Rock and Roll Railroad

where i will love you long time

Rock and Roll Railroad — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 08:06:12 +0000

There are those nights where you are out with your girlfriends, and you always have the one in the group (you don’t have to name names) but she’s in a bad mood because her new boy-toy either isn’t giving her enough attention, or too much attention; but regardless, you’re out in the city with your bitches and you just wanna dance. Forget him, strap on your way too expensive heels that you really do not want to get fucked up in this weather, go to the Lower East Side, and dance your heart out, bitch. When you realize you’ve worked up a sweat, and are no longer drunk, you’re scoping out the scene to see if there are any cute boys to tease. You’re thinking o.k., maybe, a boyfriend doesn’t count in a different country-state-city-borough, but you just want to see who will buy you a drink. Well, you know what, you don’t have a ring on that finger, and if he really cared, than maybe he would have called you to see what you were doing. The fact that he has no idea that you are going to fuck this cuban male adonis in the bathroom, in this Bulgarian bar, just means you are an independent woman.

There is a rich history of women seducing men with their scantily clad dancing. And more so there is the art of temptation that has been developed. From the belly dancing, which has tormented men since the dangl-y charm dress was invented. Or the pole dance, which has blued the balls of so many desperate men with no where to go but their “gentleman’s clubs,” and have nothing but dollar bills to push down those floss g-strings. And let us not forget the Booty Poppin (god bless the American known only as “Ludacris”)

The point is ladies, not everyone can pop that junk in their trunk while doing a hand stand, so take advantage (of him). And when he wakes up in the morning and doesn’t remember where his wedding ring went…well fuck’em, you can get a solid three-hundo from the chinese pawnshop on Canal Street.

where everything isn’t how it seems

Rock and Roll Railroad — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 05:15:39 +0000

When you go to see a movie, you generally have a good idea of what it’s going to be about. There are several ways which movie studios go about doing this. There are the pre- launch interviews, the posters, and most importantly, the trailers. Even though you’d think a “trailer” is something that is following something else, it is actually the trailer that is viewed before the movie. Editors are paid good money to make movies look appealing, while not giving too much away. A bad trailer can make a person not want to watch a good movie, or even worse, it could give so much away of a movie to where no one feels any anticipation to pay money for it. Take for instance the new trailer for Terminator: Salvation.

WOW That movie looks intense! You can tell by all the explosions and really low, grunt-ish Batmanesqe talking. You might be really excited to find out what happens, that’s what makes it a good trailer! You may have had a different reaction if they actually told you that in the last battle Christian Bale gets so beat up by the machines that the only way to save him is by putting machine parts in him, creating a whole new inner conflict and setting up another sequel. Whoops did I just ruin it? Oh you could have guessed that from a mile away too? Oh good.

What I really want to know is, why do trailer editors always go by the same cliche templates based simply on genre. Why not switch it up. How about turning Superbad into an action movie:

Or turn The Shining into a romantic comedy

And my personal favorite, turning When Harry Met Sally into a horror movie:

If all movie studios did this, we would all get our money’s worth going to the movies simply by the shock of finding out what kind of movie you really get.

where i kill for fun

Rock and Roll Railroad — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 11:54:47 +0000

“By August 31st, our combat mission in Iraq will end.” That is a wonderful goal by the President of the United States, Barack Obama. But you know what, this isn’t good enough for me, mainly because my birthday is August 30th. And I don’t think they are trying hard enough. Whatever, I suppose it doesn’t matter either way, because he doesn’t really meant it. It is a terrific goal for the President, but it’s a lie. There is no end to the war in Iraq, that is, until all Iraqis are dead. That is the only realistic goal. All we need to do is kill every Iraqi by 2010. Then we’ll be done in the Middle East.. If there is no Iraq, then is no reason to worry about it. There are certain wars that don’t really exsist, the war on drugs, and now there is a “war on terrorism”. These things don’t really exist, but what does exist is the US presences in Iraq. But if we wanted to end the invisible “war” agaist terrorisim, then the only logical answer is to get rid of Arabs, because let’s be honest, only Arabs commit terrorism.

It takes a while for anyone to really realize that they are totally fucked. Anyone who’s had a straying girlfriend will know. Most men in the Army will know, because face it, she’s not waiting for you, so give it up. Sorry, but you get the double fuck of having a girlfriend cheat on you, and on top of that, she’s having your baby and you’ll have to support that motherfucker till it’s 18.

you looking at me?

There are no innocent bystanders in this war. We are all fighting and dieing in Iraq. There is no end, and we can not do anything about it.

i love a man with power

There is a thing called a death of a thousand cuts, and you may have the idea that the United States maybe suffering from the tragic case of such. But you would be wrong. We are winning. The USA, the greatest country in the world, will prevail. That is why recruiting numbers have increased by 18%. It sounds very impressive, a number that incinuates that there may be a global recession, and that there are no jobs and that people are desperate and resorting to the Army. But you are wrong again. They just understand that we have to win this, or perish.

where we accuse religious figures of being shitty

Rock and Roll Railroad — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 19:10:27 +0000

A man approached the Buddha Gotama, who was resting underneath a tree in an open field. Intent on asking him a question, the pilgrim walked slowly and with consternation toward the Holy Man.

“Master…” he whispered, and upon recieving no reply, said louder, “Master…”

Gotama looked up, broken from reverie, and for a second there was a flash of anger and fear across his benevolent face. The pilgrim, sensing this and realizing his foolishness, turned to run away. But the Buddha was a great man, and he called the man back with a gentle wave of his hand, his face reflecting again the unbroken pool of the clearest water.

“What is it you need, friend?” called the Buddha Gotama, shifting slightly to the left and then quickly back to the right.

“I seek…knowledge! I seek to know what…is the greatest thing.” said the pilgrim, with his eyes cast down and his hands trembling like willow branches in the wind. And the Buddha smiled, and the pilgrim saw this and the pilgrim smiled too. And a crease appeared under the eye of the Buddha Gotama as he appeared to consider this great quandry, and the pilgrim saw this and attempted to concentrate too.

“The greatest thing, is merely an inversion of the worst thing.” Gotama said finally. He smiled up at the pilgrim and drew a hand across his forehead, because it was very hot even in the shade of the tree. The pilgrim heard this and thought for some time, resting hands on his hips and screwing his face up toward the shining sun. The Buddha was very patiently waiting, and every so often would shift from the left to the right. Sensing this, the pilgrim looked again down towards the grassy ground and started to shake.

“Master…what is the worst thing…?” he asked timorously. And the Buddha Gotama thought on this for a time, shifting from right to left. At a sudden, the Buddha’s concentration broke and he looked left and he looked right and up and down and a concerned look alighted to him. A pause, and then the Buddha Gotama laughed, full chested and mirth.

“My friend, my brother, the very worst thing is to eat a grand meal and retire to a tree to consider it, and find oneself without a means to purify it” he said smilingly to the now very confused follower. They sat in silence for twenty minutes, thirty minutes, forty minutes, an eternity, until the enlightenment crossed the pilgrim’s face. Like the drawing of shadow across the Earth it was slow, but all encompassing. And the pilgrim laughed, running back to the camp as quickly as possible, returning at once with a stack of palm leaves which he handed to the blushing and mirthful Buddha

where bill clinton is the first black president

Rock and Roll Railroad — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 19:49:40 +0000

Barack Obama is a charming charismatic figure. Many attribute him being the “first black president” to this; and while there is in fact a fine art of conversation, and few true fully master the full potential of being a beautiful linguist, there were others before him who I believe he must attribute his success. If you are thinking Martin Luther King Jr., you are wrong. I am talking about the first black president of the United States, Bill Clinton. William Jefferson Blythe III while being born with a silver tongue, did not have a silver spoon in his mouth.

Fun Fact: He had his first kiss when he jumped into his neighbor’s crib in the hospital when he was only 5 hours old.

He never met his real father, and was raised mainly by his grandparents. His mother later married an abusive, alcoholic, gambling, car salesman. When he went to college, guess where he went? Georgetown University in Washington D.C., a great place for a young black man to find himself and discover his potential. Later on he got into Yale, and found himself a successful looking white woman to marry, but he never lost track of what was truely important. Important things being having unprotected “free love” parties with young, impressionable secretaries.

he sure does have big hands

Skip ahead a few years, and when he became president everything was awesome, “USA #1″ chants could be heard all over the world, economy was booming, Clinton was at the top of his game. He was doing so great that when people read about him in the future, they would have to stop and ask themselves: Why was this guy so great? I mean he just sounds so amazing. I don’t understand how he could get any work done. Being that handsome, charming, good looking, and being the President? Were the hottest supermodel women jumping his bones at all hours of the day? Was there a special stick manufactured to keep the hot women at bay?

Republicans got straight up jealous of my boy, Billy. They needed something to tarnish his reputation with. That’s why we got this bullshit impeachment staining his legacy. Now detractors in the future will be like, “Well, he got impeached so he couldn’t have been that great.” Fuck that. If the President of the United States can’t get a little sweet sticky bun action, then why the fuck are we telling our little boys to look up to him. “Hey Timmy, if you work really really hard, you can become President, but you won’t be able to use that power in any of the fun ways.“

In this clip, Clinton praises Barack Obama, and scolds Replicans. It certainly does take two to tango, and Billy knows a think or two about forbidden dancing. But fuck bipartisanship. Obama’s got to just do whatever the fuck he wants, just like Bill did.

Also, what ever happened to Monica Lewinsky? Apparently the American Broadcasting Company also wondered this. Unfortunetly, there is no interview with Ms. Lewinsky, but it appears she got the short end of the stick. At least she didn’t have to resort to living in Virginia.

where we countermand the contradiction

Rock and Roll Railroad — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 16:37:59 +0000

I am most definitely a “whore.” I accept the epithet and pin it to my thrusting chest. I will give you exactly what you need, for a nominal fee. I accept money and I accept jewels, but mostly what I desire is your love, your affection, your admiration. Anything at all you can spare from you psyche is more than enough for me. I am not an avaricious man, but I am vociferous in performing my duty, and you can guarantee that you’re friends will be jealous when they see what I provide.

But then, to call it a duty would undercut my true meaning. You see, I love what I do. That you have to pay for it and that I need payment for it is nothing to be ashamed of on either side, it simply exists as a matter of fact. We need one another, you and I, or you and I, or you and I, and in my universe there are no other planets. As soon as you are cleared for landing we will circle one another for eternity, drawing nearer and nearer with intractable attraction until we collide and explode into a super-nova of flashing lights and rumpled linen.

But that is only one thing I can give you. I can give you security too. I can give you peace of mind. I can give you many beautiful things.

But what I specialize in is a good story. This is why you will pay. All we want in this lifetime is to pretend to have made a difference and have a few good stories to tell over too many beers after a night that was too long. I will give this to you, and you will pay for it, because, well, that’s how you get good stories.

Remember, I accept money, but it isn’t my preferred currency. I want your soul.

where if you’ve got the money, honey, i’ve got what you need

Rock and Roll Railroad — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 09:19:50 +0000

I’m not a “whore”. That’s such a dirty word. I don’t give away my candy for any 50 Cent who comes rapping my way. I like to consider myself a friend. A friend when certain people can not find friends. Some people are lucky, when they reach a point in their life when they see that their charming good looks and beaming personality brings others from far and wide to court their friendship. I don’t meet these people. My job is to keep the others entertained, and looking sharp in those necessary situations where they need a trophy on their arm. It’s my job not to judge these people. It’s my job to even more than adore them, but love them for as long as I am on the payroll. There is nothing “wrong” with giving a person an vacation, even if that means just an evening, when that vacation is just a release from reality. I find myself in the fortunate position to satiate the desires of these farmers who can not keep their eyes away from the sheep even though they have wives cooking them dinner. Am I a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Well, yes I do bite, but you have to pay for that too. And when I have you in my sites, there is less than little you can do, because I’ll fleece you for more than you’re worth. And I’ll be wearing the finest of coats the next day. A word to the wise: diamonds last forever, marriages do not.

would your wife/girlfriend/mistress approve?

where hot girls fart in your mouth

Rock and Roll Railroad — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 22:31:54 +0000

Yesterday was St. Valentine’s Day. I can’t remember the last time I saw so many desperate men walking around with flowers and chocolates and chubbies, eagerly awaiting the date with the girl they’ve been oogling over since the office christmas party, but been too scared to ask out. I think to myself, how many millions of girls in this city are being totally disappointed with their Valentine’s Day choice. Sometimes out of sheer desperation or fear of being alone, but sometimes usually out of pity. I imagine quite a bit of blue balls and empty wallets at the end of the night, but hey at least you girls get some flowers and chocolate right? And don’t forget the free meal, because he just wants to get laid anyway, so order the whole lobster with a 8 oz fillet mignon (but only eat the side salad). And it doesn’t matter what he tipped, he should have tipped more, cheap motherfucker.

On a sidenote, here is a link to a Brazilian fart porn video. If you are over 18, or not a pussy, click here.

where i want to make love with katy perry’s boobs

Rock and Roll Railroad — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 07:54:09 +0000

Sometimes I get sad, and I just don’t know why. I’ll be sitting down in my living room, in the greatest city on Earth, with some really beautiful people, making conversation about abstract post-modernist ideals of human life. And all of a sudden I think, “What’s the point?”. Why do I work upwards of 16 hours a week to sustain my PBR fueled life, and what’s it going to matter anyway? Let’s face it, these are tough times. The kind of times where you may re-evaluate whether you should just cut yourself from the gene pool, to better the chances of those who may better the future for everyone else. Everyone should just ask themselves the question: If I were the last man/woman on earth, do I really want to be the person to repopulate this shithole?

the ideal human male was a 1950's alcoholic, strong jawed, tailored man with a loveless marriage

Then I realize, you’re god damn right there should be more of me! Really. How many inane assholes exist in this world who have nothing at all to contribute? Answer: A Lot. When I repopulate the Earth I imagine, a snowy desert island paradise where me and Katy Perry are left to our own devices, and we make hot steamy post-apocalyptic love for 17 hours a day. Katy Perry being the obvious choice for creating several clones of, where the whole world can be blessed with beautiful, buxom sirens on every street corner, blinding men with their gigantic blue eyes, and catchy pop tunes.

please marry me

Of course, I plan on marrying Katy Perry, it’s pretty much a matter of time at this point. She’ll be my third wife, the one after the “for fun” marriage, and the “it was the right thing to do” marriage. She’ll be the one where I really try to make it work because we both think we love each other, but really it’s more the mutual competitive drive that forces us to “beat” marital submission. After 4 years and 3 months we’ll realize that we’re happier with our respective “just friends” who we’ve been fucking for 6 months, and we’ll call a marital cease fire. We’ll end up friends and laugh about the whole thing about a year later when we’re both married to completely different people. But we’ll still always know that the fiercest love we ever experienced was when we were together. Also the children will be totally fucked up and need years of psychotherapy. Mainly because I’ll be such a detached father that all of the girls will have daddy issues, and all the boys will probably have fantasies of having sex with their Katy Perry mother. But who can blame them? Here’s another picture of Katy Perry:

i'll probably kill our first child. like zeus, i am a jealous god.

where we stoke the fire

Rock and Roll Railroad — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 17:33:17 +0000

All white people need to shut the fuck up.

I’m tired of this bullshit, from New York to Portland and whatever other steaming pools of ludicrous self-entitlement happen to lay between, everyone with a melanin problem needs to bite the bullet and shove a sock in their word holes.

Republicans, people who belong to all fraternities that aren’t that black one the nerds co-opted in Revenge of the Nerds and Hillel, those who enjoy the music of John Tesh, all of you bleeding heart cocksuckers just be quiet for once in your pointless inane lives. If Michael Steele didn’t have to worry about the cigar-sucking man toad dwelling in the eaves he’d probably have a whole lot more to say than tax-cuts.

Or maybe he wouldn’t, maybe the problem with America isn’t white people.

But it probably is. So buckle up you water-headed electrobabies, you’ve only got Clint Eastwood for a couple more years and when he’s gone, you’re all fucked. Suck it up, crackers.