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random rants, You Tube Flicks

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Cavett and Bowie

I’ve been running out of things to say for the last year or so, at least when it comes to my business. Oh, sure…I could spin (yet) another tale of woe, something along the lines of your favorite Pornographic Princess doing something dumb, or silly, or both; broken relationships featuring fair-weather friends, pathological liars, and pill-poppin’ drug-riddled train wrecks; and, of course, all my Homies in the County down in Cell Block 6 (I usually spare the gory blog-o-ramas when it comes to the male talents — cause who really cares about the dudes, right?).

But then I’d start to sound like a broken record, which, I’m afraid, I’ve become.

So, in a last-ditch effort to offer up some original, entertaining BlogStuffs, here’s last night’s dream: I’m in class (again) only this time I’m not the teacher. I’m the student. Usually, I’m the teacher, and I can’t control my class — no matter what consequences I offer up — so I sit there and helplessly watch The Chaos ensue. But this time I’m the student, and Dick Cavett is teaching us something I can’t understand, even though I’m not really sure what his subject is. I can’t understand math, but this wasn’t a math lesson. I don’t know what Dick Cavett was teaching me, but whatever it was, I couldn’t understand.

A Lesson in Life?

And that’s about the time I notice someone stole my fucking Man Purse.

My Murse.

My European Carry-All.

Yea, I have one of those.

Anyways, at first I thought I misplaced it, cause I do that sort of thing all the time, but then I realized someone stole the motherfucker. I walked all over that classroom looking for my Murse while everyone else was working in groups and accomplishing things, and, by the end of our time together (which somehow coincided with my sleep) I was screaming at Mr. Cavett and pleading for my bag and more time to study before his Final Exam.

Which, of course, he denied.

And, like I just told you, his denial was the exact time I woke up.

Maggie was looking at me, and I was looking at her…which meant it was time to start our day.

Maggie

random raves, You Tube Flicks

Happy Holidays, yo.

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The Harder They Come

It’s Christmas Day, which means if you’re reading this, you’re a big fan of ISP, or a big pervert…or maybe a little of both.

So, Merry Christmas.

Happy Holidays.

Since you’re a fan, I’d like to give you a holiday gift.

Well, kinda. I mean if we were meeting face-to-face, I’d invite you to meet up at my very favorite coffee shop in the whole wide world — Intelligentsia. It’s in my neck of the woods, so you’d have to get yourself to Los Angeles. But if you did, I’d buy ya a super yummy drink, and lay a pound of their fabulous coffee on ya.

Then, as an added surprise, I’d give you the newly issued version of The Harder They Come, which is nicely housed as a 2 disc, re-mastered Special Edition, which includes not only the movie, but the soundtrack, too!

It’s the greatest soundtrack of all time.

Let me say that again, one more time, in case you weren’t listening: The Harder They Come is the greatest movie soundtrack ever released.

You betcha, Mister.

Better than Valley Girl.

Way better than High Fidelity.

Even better than Vampyros Lesbos.

And that’s saying a lot, my friend.

But since I’ll never meet you, and you probably aren’t coming to Los Angeles anytime soon, how about some free smut?

Allyson Wyte is the brand new girl at Blacks on Blondes. She’s also the boss’s wife, and she’s conducting job reviews, and it’s time she reviews Ice Cold’s work.

Uh huh.

Barbie Cummings wants a black baby for Christmas. Ace and Jon Jon give her the gift that keeps coming, over and over.

Andi Anderson went to the hole with me for a little holiday cheer a few weeks ago.

So did Mahlia Milan.

If that’s not enough for ya, check out Jimmy Cliff and His Bad Ass Self, circa 1972.

And Happy Holidays, yo.