Jim Cramer's Woe Scope

Jim "Mad Money" Cramer, financial expert, was on Conan the other day. Here's his solution to the housing crisis...



"FDR was a pig killer?!"
"Yes he was!"

I've found my calling. I am sending multiple applications and resumes to Jim Cramer with the intent of joining his wandering torch squad. My name will undoubtedly be added to a government blacklist just for applying, but fuck it. Sometimes you have to gamble when your dream hangs in the balance. And if I'm not accepted, I'll freelance. Emphasis on the free.

You don't even know how many times I've thought about setting Tampa Bay on fire from a helicopter. My favorite movie character is the flame thrower wielding Fireball from The Running Man. Jim Brown's best role.



Side story, true story... During our freshman year of college, me and Sugaragus broke into our friend Ben Brockman's dorm room via the window. He was out with his girlfriend for the night. We watched The Running Man on his TV and stole 4 beers out of his mini-fridge (the beer was Natural Light, is that still considered stealing?). After the movie was over, we left through his front door, all casual. I never told him about it, and he never mentioned the missing beers. The funny thing is that I had a TV and some beer in my dorm anyway. We just thought it would be funny, and it was. Sorry, Ben.




Back to my torch brigade ambitions...

Hell, I don't even need to get paid, just the health benefits, thank you. Smoke inhalation is a bitch, and skin grafts don't grow on trees.



My only concern is that when the ashes settle in the burn zone, and I'm sent back home, maybe I won't be the same guy. Like a returning war vet, I'd be itching for more action, something only my inferno brothers would understand.

I'd get real quiet when birthday candles were lit. I'd stop conversations mid sentence and say, "It smells like kerosene in here. Do you smell kerosene?" I'd fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, go missing for days, and come back with dirt and blood caked upon my clothes. When my fiancé asks me where I've been, I'd respond in a low, even tone, "I've been at the library."




Seriously though, I remember when my friends discovered Mad Money during the winter of 2006. Monty, Kellie, Lee, Erik, Lindsay, (regrettably) Steev, and I used to gather round the TV with various intoxicants and watch Jim Cramer do his maniacal thing. He was throwing chairs and had a sound effect button for each emotion he felt. All 20 of them. It was inspiring to see such passion wildly directed at the stock market. And hilarious. But a 5 day a week show loses its novelty pretty fast, and about 3 weeks in, our gang broke up with Mad Money. Mr. Cramer was devastated.

Getting back to the people I mentioned above. That 1 year period was the most fun I've ever had in my life, and it was over too soon (I know, I'm cornballin' out right now). And it will never be the same because time pulls people apart. Couples break up, alliances fade, friends move away. I have fond memories of that era, but the fact that they are just memories is a bummer. For the past 3 years, I've been chasing the high of being with all my friends at once. That probably explains a lot.

But, I went to a pot luck dinner tonight and it was great. I felt sort of like I did back then. This is very encouraging. I hope the good vibes continue.

MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN'://.orgcom, Tim(Burton)^RobToThe>>>>>HAHAHAHAH

Hey kids of the fireside!.

We aren't frenz. We should be barring one event short. Waaaittt; a second.


You've never told a story huh?

I've told one.

My dear Zordlings// \start

**************

\end west


You've turned west.!

Why>?


Help \ c:\help.txt not found



A damn shame.


You're reading this right?

Geniuois shit. Not reallllly. The buttons is broke. The eternally missing help file. We all kind of want one. The idea that we have to function is kind of weird.


Eh.

Do you remember one year ago right now? Tell me please. radbombz [at] yah oo .com.

k? thx! You have to love when you know the crunch of defeat,

the sound of end times!

For your honor/dignit-ee.

Slam poetry. I kind of giggle when I say that, only because everyone else fucked it up.

I woke up. The eyes I have were wet and heavy. ATM. Someone had made the paper unicorn floor tiles. The origami james Hetfelf. Field? Always capitalize. Kidz.

Do you feel marginalized kids?

Like you aren't worth more than the products you're marketed two?

Sucks right? You still kid of talk like Willis. B.T. Willis. Bruce The Willis.

Get it? The ole Look Who's Talking/Talkin joke.

I'm Monty'sd Baseball Soup people.


That guy.

I left that d there. I'm sorry D.

Those bells ring. That jeep you rode as a kid. It's ok. I find it's ok to remember childhood. Being terrified of life is ok, apparently. In an age where fear is not only expected but feared if not there. How can you relate to someone not scared? Fear is the great joiner, right?

The thing every single person ever has felt is fear. No matter what we are united in that fact. The target is irrelevant. We've all been absolutely terrified.

Late nineties Trip Hop is cool. So fucking good. The faster you admit it's good the sooner we move on. And rip it off unrelentingly til it's mined of class and good beats.

Then My Bloody Valentine plays. It's ok. OK.??

That's all we/me/all want. To be OK. For a second. A minute. A day.

To feel like it's All Right. A moments peace.

-Soup

Fantastic Voyage to Bummer Town

True/personal story and depressed misanthropic rant time! This type of post shall hereby be called Tales From the Nest of Grump, or just The Nest of Grump. I haven't decided yet.

I'm gonna try to write what I'm feeling as I feel it because I'm losing it fast. I'm a moody fucker and I never know when I might lose my nerve and let my thoughts fade into the night unreported. But I'm in a peculiar way right now, and I sense that I really need to write what's inside my head, however fleeting the sentiment is.

I saw AA Bondy tonight. Just him, his guitar, and his harmonica. It was one of the most intimate and memorable performances I've ever witnessed. He just poured his heart out and was completely humble and gracious. In my opinion, talent and modesty are the best traits one can possess. Here he is, doing his thing backstage in Nashville, again.

Jesse Jackson Crying

Me too, Jesse. Me, too. How's Vada gonna cope?

Lately I've been hearing all this shit about saving the bees, because bees are dying in massive numbers, blah blah blah... Fuck them bees!

Take Me With You

According to the site tracker for this blog, people came across it by searching Google for:

"Ol' Dirty Bastard"
"spike lee huff paint" (seriously? is there something I should know?)
"Arnold's kid images"
"douches iceberg"
"india freespiritman*" (glad to have him aboard)
"baseball baby and names"
"a lorna doone obama" (I want one)
"gum drop soup" (gimme)
"Anthony Hopkins"
"suckosaurus"
"douche ball"

"Encore!!!" You got it, homey.

Suckosaurus Rex

Saw this in The Onion today and couldn't stop laughing:



Get well soon, Mr. Orton. Use your bearded wisdom to vanquish this talentless stepchild.

Anagrams!

Anagrams are words with the letters switched around to make new words, you fucking idiot! Whoa...I'm sorry. I flew off the handle there and I apologize. Let's start again.

I've chosen to rearrange celebrity names as an excuse to find their most unflattering pictures, and bask in some absurd word combinations. Let's do this shit!


(Better get used to this photo, folks. It's my favorite thing in the world right now. You'll be seeing it again, soon)

Mike Tyson
ink my toes
kite, my son
tiny smoke




Vladimir Putin
invalid rum pit
mini drip vault




Hulk Hogan
honk laugh
Ghoul Khan
klan hug, ho!




Quentin Tarantino
non-tit quarantine




Lou Reed
dour eel
ole rude

side note: Look at Lou Reed. This is how a Jew ages. Apparently, when God was making the chosen people, he forgot to check the "age gracefully" box. This is what I have to look forward to? Oy vey!



David Letterman
Milt, Dad Veteran
damn tater devil!




Fidel Castro
idle sac fort
steroid calf
slit rod face




Sarah Palin
I, nasal harp
Rash Lip Ana




Marlon Brando
lard born moan
bad nor normal




Anthony Hopkins
yank this phonon
phony honk stain
oh, thy napkin son