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An Evening With Genghis

From my guestbook, regarding my last entry...

"Anybody who has to resort to personal attacks to get an opinion across (who gives a shit if his "name" is Bra or Panties or Jock Strap?) is usually covering up for lack of logic and sound reasoning in said argument. Thank you for proving this to me."

There's nothing like getting bold, brave accusations from somebody that hasn't the courage to back up their statement with so much as an identity.

With that said, I can totally relate to Captain Mysterio here.

Back when I was in grade school, whenever I had a crush on some girl I used to make a friend of mine tip her off that "somebody" liked them. That way I got my point across without the risk of embarrassment. Man, this person really brings me back to the 3rd grade.

And to answer the question "who gives a shit if his 'name' is Bra or Panties or Jock Strap?"

I'm gonna' say this once.

Not to sound insensative to your "Men's Right to be Named After Women's Undergarments" cause, but I care very, very, very, very, very, very, veeeeeeeeeeeeery much if some dude is named 'Bra', Panties, and especially 'Jock Strap'.

It's almost incomprehensible how much I care.

There should be a town ordinance against how much I fucking care.

And if you ever grow the cojones to reveal your secret identity behind your 'Masked Ranter' persona, I'd be more than happy to sign your guestbook as to why, with my name included.


Last night I saw Garrison Keillor.

I paid $42.50 to watch this guy talk about his childhood, then end with a sing-a-long to "You are my F-ing Sunshine."


He was incredible to say the least.

Not his show, but how he sold the place out, and left everybody as if they got their money's worth for such little product.

It was one of the most inspiring events I've ever been to. I totally felt that I could not only do what he did, but kick his ass at it. His funky eyebrows should be opening up for me...


"Thank you, thank you ladies and gentlemen. Hey, can I tell you what my dad was like towards me growing up? (waving arms madly) I mean what a nipple! I'd be like sitting at dinner and stuff, and would be like "eat those peas" and I'd be like "father, I would like to exorcize my independence by not partaking in these peas at this time." My father, the diplomat that he was, would pause for a moment and nod his head, then grab my plate and insert it in our Fridgidaire where it would be waiting for me next evening."

(Standing ovation, wild applause!)

"Now, who wants to sing an f-ing song???"


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