? Is Tom DeLonge ESOL? Is he from Mypos? Has he never been to America (Land of the Free and Home of the Whopper) before? Based on his various facial ticks and general nervous demeanor in this footage, I’d say yes.

The above performance was actually the second night of a two-show stint Blink did for “Leno.” The band was in much better form on night one when they reeled off “Rock Show” (although Tom still seemed ill at ease, shifting around like the bastard punk son of Frankenstein and C-3PO):

Hey Tom, are you not comfortable being in Blink-182 anymore? Seems that way. The other guys are doing their thing like it’s ‘99 all over again, but you’re all Mr. Roboto. What’s up your craw, Tom? You think you’re too good for Blink-182 these days? Shit, I bet there’s tons o’ guys who’d love to take your place! Hell, I’ll take your place, so long as I don’t have to dress like a thirteen year old skate punk.

By the way, I’ll retract all this if it turns out Tom DeLonge has some kind of muscular disease or neurological disorder. I’m not a complete asshole.

Coming up later: a 3,000 word essay deconstructing the singer from Sum 41’s hair.

A Glossary Of Terms My Friends & I Used In Middle/High School

angus beef [an-GUS beef] -interjection. Used as a loud, elongated nonsense greeting, primarily during lunch periods. “Aaaaaaangus BEEF!” Tom exclaimed to his friends, announcing his arrival.

b brand [BEE bran-DUH] -adjective. Term applied to any person, place, or thing considered one step below the absolute height of quality or popularity. A lot of kids were there, but they were mostly b brand seniors and dorks.

cuntrenti [kunt-RENT-ee] -noun. An angry female authority figure employed by the school board.

jagschitz [JAG-shits] -noun. A grizzled, elderly fisherman or janitor type; adapted from Connecticut seafaring legend Louie Jagschitz. Watch out for the jagschitz that works at Blockbuster – I hear he likes to touch little boys.

jizzgusting [jizz-GUS-ting] -adjective. Excessively offensive or gross; used in place of “disgusting” to annoy/confuse adults.

mofro [mow-FRO] -noun. A drug-addled goth burnout type who refuses to wear colors other than black and who never removes his or her sunglasses. You see that mofro over there? He got his pet snake high the other night.

nugget [nug-IT] -adjective. Slang for any person, place, or thing perceived as devastatingly hip or cool. God, Cheryl’s so nugget, with her Bush t-shirt and Checkered Vans.

pocket fries [POCK-it freyes] -noun. A collection of french fries or tater tots kept in one’s pants or coat pocket. Oh shit, Gabe’s got pocket fries goin’ on again!

truck driver [TRUCK dry-VER] -noun. An extremely large, unbroken piece of fecal matter found in the boy’s room toilet. Man, check out the truck driver in the last stall!

white webster [WHITE web-STUR] -noun. A fast-talking, sassy Caucasian localized entirely to our school; adapted from popular “Webster” TV show. Greg Zawacki was a regular white webster back there in Mrs. Shea’s politics class.

JG2 Issues Lengthy Dissertation On New Green Day Album; World Sniffs In Indifference

Excerpt:

“The lean towards unnecessary indulgence does not work in Green Day’s favor. Whereas American Idiot was somewhat trim and focused and seemed to have an overall goal, 21st Century Breakdown is just a fat stoner wandering through an empty mall on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning encountering all sorts of tired crap like faux terrestrial radio static, Elton John-style piano plinking, gentle acoustic guitar arpeggios, and half-assed tributes to Wings. Indeed, this album has everything every chart-topping record of your parents’/grandparents’ era had, topped off with lazy lyrics that often seem like deliberate callbacks to earlier Green Day successes. I wish Congress would consider passing legislation that would ban this band from using the terms ‘Jesus,’ ‘cigarettes,’ ‘Working Class Hero,’ and any kind of street name variation ever again.”

Read the entire review here.