The Monday Morning Black Cloud 01.12.04

I know it’s Monday. I know you don’t want to be at work right now. I know you hate your boss and you hate your job and you just wish you could wish everything into the cornfield. I’m pretty sure you hate me and Gloomchen and especially Randle, but allow me to remind you that we’re here to make you smile. Stop taking all your petty crap out on us! I mean, really.

I’ve added a new member to the team as I didn’t think that Randle paid enough attention to football. We’re a Monday column and you talk about hockey? You physically sicken me Randle. Thank God I’ve taken the first step to replace you.

By the way, those of you who have been copying Gloomchen’s head onto pictures of explicit lesbian action, keep it up!

Iraqi People Protest: “WE WANT METALLIC!”

The Iraqi people who once showered coalition forces with flowers and joyous cries now shower the coalition forces with rocks and home made explosives. Some would say they’ve grown angry with the occupation of their country, but I like to think that they’ve run out of flowers.

Protesting the loss of reportedly 28,000 jobs caused by the elimination of members of Saddam Hussein’s Baath Party, Iraqi citizens clashed with British troops guarding City Hall in the city of Amarah. On Saturday, 6 protestors were killed and 11 were injured.

Now I’m going to write that last paragraph from a conservative angle.

Terrorists supporting Saddam Hussein’s Baath Party viciously attacked coalition troops in a failed attempt to take over the government in Amarah. These baby killers were fought back by the brave American soldiers (along with other soldiers from other countries) and six were not able to scamper away with their lives. I hope this teaches those terrorists a lesson about what happens when you mess with America!

The power struggle has already begun. Dissatisfaction with job availability, electricity availability, and the occupation of their country by a country they hate slightly less than their former leader has led the Iraqi people to be open to any other option. That option at the moment is top Shiite Cleric Al-Sistani. President Bush has sworn to never allow a person with the first name Al to be President of anything.

In Baghdad, two Estonian soldiers were injured when a grenade was thrown at their patrol. In related news, the entire army of Estonia is currently injured.

We Will Liberate The Martians

Speaking of going places we probably shouldn’t go, President Bush has announced a plan to set up a permanent base on the moon and in a decade to send man to Mars. A dyslexic from Saint Louis learned of the plan and agreed with is, shouting, “GO RAMS!”

You know, we’ve seen it in movies. A bloodthirsty species from another planet comes to Earth and tries to take over, but the peace loving people of Earth fight them off. I’m becoming concerned that WE might be that bloodthirsty species, enslaving the peace loving underground people of Mars and forcing them to do our bidding. And I know that my bidding is for a blow job from a hot space chick. Yeah. That’ll do nicely.

Another concern of mine is what will happen when we finally send a man to Mars. By that point we will have sent so much mechanical crap to the dead planet that it will be lying all over the place. What if our astronauts trip on it? What if the intelligent machines we send there grow self aware and start their own community and attack us? How ironic: We will be at war with aliens that we ourselves created.

Another concern is about the base on the moon. Why are we so obsessed with screwing with the moon? I mean, we went there. Great! Yay! No moon men, no nothing. Just a really big rock. Hey, I think that’s awesome. Sometimes when I’m out sailing and I see a deserted island I want to go there just to see what’s up. It’s usually, in fact, it’s always just a stupid sand bar with a palm tree and a volleyball smeared with blood. Still, hey, I explored. That doesn’t mean I need to go back. That doesn’t mean I need to set up a base on this useless island.

Further, the moon isn’t a useless island. It controls the tides. I mean, what would we do without our tides? If it was never high tide or low tide, just tide. Would tide even be a word anymore? No. We should stop screwing with the moon.

And now my favorite writer on the Internet, Gloomchen with

Nihilism and Cupcakes

I hope you enjoy this week’s episode of Nihilism and Cupcakes. Just as I
was preparing to write this evening, I had installed an extra 512 megs of
RAM into my system that apparently the system did not appreciate. Luckily,
the errors started small and I was able to back up nearly everything before
it hit the big super kaboom. Anyone ever have experience with an isass.exe
failure on startup and care to explain to me why this meant I couldn’t even
do a Last Known Good recovery? Such are the joys of DIY systems and cheap

Before I get to the goodness, I’m looking to get myself a new domain. I’ve
owned and operated for the last
four years. I’m looking for another new place all my own, uncorrupted by
the ‘zine’s influence. href=”″>Here are the poll
. Yes, it’s on LiveJournal, where I’ve had a href=””>humble home for about two and a
half years now, if memory serves. Feel free to stop by and call me a super
cooch when you have a spare moment.

Now then. Let’s get down to business, I ain’t got no time to play around,
what is this. Well, I’ll get as businessy as I can without anything
installed on this system yet — I’m completely crippled without my Google
toolbar as it is.

Dearest Mr. Grutman’s column here on Black is meant to generally address all
ongoing news in the universe in a playfully poignant and somewhat sarcastic
manner. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered thus far. My own blurb within
generally has never dealt with such things. This is because the only times
I ever witness the news are when someone posts something bizarrely
newsworthy into their LiveJournal or I accidentally walk past a newspaper.
I can’t even converse about hip television programming like this 24 I keep
hearing so much about because, although we have 200 channels, the only times
I watch television are when I remember that WWE is on or I happen to walk
past when my younger brother is watching Adult Swim. After spending my
youth trying to be cool and hip, I have obviously failed miserably.

Except in the world of music. Okay, so I admit I don’t know what’s going on
in the world of that really pale kid from American Idol (who, by the way,
I’ve only heard anything about because I still subscribe to Rolling Stone),
I don’t know Ashanti from Beyonce, and I haven’t the remotest clue who
Chingy is. However, if you have an argument regarding the differences
between black, death, doom, stoner, power, or goth metal, I can attempt to
set you straight. If you want to know the hilarious history of the
approximately 14 people who made over 40 albums from 1968-1972 under various
cartoon names under the guise of bubblegum music, I’ll talk your ear off.
Hell, even if you’re just game to help me figure out how in the hell Chris
Cornell lost all ability to enunciate once he joined Audioslave, it’s a
mystery that has puzzled me for the last year.

I know all of the capitals of all fifty states. I can spell pretty much
anything, or at least make a really close guess. I can make Microsoft Excel
do anything short of my laundry. Everything else has been removed from my
brain to make room for more stupid music knowledge. I truly enjoyed history
in college, really, I did; at one point, I was so fascinated by Rome that I
almost thought about majoring in history of that era. Once I chose
something else, however, within a year I couldn’t even tell you what Julius
Caesar did. But would you like to know the lyrics to “Crazy About Her” by
Rod Stewart? Would you? It’s a completely shitty song, but I heard it a
lot when I was about 11 and I still remember every single word.

So really, it should be no surprise that I have over 6200 albums. It should
also be no surprise that in order to remember where I put an important piece
of paper, I have to make up a little song about it. I sing along to
everything in the car. I turn on the radio for background noise and never
bother changing the station even though I really have no desire to hear
“Lick It Up” at 11 am. If there is silence, I fill it with humming or
singing. And I will fight you to the death if you want to debate with me
whether The Cars were more popular in the ’70s or the ’80s.

This week, I will begin reading my third music-related encyclopedia. I have
no idea why I do this or why it captivates me so much. Let me append my
previous statement about television and add in every VH1 special known to
man — I am not only in love with the music itself, but everything involved
with its creation. Perhaps it’s because my family was too poor to keep up
piano lessons for me for more than one year. Maybe it’s because I have a
voice but am scared to pieces to let anyone else hear it. There’s some
wiring upstairs that revolves only around half notes and power chords.
Everything else gets smashed and thrown in a corner.

I’ve reviewed music in the past, but to be honest, I don’t feel qualified to
tell people what is good and what isn’t good. Okay, we’ll take an exception
and I’ll flat-out say that Korn has made the same album four times in a row
over the last few years and Christina Aguilera needs to go listen to Mariah
Carey’s “Vision of Love” to learn a halfway decent way to emote instead of
just attempting to hit every note in existence randomly and in rapid
succession. Perhaps I’m lying and I really do have a lot to say. However,
does anyone really want to read a 25-page dissertation on music genres? Who
cares about the changes in production values following Phil Spector, or the
abuse of digital software used today for “correcting” music? While it’s all
fascinating stuff in my own mind, everyone else seems a lot more concerned
about Britney Spears being a stupid f*cking blonde and marrying her little
pal buddy.

Yes, that’s what this whole piece has boiled down to, and I know it’s making
you groan to see me saying it. I’ll sit over here patiently in the corner
being an obsessive eccentric while everyone else manages to avoid this
lunacy of sorts and devotes their minds to more reasonable things. Knowing
the names of all the Van Halen and Rush albums won’t get you an extra $30k a
year, that’s for sure. Honestly, if I could do it all over again, I’d find
some way to force out the lyrics to Three Count’s theme to make room for a
Microsoft certification or two so that I wouldn’t have to do a factory
restore. Anything is than curling up in a fetal position grinding
your teeth whenever you hear Scott Stapp’s over-pronounciation of the letter
“r” or screaming bloody murder any time Lars Ulrich picks up a drum stick., and keep reading all the quality stuff at 411 (not that beer liberal crap!). I am Carlos Mahuad, ¡y me gusta el futból (de gringos)!

The Cloud Lifts…

My god. I’ve got a little army I’m putting together here. Well, it’s easier than writing the whole thing myself. On behalf of Gloomchen, her ex-fiance Randle, and my friend from south of the