If you're here for naked Michael Moore, and fuck, who isn't, he's right here. My permalinks weren't working when everybody linked to me. Bullocks.

How was your week?

Did you win a freestyle rap competition at school?

Did your improv troupe raise over $130 for Operation Uplink?

Did you get linked by some of your favorite bloggers for making what amounts to a pixelated fat joke?

Because if not, I'm totally making you look like a slacker right now, friend.

The handsome Puma headgear, 100% old school hip-hop, which I'm sporting at right, I won for being the bestest battle rapper in all of fifth-hour lunch. I wouldn't say I rocked the mic, but the mic might tell you differently, and the crowd might as well, since they picked me as the winner. In a duel of derisive rhyming, I vanquished the following:

- Black kid who was WAY better than me

- Asian kid who was also WAY better than me, but screwed up

- Trevor, who is sort of like a Run DMC for the twenty-first century, only ripped as hell, white, and one dude instead of three

- Wade, the previous champion, fellow Anglo-American who bites all his rhymes from 8 mile

...and long story short, thanks to a couple humorous couplets about how so-and-so likes guys, I have a cool headband, and I wear it like Baumer, with the hair on the INSIDE.

And then last night we had an improv show, all in all probably our best one of the year. People gave us $136 for the effort, which we're donating to Operation Uplink. All this despite the fact that the lights were jerry-rigged and Kenzie physically had to PULL the plug from the wall every time we signaled for a black-out, leaving these long dark stretches between scenes while she fumbled to find the plug again. Oh, and some eigth-grader, who was apparently drunk off his ass, threw up in back in the middle of the show, although we had no idea someone had left a big pile of rum-smelling vomit in back 'till the end.

Then we went to Sonic. Pretty good day, all told.

Today, thanks to Instapundit and Jeff Jarvis and many, many other idols of mine, I got twenty times my usual amount of traffic. If you're wandering around in here as a result of their link providence, I won't beg you to stay. I'll just let this quote speak for itself:

If you read only one blog written by a high school senior who does theater, writes plays, has half-baked libertarian political ideals, invented rock and roll and would like to grow up to be James Lileks some day, make it this one!

- Fictional P. Guy, Editor, "Overenthusiastic Jacket-Quotes Quarterly"

I couldn't have said it better myself, if I hadn't just said it right there, using a hilarious alias.

Have a good weekend, kids. I plan to.


Yesterday I was whining about the Dixie Chicks being called "brave" just for whining. I would never, ever whine about the nudity, though.

After all, it could be much worse. Observe:

Full Disclosure: I'm pretty sure this was not my idea. I think I read somewhere in the blogosphere about being glad Moore wasn't doing what the Chicks were, but it was second hour this morning and I've forgotten where it was. If you're the orignator or know who was, please let me know so credit can be given where it's due.

Further Disclosure: I do Photoshop like Moore tells the truth, that is, sloppily at best and not at all most of the time. But I never let a lack of talent get in the way of making a cheap fat joke, that's my motto.

I think I was fairly generous with the proportions of the obese torso, don't you?

UPDATE: It appears Mindles H. Dreck may have been the pointman on this one.

Thanks to wise men of the Blogosphere Jarvis and Reynolds for the links.

UPDATE v. 2 Scrappleface also gets a hat tip. Or should I say, a share of the blame.

Thanks for the link, Outside The Beltway
We are so, so lucky to live in a time where all you have to do to be considered "brave" is insult a wartime president. We're incredibly lucky to live in a society so safe, so stable, so sensible that dissent is less a necessary check on an actual oppressive government and more a fashion statement, fuel for sputtering careers that have always thrived on the trendiest controversy. Be grateful we live in a time where the "revolutionaries" carry microphones instead of AKs.

I'm starting to think that when Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence and severed our ties with England, it wasn't because he'd had it up to his powdered wig with British tyranny. It may just have been because his latest pamphlet wasn't selling.

Ha. Revolutionary-War-inflammatory-literature jokes. They kill at history teacher conferences.

I'm participating in a freestyle battle at school tommorrow. The funny thing is me and T-money have already pretty much established that we're better than every black kid in the building. Not to brag.

D to the C,
makes your girl scream louder
first on the mike
still whiter than clam chowder
make you wanna drizzle my rhymes
and lick 'em off like honey
but The Pony called Big L
could give me a run for my money
step to me, G, I'll have you
runnin' off, screaming curses
kinda sad, it took me ten minutes
to write three verses

Clearly the black kids at our school aren't very good.

Dude, 3rd Leg...did you die or something?


The deed is done.

The emo-hair deed, that is.

Results are at left. I tried to look souful and emo-y and I just ended up looking pissed off. Oh well. I'm not really feeling the deep girlfriend-left-me vibe right now, I just dig the look. Although it needs to grow out a little more, and I have to train it to have that unkempt look. Too bad sweater weather just left us.

Hair-blogging. Weeping Jesus. Pathetic.

In Why-I'm-The-Coolest-Cat-Ever news, I already ordered my tux for Prom, I went to the gym tonight for the first time in two or three weeks tonight (T-Square and I are starting in on a program given to us by an Army Ranger guy, aw hells yes), tommorrow's a half day, and to make sure I actually go to bed tonight, about a half an hour ago I took two Diphedryl and I can already feel...the...effects...zzzzzzzzzzz

But first I'm going to read The Bleat and eat a Cadbury Creme Egg. It's good to be the king.

No Achewood this week. Bummer.


I invented rock and roll.

I didn't want to mention it, because once I reveal it, people don't want to talk about anything else.

You really invented rock and roll?

Yea, yea I did. So you were saying about your cousin--

Like, the whole musical genre?

No, not the music. I'm not a musical kind of guy. Not in the bars-and-bass-clefs sense, anyway. There were guitars before I was around. But not the attitude. And it's the attitude that matters, wouldn't you say?

Oh, definitely.

Before me, nobody rocked the leather. People wore it. But nobody rocked it.


Oh, yea, they wore it, like I said. Cowboys are kind of rock and roll. But they had the wrong music. It was all twang twang twang. I took their guitars from them and said shhh...listen... And we sat their in silence for several minutes, their eyes closed, listening to the desert wind whistle through plateaus and mesas.

I see. And that was Rock?

Hell no. I used that time to steal their six shooters and their bags of cowboy loot and be halfway to the Rio Grande by the time they opened their eyes and realized I pulled one over on them.

And that...that was Rock?

No, it was petty theft. When I shot an indian for looking at me shifty-eyed...then...THEN it was Rock.

But it didn't come around until the Fifties, right?

I didn't think America was ready to give it birth. Imagine if the Confederacy had gotten a hold of the two-minute guitar solo and used it at Gettysburg. We might be living under a very different flag.

Wait, how old are you?

Like all people who truly have the Rock inside of them, I'm ageless.

With the possible exception of Kurt Cobain, Joey Ramone, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Joe Strummer, Elvis...

Yea. Except them. Tom Jones is going strong, though.

Like I said, I didn't want to tell anyone. They just ask too many questions, and if you have to explain, it ain't Rock.
It's not my fault I never update, I'm a product of my environment.

The environment where my dad's computer, the hub of the whole house network, the conduit through which all Internet-ly goodness flows, is getting replaced with a newer, faster computer he's assembling like a third-rate Frankenstein in the upstairs office. That means no blogosphere and no Instant Messenger until he's done. But it'll be worth the wait. The glorious new Internet hub will have a CD burner that works, and there's people that need mix CDs. Badly.

Until then, I'll just have to rely on The People's Computers at school. Like I am now.

Hi, People's Computer.

Good morning, Comrade.

Did you have a good weekend? I did.