Animal Cruelty: Dogs shouldn't have to be Cowboys

One day, when the magic of Mr Clean's Magic Eraser hits the common man, there will be no more graffiti.  But until then, graffiti is the only true mirror of society.  And thank god for that.  How can art be so perfectly insane but also insanely perfect?  This reminds me of the portrait of the virgin Mary in my grandmothers house where the eyes follow you no matter where you look at it from.  It's creepy as shit, downright evil, and you wanna look away...but it is soooo good.

letters...

We hate things here that involve the letter "A". The state of Alabama, the Oakland A's, anxiety attacks and antiquing are all perfect examples. Another great example of this is the fact that we rarely post on months that begin with the letter "A". Sorry for the delay but that's just how it goes around here. Another group of people hated the letter "A". They were puritans that famed author Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote about in his classic tale "the Scarlet Letter". The main difference here is that we love woman with little or no morals. If I could go out to a bar and tell which girls liked being moral-less* just by a single letter sewn onto their cloak that would make things a HELL of a lot easier for me. Anyway, since N. Hawthorne and I share a birthday and are both accomplished writers I thought I'd take a stab at updating one of his many stories. Not totally a sequel but not too far off. Here's part one....

The Scarlet Letter: the updated version for someone of my caliber

This takes place remarkabley close to the setting of the original story of shame and banishment, my current domicile.The apartment I am currently living in occupies the second and third floors of a fairly unassuming house on the outer edge of a (ie THE) major New England city. The occupants of this apartment have all lived here longer than I. Things have been slightly shakey since moving in. Just slightly though, you know, a blocked in car here, a few hundred dollars there nothing predominately as noticeable as one of those richter scale shakedowns on dramatic television. Most of the time there is hardly any interaction between us. There are six of us total and yet, for the most part, if I need to see someone they must be sought after. Conflicting work schedules help this but my room is the only bedroom on the second floor. The rest of the dwellers tend to dwell on the third floor in their designated rooms. The only rooms on the third floor that are not bedrooms are bathrooms. Two full baths right next to one another. Either the result of an architect with a stutter or a landlord that almost took segregation to a new level. He'd allow mixed races to live in the place he owned but they, for absolutely no reasons whatsoever, share a bathing chamber. Hypothetically, of course. The other five residents tend to their bathrooms while I use the THIRD full bath on the second floor. Excessive? Well this isn’t the puritans America anymore. They went through all their hardships so the philistines of the modern times didn’t have to walk up or down stairs to urinate or bathe inside. So on my morning commute through the dining room and kitchen to the semi final destination of the bathroom went by just like it does every other day. Upon my entering of said bathroom I was greeted somewhat abruptly with a very large, ahem, shall we say “suprise”, waiting for me in the bowl of the second largest device in that room. It had been therre for some time and was rather unpleasant to look at. The flushing of said device was soon to follow but not before I noticed that there was a lack of assistance paper in that watery hell hole. Though unpleasant I found this scenario wildly amusing. Since we live in the modern day city life and not say, colonial times or say, "inside of a run down gas station in Atlanta that once gave me nightmares" it’s generally not something I’d ever expect to see. Maybe in a college dormitory but certainly not my own home. Clearly, someone was sending me a message, a rather serious one at that. Why else would someone defecate within a bathroom and not flush? But whom could it be? Which of the over dwellers would do such a thing? I am a firm believer in the notion of the person you suspect the least is the most obvious candidate. Mankind tends to be devious and I'd have it no other way.

conclusion to follow...

*boned

Genesis: English Progressive Rock or First Five Books of the Torah?

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Let me just start out with a standard disclaimer:  I like black people.  Some of my best black friends are black people.  In fact, aside from the inability to be judged on who you are versus what you look like, I would kill to be black.

On second thought, I think I just hate white people.  White people use to be creative.  White people invented bad ass crap like wheels, fire, even KFC.  Shit, even 8 of the apostles were white.  And come to think of it, I think that is where this white races' collective creativity came to a screeching halt.  

You have to name 12 apostles and you use JAMES fucking twice?  Jesus fucking Christ, you are making up the god damn book and you can't even come up with some original names?

This is where black people have the white people licked now.  We use to lean on the fact that two separate names would make everyone unique, maybe you would need a third, or middle name, to tell two people apart.  Not any more though.  F that.  Every name is unique.

Take the University of Georgia backfield for example.  Let's look at their once proud football team and JUST SPECIFICALLY their running backs.  Last year they graduated someone named KNOWSHON (pronounced: NO shawn) and then bring in someone named Washaun (pronounced: WAY shawn).  NO WAY!  They even missed out on a recruit named Storm Johnson...which sounds generic as shit and then all of a sudden you are like "that's a freaking bad ass name!"  For comparison sake, a school like William And Mary graduated 13 "Mike"s from the football squad.  (editors note:  by "graduate", I mean Knowshon completed 15 credit hours and then signed a 23 million dollar deal with the Denver Broncos.)

So here is the challenge whitey.  Blog and Main will GIVE $1,000 (in store credit to our yet to be created B&M Store) to any white couple that names their kid Sussudio.  Think about it?  Phil Collins totally gave you less creative white people a jumping off point and I don't think anyone has used it.  You better hurry before Brangelina picks up some Pretorian orphan preemie and your kid spends the rest of their lives listening to Sussudio Pitt go on and on about how unoriginal "Aden" is.

warning...

Blog and main presents: the best sign you will ever see on a fence.

Wisdom from the urinal - 1st Edition

There are two things I like in this world, and they are both bathroom attendants. I think that is what they are called anyway...what else do you call the guy who sits in the bathroom and waits with bated breath for the opportunity to be THE GUY that hands you a towel. God I love him. Sometimes I wash both my arms and my face just so he can hand me a couple of towels. Then I'm all over his potpourri of crap...I'll get a stick of Wrigley's, maybe a spritz of knock-off Drakkar Noir, a Trojan or two, maybe a spearamint candy. It's like Christmas got kicked in the junk by Halloween and all I wanted to do was take a pee!

I am getting off topic a bit.

So last night I go to the bathroom. (It's a tradition I've incorporated in to average nights of drinking. Has something to do with a bladder and gravity. ) I'm doing my thing at urinal #3 and the bathroom attendant is literally whistling Dixie. I finish and approach his office - the sink counter. He asks me how I'm doing and I respond with "Not as good as you apparently." I asked him why he is so happy and he says:

"In life, as long as you are walking on the dirt and the dirt isn't walking on you, everything is alright..."

I still have no idea what this mean, but it gave me a tremendous sense of serenity. I almost curled up in his lap and asked him to read me a story like only Uncle Nigel could. I must have repeated this nugget of wisdom 100 times last night and it never got old.

If your job is to watch people piss and shit all day, you come up with some pretty outstanding philosophies on life. I have a tendency to start features on B&M only to never have a second edition. My pledge to you, the reader, is to collect more shit on life from those whose life is to watch shit. And that is why this will be known as the 1st Edition.

merchandise...

We here at B & M are dedicated on building a brand we are proud of. Who wouldn't be proud of topical Michael Jackson death jokes, Fargo cakes and of course scooters? Like every brand, we eventually plan on selling a bunch of stuff. It will get to the point where we will have all sorts of officially licensed merchandise like t-shirts, stickers, pants, dice, skateboards, watermelons, Ben and Jerry's flavors and the like but in the meantime we are going to have to make do with this pickle martini mug from urbandictionary.com available in many styles and sizes. It definitely takes the act of the pickle martini to another level if successfully performed with a glass that says "pickle martini" right on it. First one to successfully do it with one of these mugs with video proof gets a free Blog and Main t-shirt!*

*whenever we get those.

Tales from the Poker Table - Love is a Battlefield Edition

Goofy white guy (not me though): What is the all-access badge for?

Enormous black guy:  I'm with the Pat Benatar show.

GWG:  No seriously.

EBG:  Seriously.

GWG:  Wow, I didn't picture you with Pat Benatar

EBG:  Why not?

[pause]

GWG (trying to smooth things over):  I bet you have some sweet stories from the road...

EBG:  Not really.

[awkward silence]

GWG:  So what do you do for the show?

EBG:  I drive the bus.

GWG:  Still that must be pretty cool, seeing different places all the time.

EBG:  What part of driving a fucking bus sounds fun to you?

[awkward silence for the next 45 minutes or so]