Say hello to my Dog Skin Coat

It has come to my attention, and to the attention of my friend and neighbor Clint, who, for those of you not in the know as of yet, lives in the apartment above mine, that a nearby house to ours has become the home to either a cult of chronic dog stabbers, or a cult of dog stabbers supply and lessons store. What I'm getting at here is the fact that screaming dogs are audible at intermitted moments throughout the night and morning.
Now, not only was I unaware that a cult of chronic dog stabbers or a cult of chronic dog stabbers supply and lessons store was legal, but I had no idea that it took so fucking long to kill a dog by repeated stabbings! Then again, I'm not a member of this cult, nor do I subscribe to it's newsletter....so truth be told, there may be some aspects of the dog stabber's techniques that I'm not familiar with that are implemented to prolong the dog stabbing experience.....such as using short bladed instruments in strategic, non-immediate-lethal areas of the canine's anatomy.

Actually....I'm now curious about what a Cult of Chronic Dog Stabbers Newsletter would be like. I can imagine someone getting caught owning many and trying to explain it away by saying, "I just get it for the articles!"

Ok....it's clear that I need my morning coffee now, before I write anymore and hurt the feelings of any sensitive indy kids out there.

The Three D's of a Four D'ed Noose.

Recently I've learned that this new male fashion that's been annoying the living crap out of me is actually called Brooklyn Street. I'm sure you've seen this by now in your neck of the country, it seems to be everywhere: Twenty-something year old males walking around wearing thrift store bought sports jackets over their t-shirts and dawning those trucker style puffy fronted red-neck ball caps over a mop of unwashed hair. Did I miss something? Did some Indy Brit Pop Star or the like recently appear on TRL wearing this? And, I have to say in all honesty, I do believe that this new fashion fad has been mislabeled. The first person I ever saw dressed like this would be Chevy Chase in the late 80's early 90's, but I doubt many young adults trying to be cool would feel that way if what they were wearing was known as Fletch Chic. But still, I thought Brooklyn Street was already taken when men in the early 80's started wearing half length mesh shirts over their white undershirts (also known as wife beaters by us Kentucky folk) and sporting day-glo headbands. I could have sworn that was called Brooklyn Street....or at least that is what my dad called it when he started dressing that way. I don't remember. But imagine what it would be like tomorrow if John Mayer or Graham Coxon had been spotted dressed like that. There'd be indy kids everywhere looking like gay personal trainers, and those not in the know (like myself) would be forced to believe that Loverboy had made some unbelievable comeback....just like I was under the impression that the Chevy Chase show had either just come back on the air or at least been released to dvd....a sad, sad one disc dvd box set.

Speaking of Brooklyn, in the year 1977, Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens were terrorized by the Son of Sam or "the .44 Caliber Killer", later to be known as David Berkowitz, because, although unimaginative, that's his name. Later he would go on record as saying he was obeying the demands of Sam....this all somehow was spawned by many sleepless nights due to the constant barking of his neighbor's dog. You might find this hard to believe, that is that a constant external noise source can drive someone insane enough to kill. I thought so as well. That was until the Satan Spawn Starling took residence in the tree behind my apartment and not three feet from my bedroom window. Trust me, being awakened constantly by a high pitched bird doing an impression of an old man with Alzheimer's lost and wandering in traffic can really start to effect you.

Completely off the subject, am I the only one who thinks that the new Burger King "wake up with the King" campaign is gay? And by gay I mean targeting homosexuals. Commercials full of construction workers, lumberjacks, the Village People....all waking up in bed with a smiling King. Seriously, I mean, the only thing missing is the King actually being dressed in Brooklyn Street.

Anyway, the screeching semi-redundant call of this retarded fowl living behind me has actually started to take the shape of demands....so far though, not demands to kill for it, more like demands to open the window and scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!!!!!!" ...but I believe that its only a matter of time before I'm led to believe that the only path to true peace is to paint my walls with blood. Just saying.

Really, I have no idea where I'm going with all of this, or exactly how to end it besides saying that this is what happens when Im home all day sick with food poisoning. I think its safe to say that I'm never ordering an Alemeda Burger ever again.

Now where's that bucket?