January 11th, 2009
MRB Constituency:
This is the first in an ongoing series of “Open Letters to Houston Drivers.” Letters to the group of drivers that affected me most that day while tooling around in H-town, Texas.
Folks, it’s no secret that the traffic here makes us yearn for worthwhile public transportation, while the idea of new taxes makes us bitterly and unreasonably opposed to the very same thing. Today’s letter will be to Latino drivers, whose unique style of motoring seems to ignore all established rules of the road.
Dear Latino Drivers:
Really? Blue flames on a green GMC with extra-wide tires? How many overtime hours did you put in for gold-plated spoke rims? How many days did your family go hungry for that indecently massive “El Mundo es Mio” decal in your rear window? Do you honestly like DJ Piolin THAT much?
Decals aside I hate to say it Latinos/Latin Nationals/Illegals this is Houston and more specifically, America. People in America are filled with angst, rage, depression, Paxil, and most notably self-righteousness. You pull out in front us at a snail’s pace while we’re doing 45 - 50 mph in the same lane you’ve committed against humanity and our personal righteousness will not allow it!
Some practical advice, though. Houston is full of embittered, enraged traffic. Learn our ways friends. You pull out of an intersection with some unsuspecting scoundrel filled with hemorraging wrath (like myself) bearing down on you from behind you better put your fuckin foot on the accelerator and slam on it like your buddy’s face after an all night coke binge at a dank club where choice words were spoken, misunderstood and acted upon. If not, you may find yourself getting a thumbs down, middle finger or, worst-case scenario, a rear-end collision that the insurance you don’t have won’t cover. Hasta Siempre mis amigos Latinos.
DID YOU KNOW? MRB isn’t racist, he just has a large poster with a list of cultural archetypes and subscribes to the scantly known publication Sterotype Monthly!
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April 20th, 2008
Via various articles I don’t feel like citing because no one comes to me for information about the world at large, I’ve found that the same folks who made the Willie Horton ad to successfully discredit Michael Dukakis in 1988 have their sites set on Barak Obama.
It is their alleged plan to target his ties with an unapologetic Bill Ayers, a former member of the Weather Underground, paramilitary products of the 60s who bombed various government buildings to protest the Vietnam war.
It led me to ask this question: “So?” That’s right folks, MRB doesn’t give a good god damn about government buildings. SURPRISE! Quite frankly all this means to me is we got a nigga with a mean streak tryin’ to get into office. Someone who isn’t afraid of a little revolutionary action. The shit I read today got me on the Obama bus. I’ll even write-in Al Sharpton for Secretary of Blackness and pray he gets to oversee the Presidential Council on Awesome Hair. It should also be mentioned that most of the physical bombings perpetrated by the Weather Underground took place when Obama was 8 years old. Sorry Ron, I got a crush on Obama.
DID YOU KNOW? Only closet lovers of foot-porn vote John McCain…seriously!
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February 17th, 2008
So, I was scrubbing every deep and surely loathsome crevice on my body with my girlfriends loofah because it wasn’t mine and I noticed everything in her shower had some sort of fruit or fruit extract in it. There was orchid and coconut milk shampoo, pomegranate body wash and apricot face scrub.
When I was done with the shower I got out and told my girlfriend: “Babe, everything in there is so fruity and truth is I’ve never been more full in my life, but I think I need to go to the hospital…also we might stop by the store because you’re out of shampoo, face and body wash.” Long story short the attending physician said in 20 years he’d never enjoyed the smell of his work as much as he did that day.
DID YOU KNOW? A “Risser” is another word for cat!
We’ll miss you Jenn.
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January 22nd, 2008
Have you ever been minding your own business, sitting on an open beer can, eating celery stalks, carrots and bread crumbs because hey, if you’re gonna roast yourself to death you’d at least leave a delicious and wholly tender corpse, when some commercial comes on that makes you want to live? Not because of the production value, the soundtrack, but the actress.
The woman has given me a new life’s goal.
I’m not usually a vengeful person and I don’t want to see the place shut down, but I’m hungry and I wouldn’t mind having some roasted “commercial actress who sounds like Gary Shandling” if you know what I’m sayin.
Starting tomorrow, I will fight tirelessly to get the commercials off the air. As soon as I have something concrete, like an e-mail for their marketing department, you’ll be apprised.
DID YOU KNOW? Tit backwards…is tiT…YAAHHH
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November 24th, 2007
“I don’t have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression. Everybody’s out of work or scared of losing their job, the dollar buys a nickels worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter, punks are running wild in the streets, and there’s nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there’s no end to it. We know the air’s unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit and watch our TV’s while some local newscaster tells us today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We all know things are bad. Worse than bad. They’re crazy. It’s like everything’s going crazy. So we don’t go out anymore. We sit in our house, and slowly the world we live in gets smaller, and all we ask is please, at least leave us alone in our own living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my hairdryer and my steel-belted radials, and I won’t say anything, just leave us alone. Well, I’m not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad!
I don’t want you to riot. I don’t want you to protest. I don’t want you to write your congressman, because I wouldn’t know what to tell you to write. I don’t know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the defense budget and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is first you’ve got to get mad! You’ve got to say: ‘I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore. I’m a human being goddamnit. My life has value.’ So I want you to get up now. I want you to get out of your chairs and go to the window. Right now. I want you to go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell. I want you to yell: ‘I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!’”
DID YOU KNOW? This is an excerpt from the movie, “Network.” It’s a hell of a flick!
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September 21st, 2007
Here’s the thing about this place. It may come calling because of it’s fairly trendy location, it’s dirt-cheap prices or the woman at the counter who embodies southern ebony, but unless you wanna drive like an old, Asian woman you shouldn’t eat here.
I was so full that even my driving was affected and I had quite a ways to go. There was a car full of 90 year-old, pacifist nuns screaming all kinds of satanic things at me. There was a bus full of retired driving instructors on their way to a conference on road rage riding my ass to hurry up. There was a human, limbless fucking torso of a man driving a special car with his mouth who almost got in a wreck because he felt the need to yell at my drag-ass driving.
The point is: unless you’ve got a home, apartment, bed, cot, hay-stack, drug-dealer or homeless shelter near by…take some of it to-go huh?
DID YOU KNOW? An old, Asian woman is like every bad driver rolled into one!
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August 22nd, 2007
There is something insidious happening here. Something frightening and unnerving. An invader, one whose clues are numerous, but subtle. Unique and small, while rampant and overwhelming. I’m talking of course, about the helpful friend, relative, neighbor, werewolf, vampire, monster, Jew, demon or jolly-stranger that’s been sneaking into my house and moving shit around while I’m away…possibly to teach me a lesson about locking my doors.
Not bugs. Did you think it was going about bugs? Because it isn’t. It’s about the aforementioned assailant.
This, like many of my entries, will have little, if nothing to do with it’s title. That having been said, SOMEONE HAS BEEN IN MY MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE MESSING WITH MY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT. That may well have been better articulated but I don’t care because that’s anger folks.
Everyday for the past week to week.5 I’ll come home at various points during any given day after having been gone doing whatever the hell it is I do, and things will be slightly awry. For instance, a door I’m sure I closed will be open. Tea bags I’m sure I had will be scarce and intangible. Laundry I’m sure I did will be soiled by the act of self-gratification and in the hamper. This low-life can’t just go around, sneaking into unlocked houses and teaching people valuable lessons by cumming on their clothes and drinking all their tea. I won’t have it. Things aren’t quite right at the Schiller house folks…I’ll keep you posted.
DID YOU KNOW? This story may or may not be completely fabricated!
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July 30th, 2007
Every July 31st the world gathers in mind and spirit to pay homage to Muddy Riding Beer. This ubiquitous celebration is often marked by revelry of all kinds. From mud-wrestling seniors to Jello-wrestling college brawds to married couples wrestling with their joyless, oppressive relationships. Which is less of a celebration and more of an ongoing battle that has little, if nothing, to do with MRB-day. The point I’m getting at is: how you celebrate MRB-day is essentially up to you.
There is, however, one tradition that I hope to keep alive. That’s drinkin’. Yes, drinkin’. The one thing MRB demands of all on his MRB-day is that you all raise a glass of your favorite beer, liquor, acid-laced milk, urine sample, used motor oil or mushroom tea to the one and only…Muddy Riding Beer. Also a couple of brawds wrestling in Jello would be killer to see.
DID YOU KNOW? You can’t spell “MastuRBate” without MRB!
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July 5th, 2007
For a presidential debate that is. There are still countless contenders many of whom are, as expected, barely registering with voters for various reasons. Be it lack of name recognition, poor campaign rhetoric, etc.
Most politicians have a campaign rhetoric (various issues from which they never stray while talking no matter how badly the question being posed begs them to) but, one politicians rhetoric hits very close to home. No, I’m not talking about Rudy Guilliani just dry humping any and everything 9/11. He’s got more ground zero on his cock and balls than Pac-man Jones has banana clips filled with potential stripper victims. I’m talking instead about Ron Paul.
He’s a 10th-term congressman from Texas who has a powerful hard on for two things: limited federal government and Gynecology (he moonlights as a box doctor…of this I have no real proof though he was a Gynecologist). He has strong opinions about the debacle that is the Iraq war, states rights and a president run amok with power. He’s seen the methodical communist dictators who systematically use terror to rob you of your protection against a government and a bureacracy constantly poking it’s nose into every facet of society. It’s happening here today folks, and this man offers a bit of hope for change. Though by his very nature (a man who believes in limited presidential powers), he’ll have to rely on the people’s branch of government, Congress, to impliment any of the changes he has in mind. The problem with this is your modern day congressman is so mired in a system gone wrong and so concerned with being re-elected as oppossed to doing good for the country that his job will be a monumental one.
Still, I urge you all to go out and vote for Ron Paul in the primary and get him that Republican nomination…America needs the bastard.
DID YOU KNOW? Even moonlit Gynecology is less than fun or attractive!
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