Monthly Archives: January 2009

Letterman Rights A Wrong

A cool and classy move in three segments.

http://www.billhicks.com/

For an article about it from the time check out this New Yorker article.

FotC

First great new song of the season! (lyrics at the end of this post)

And the second!
(lyrics at the end of this post)

Join Murray’s Street Team!

Get t-shirt transfers, buttons, wristbands, stickers (all of which you’ll, due to the bands current and possibly future financial situation, you’ll have to put on your own sticky paper)! Be aware, this file is from HBO and opens as a .zip with both PC and Mac files.

Enter the Flight of the Conchords poster contest!

Sugarlumps

Lemme tell ya
I see you girls checking out my trunks
I see you girls checking out the front of my trunks
I see you girls looking at my junk
Then checking out my rump
Then back to my sugarlumps

When I shake it
I shake it all up
You probably think my pants have the mumps
It’s just my sugarlumps bump-ba-bumps
They look so good that’s why I keep ’em in the front

All the ladies checking out my sugarlumps
They drive the ladies crazy
(Sweet sugarlumps)

All the bitches checking out my britches
Put ’em in a trance when I wear track pants
My dungarees make them hunger-ees
They’re over the moon when I don pantaloons

My sugarlumps are two of a kind
Sweet and white and highly refined
Honeys try all kinds of tomfoolery
To steal a feel of my family jewelry
My cannonballs cause a kerfuffle
The ladies, they hustle to ruffle my truffle
If you party with the party prince
You get two complimentary after-dinner mints

We see you girls checking out our trunks
We see you girls checking out the front of our trunks
We see you girls looking at our junk
Then checking out our rumps
Then back to our sugarlumps

Chillin’ at my store
Doin’ my thing
When in walks a guy with his dick in a sling
I’m like, “holy shit, what happened to you?”
He said, “how much will you give me for the family jewels?”
I said, “10 bucks”
He said, “no way”
“10 bucks and a frisbee”
He said, “okay”
And I took his sugarlumps and put ’em in a display
And sold ’em as hacky sacks later that day

All the ladies they want a taste of my sugarlumps
Sweet sugarlumps, yeah
All the ladies they want a taste of my sugarlumps
Sweet sugarlumps

You Don’t Have to Be A Prostitute

Ooh Ooh,
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh,
It’s a cold night,
beneath the street light,
There’s a man who’s pants are too tight
Oh no, his pants are too tight,
(My pants are too tight)

He stands there an empty stare
Trying to make enough money for his cab fare home,
He’ll have to walk home tonight
(Don’t have enough for the ride)

The streets are cruel
He just acts cool
He goes to work with only his one tool.
You can put your tool away Jemaine

You don’t have to be a prostitute
No No No No No
You can say no to being a man-ho
a male gigalo
You don’t have to be a prostitute
No No No No No
You can say no to being a night-looker, a boy-hooker a rent-boy bro-ho

He cannot see his way out
(I cannot my way out)
He can’t see his way out
(Male prostitute seems to be my only option)
He can’t see his way out.
(I cannot see my way out)
He Can’t see his way out
No No No No No

He’s selling cheap thrills
To pay expensive bills
But check your resume
You must have some other skills
Do you have any other skills… like typing?

They see him wanting to please them
Wanting to play him, but they don’t even pay him
Oh no no
They don’t think he’s worth it at all

Though they are no one
He tries to bring them home
Maybe it’d be ok if he lived alone
Ooh you have a roommate don’t bring them home

You don’t have to be a prostitute
No No No No No
You can say no to being a man-ho
a male gigalo
You don’t have to be a prostitute
No No No No No
You can say no to being a night-looker, a boy-hooker a rent-boy bro-pro

Today’s Stupid Comment

“So how was it here yesterday?”

“I shoveled for three hours.”

“Outside?”

“No, inside. I’m trying to cut down on frostbite and aerobic exercise.”

TV Girl

We’re out with a bunch of people and a pretty blonde interviewer is on the screen. People are paying attention to what she’s saying (or so I hope) while, shot in profile, she’s asking her question. Suddenly one of the women says,

“Look at her roots! Someone should have done something about her roots. They should have thought of that before they took that shot. It makes her look bad.”

All the guys exchange glances. All of them said it didn’t matter which shot they took, they’d be hard pressed to find a bad side.

The woman looks at the guys faces and knows what they’re thinking. Undaunted, she pulls out the capper. The statement that will make all of the stupid guys realize just how right she was.

“Her drapes don’t match the carpet, you know.”

Out of respect no one laughed but I took it upon myself to speak for all the gentlemen assembled.

“I’m sure I speak for all the gentlemen assembled when I say, I’m sure none of the guys here care if she even has a carpet.”

Movies!

Are you ready for some football?

North Dallas Forty

Wildcats

Phrases

Some phrases have usual responses.

For example, “Only one beer with dinner, officer.” Is usually followed by the nice police officer asking you to step from the vehicle.

“I’ve never done this before.” Is usually followed by the speaker thinking, “With you.”

“I swear.” Is usually followed by a huge pack of lies.

Then there are phrases which will only have one response.

“Duck!” Is always followed by the sound of an object conking someone on the skull.

“I’ve done this plenty of times.” Is always followed by the speaker doing something so injurious that, the moment quick thinking people hear it, they grab their video equipment.

“Nice dick.” Is always followed by a men’s room emptying.

But I’ll add one that, as I found out last night, will empty a bar very quickly.

“Hey,” I called to the cavernous yet mostly empty bar as I walked out of the men’s room. “There’s a dead guy next to the toilet.”

The seven people in the place looked towards me accompanied by the sounds of bar tabs being paid and four motorcycles starting up and getting outta Dodge.

We’re paying our tab as the bartender is dialing the phone. She says,

“I was wondering where he went.”

The Doors Of Pestiferous

It’s only taken me seven thousand years to figure it out but, bless my heart, I did. I figured out the root of all my problems. The one thing that connects all the things that cause annoyance in my life. And that thing is doors. Think about it. Everyone who sullies my life crossed the threshold of a door moments before slinging their slop at me.

Fuck doors.

To prove my radical and controversial hypothesis I offer the following ten minute slice of my day.

I pass through my office door and, within moments, the front door opens. A gentleman steps in as I continue walking towards him. I see his face, he’s holding the door open as he says,

“I want you to come outside.”

I’m sure you feel this is an abnormal request but, trust me, it is not. Because the office door is the nearest in a large expanse of asphalt people often feel it is their only hope to get some satisfaction. Whether that satisfaction comes from wanting to ask a question most times I have no possible chance of answering correctly; to inform me that there has been a car accident on the street; letting me know that two or more outside dwellers are locked in some type of fisticuffs; or some other happening that, although has no connection to me, the business, or my interests at all, they feel I should be informed of.

As I’m walking to this gentleman the telephone rings. It’s my girlfriend. We begin some small talk as I walk towards the man as he begins to tell me why he would like me to go outside.

“I want you to change my tire.”

“Did someone just ask you to change their tire?”

“Yep.” I answer my girlfriend. As she’s going on about the nerve of people I begin to spin around calling over my shoulder,

“Not a chance in hell. There’s a gas station on the corner.”

I slump into my desk chair as the gentleman walks out of the door and it slowly shuts behind him. I look at the silent and shut door wondering when the next grotesquerie of the gateway will approach.

Turns out I didn’t have to wait long. Moments after completing my telephone conversation the door once again swings open. A stinging slap of crisp, cool air surrounds me, bracing me for the next onslaught.

In walks another male of the species. He too is holding the door open allowing the breeze to shimmy the placards and posts on the sale board. I look at his face and see shock and agitation. If he covered bewilderment he could be in the running for denizen of the month.

In his hand I see waving a hundred dollar bill. Assuming he’s not just showing the world his numismatic pride I move towards the payment collection area.

“I just got out of my car and a girl in the parking lot propositioned me.”

He looks back and forth from me to the offending bus stop hooker. When he puts his attention fully on me I say,

“What do you need? Change for the hundred?”

Do you need more proof that doors are where all evil and stupid passes? I think not! But I’ll give you another one. It’s the kind of full service guy I am. Remember the tire changing guy? You’d think he’d be long gone, wouldn’t you? And that’s why doors are always hitting you on the ass on your way out. You underestimate them.

Once again, the door bursts open. I look up and see the tire guy. It’s about half an hour after his first appearance so I figure, having changed many tires in my life, he’s come back to tell me all is a-okay in his world.

“Seriously,” he says. “I want you to change my tire.”

I look this man, not an infirm man, not an aged man, and say,

“I’d love to but I think the proximity of me, you, and a tire iron would be too much temptation.”

To say my day was filled with more people swinging open the door and trying to slip their weak ass shit by me would be the truth. But, having proven my point beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ll end by telling you about the doors near the end of my day.

It’s a nice, crisp, clear evening. The kind of evening that can put your past behind you and enjoy the moment. I’m in the bus watching many methods of egress pass.¬†With each door there is a hope¬†nothing bad ever passes through them.

I’m not saying only evil things happen around doors. No, some good things happen. Such as, my walking through the door of my local liquor store. That’s usually a pleasant experience. I often don’t think much of it. I wander through the store on autopilot. I know what I want, where it is, and how much it costs. So, to limit the possibility that I could come into contact with any door walkers, I even have the exact amount ready.

This time, in front of me, is a guy struggling to put together even this simple a transaction. Finally, with the help of the calm and efficient cashier, it does come to a completion. Before the guy is away from the counter I reach over his shoulder and hand my money to the guy. We exchange simple and quick pleasantries and I begin to exit through the door.

Of course, the guy who was in front of me in line is now in front of me to exit. What is taking him so long? Is he traversing an invisible moat? Move it along Charlemagne, the Templar’s are coming!

He finally passes through the door with me close on his heels. He opens the door of his automobile and I walk to the curb to await the cessation of traffic. I notice the driver has pulled beside me in the quest for movement.

When the traffic does part I notice that he’s heading up the same street as me. I don’t give it a second though nor would I unless he pulled into the parking spot of the house directly across the street from the liquor store.

Let me state that again. He lives directly across the street. One street. He can look into the store from his living room. If he moves his head in the right angle, he can probably see it from his kitchen. I could stand on his front porch and throw a baseball through the window of the establishment. And I’m not bring the heat like I used to. In other words, it’s close.

I’m in the middle of the street thinking,

“Geez, even if I was coming home from work I think I’d pull into my driveway then walk over to get beer.”

It just seems a waste of energy. But that’s just me. I reach the street and, as he opens his automobile door, I begin to pass him. He catches my eye holding up what, from my well trained eye, isn’t his first six-pack of the day, shakes the package and says,

“We’re both on the same mission. I’m just lazier about it.”

I laugh as he shuts his automobile door and moves to his household door. I walk slowly to make sure the door closes tightly.

“Doors, man.” I say to myself as I continue my trudge up the hill. “Doors are the root of all that goes wrong in the world.”