Log in

31 October 2006 @ 07:47 pm

"It's a nightmare!!"
-- C3PO, Episode II

Dark Moose = Sleepy Moose

Don't get old, kids. Have your head frozen, go into hibernation, get genetic therapy, become more machine than man, I don't care - just don't get old. It sucks.

People think getting older means you turn into "The Man", or start becoming this verklempt old fogey, you start voting with your bank account, lose your ideals, compromise with the world, and become this bitter, twisted and hollowed out hypocritical shakey old blowhard with pants up to your nipples, a heinous combover, full-body nosehair, thick black horn-rimmed glasses and a disdain for all things even remotely fun.

Well...ok some of that is true, but that's not really it. What happens to you when you get older is a lot simpler than that. It's that your body rebels against your melon.

Think of your head as the slicked up white plasteel armored Empire of You. It houses this shrivelly grey thing, the brain, the Emperor of your domain that goes about squashing things and devises evil plans for everyone. In youth, it shows no mercy, it does not hesitate, it does what must be done so long as no one else is telling it what to do. Fear keeps your limbs and torso in line. Fear of your Imperial Melon.

Now think of your body as the rest of your Galactic Empire. Your sprawling, bulbous, cosmically vast and bloated fiefdom. And the truth is, the longer you try to control the Imperial Body, the more systems slip through your twitchy little fingers.

And then pretty soon what you notice at age 27 or so as an insignificant little rebellion turns into this full-blown insurrection by age 37. You, your head at least, represents order and power. The grey shrivelly thing in your head says you must be mistaken about a great many things. Your body just says "Nah."

And then, even your head starts to turn on you. And then you're just this poor shrivelly grey dood falling down the reactor shaft of your own aging process.

"This is a battle I do not think we can win.."
-- Captain "Downer" Panaka, Episode I

Case in point:

When I was younger, getting to watch Star Wars was a huge event. Any Star Wars, any one of the Original Trilogy. Didn't matter, theater, TV, Betamax, school play, mimes, shadow puppets - watching any form of reinactment of those 3 films was a moment to remember, and you savored it. It tasted like....ahh...Vic-toh-ree...

And then when Phantom Menace came out, I continued this reverance. I watched my grainy VHS copies of all 4 films relentlessly.

And then DVD's came out. And then I was going frame by frame, digesting and re-digesting the most delicious of cinematic cuisine time and time again.

And so now I have DVD's of the Original Trilogy SE versions. And Original Original Trilogy with the unaltered versions. And Prequel Trilogy loaded with special documentaries, commentary, and of course the movies. And I watch them. And watch them...and watch them....and then what they hey...I...watch....the,....moviezzzzzzzzzz...

Funny little thing happens to me when I've memorized every single detail of something, and then try to experience it again. I sort of pass out. Just nod right off. You could be the most amazingly bangin' hot and beautiful super model in the world, but if this is the third time you've told me about K-Fed this or Paris that...I'm hunched over in a coma.

Why? Because my stoopid body has turned my head against my Imperial brainmatter.

My body's all "Yo, you've worked all day, you can check out. You could have checked out while you were driving home, but nooo...you had to wait. Well - now we're home."

And my head's all "You know, the old chap rather does have a point, wouldn't you say, MooseBrain? I say, a quick bit of unconsciousness would be just jolly, ho ho."

And my little shrivelly grey dood, trapped in his fortress of ineptitude, can only fire little lightning bolts at various body parts while it gets tossed over the railing into nappy time hell.

"There's too many of them!!"
-- unnamed freaked out pilot, Episode VI, Episode I...etc etc...

I literally can't finish a single one of these movies. The effects of this intensify the older the Episode is.

A New Hope: I generally pass out after "sinister agents" in the yellow crawl...

The Empire Strikes Back: I get all the way to the Wampa but collapse in the snow...

Return of the Jedi: I purposefully pinch myself until I get a fuzzy half waking glimpse of brass bikini...

The Phantom Menace: An invasion can mean only one thing...me go sleepy now...

Attack of the Clones: For some reason I can make it to Anakin's cringe-worthy lovey-dovey lines on Naboo, but I can't get to the choice bits with ..you know...the actual Attack of the Clones. As far as I know, the movie should have been called "Episode II: I Hate Sand."

Revenge of the Sith: Now this one I can make it through for a bit - it's still new to me. I generally lose my grip on awareness halfway through it's amazing climax, just after Order 66. Go figure.

But I know that won't last long. Little by little, my minutes of lucid enjoyment of Star Wars will be shaved away....lost in puddles of drool and fits of frustrated snoring. Pretty soon, I think all I'll have to do is pick up A New Hope and I'll drop where I stand like a sack o' fertilizer.

My solace in my advancing years (I'm only 38, or will be shortly, so the battle for the Empire is still joined, fear not) is this new realization:

I have so loved Star Wars all of my life that it no longer resides on a screen, nor a tape, nor a disc. No, they are now ingrained in far superior detail, beyond re-mastering, beyond Dolby, THX, Digital, and HD.

It's in my soggy, grey little shrivelly Emperor at the top of my tower. And it's even in my dreams. It lives forever now, or at least until the day I kick it, right smack tweener my left and right antlers.

So there ya go - nightmare or dream for a Star Wars fan? Dunno. But I'll keep seeing how far I can get :0)

Oh, I almost forgot...


Or not.

Happy Halloween, be safe out there.

Moose out
Current Location: work
Current Mood: sleepyJust...a little...longer..
Current Music: Hed Pe - Killin' Time
26 October 2006 @ 01:02 pm


Dark Moose - Bored at Work


Fence Bill Signed into Law
Bush: "The best OFF-fence is a good DE-fence. Get it? See what I did there?"
10/26/2006 8:05


WASHINGTON D.C. - President Bush signs the Secure Fence Law into 
effect today, laying the legal framework for funding a 700 mile fence along
the US-Mexico border.  

Vice-President Cheney was heard to comment over his shoulder: 
"Goood.  GOOOD....let the hate flow through you...."

Wal-Mart Eats Part of Town
10/26/2006 11:15

MILWAUKEE, WI - Wal-Mart admitted today that one of 
their stores had inadvertantly swallowed 2 gas stations, a 
book store and a nearby abortion clinic.

The investigation began two weeks ago as several 
small businesses were reported missing in the 
Davis Heights suburb outside of Anosha, Wisconsin. 

When Wal-Mart opened their new low-cost 
"Walbortion" kiosk, they became a "retailer of interest" 
according to local police.

"We're not sure how it happened," said store manager 
Marsha Clayhorne, "but the upside is you can get everything
from tires to haircuts to unplanned parenting solutions right 
here, all at Roll-Back prices every day!"

It remains a mystery what happened to a local Chinese
restaurant, but some shoppers reported that the men's 
department smelled strongly of hoisin sauce.

N.Korea's Kim Jong-il Startling Reversal
"I can see clearly now.."
10/26/2006 12:55

Click to close window

SEOUL  - North Korean leader Kim Jong-il admitted on Monday that he
was "gravely mistaken" and informed the world that the DPRK's nuclear 
ambitions were at an end.

"It was all a big misunderstanding," he explained.  "It's these glasses.  
I took them off to clean them and wouldn't you know it, I saw I had 
gotten it all wrong.  Seriously, look through these things.  It's like a 
freaking carney side-show.  I totally got everything wrong.  Anyway, my

Mr Jong-Il then replaced his glasses on his nose and consequently
mistook a government aide as a giant snake and beat him with a
riding whip.

Current Location: work
Current Mood: boredSeriously - every day?
Current Music: sports radio
25 October 2006 @ 05:25 pm

Occasionally I like to get topical with my "Dark Side Is.." mashups.  Occasionally, I don't even know what my point is.  Either way, Mr. Foley has garnered a special place on the Dark Side.

For more explanation as to what these are, read here.  Basically these come from my deep-seated hatred of the overly cutesy and vomit-inducing "Love Is..." cartoons...

You can see other stoopid sheeeot like:



Here at my old website, which is soon to be moved over to my new official domain, www.TheDarkMoose.com .  

I start building the new site this weekend.  I promise low prices and fresh produce every day.  Or not.

Moose out
Current Location: work
Current Mood: At least buy me dinner first..
Current Music: Frank Sinatra - Luck Be a Lady
24 October 2006 @ 01:16 pm
Well I've gone all in and purchased my LJ blogue royale du fromage.

I don't think it means anything other than I intend to change my Moosus Operandi a little and just blog a little bullshit every day. That's my strategy - every day expel just a little more bullshit into the world than I consume.

Oh and I'm going to curse even more, dammit. Cursing will be commonplace and vigorous. Manly, vulgar cursing. Or not.

Notable thoughts this week:

-- SW.com blogs are being fan-handled by a bunch of twits who think they're the popular kids and they have the coolest lunch table. They must be ...dealt with.

-- The small company I work for is likewise run by twits who don't know their black ink from their red. Every day I am deluged by new heights of exquisite incompetence. Absolutely perfect specimens of pure, unmitigated neglect, borne from no other agenda than the interchageability of one's head from one's ass. My company is a museum, of sorts. The Museum of Natural Stupidity.

-- I really must spend more time over at Lucasarts.com to help out, but my attention is already split umpteen different ways as it is. Split it one more time, and pretty soon my autonomic functions go south and I forget those piano lessons. Something's gotta give, and dammit, I like breathing. It makes me feel like I'm in control of something.

-- I took my car in to get inspected. It failed. They said my power steering pump had a leak. I explained that this meant, then, that I had no power steering to speak of, and therefore they don't have to check it. They said no, if you have power steering, it has to be working. I said no one told me that at the dealership when I bought it that some jackass with his name on his shirt would penalize me for a safety feature I don't even use. (Ok, I didn't say that. But it was all up in my facial expression. yeah.) Anyway, I said lemme get this straight - if the car didn't have power steering, and therefore no power steering fluid with which to have leaked out, it would be safer, but since it has no power steering because my power steering doesn't work, then it's a rolling death-bringer bent on the destruction of innocents on the highway to hell. He said yes. I said if I rip the pump out myself right in front of him, thereby removing the power steering option, it would pass by that logic. He said no. He said there could be no visible leaks. Then he cast a furtive glance at me, and whispered conspiratorially ala 40's cinema noir gangster-speak "Psst, say bub. I'm playing you a sweet deal, shee - just go down the road, give it the juice, clean it up and you'll be square with the G-men, shee? Ain't no flim flam." So ...whatever. I have to go fill it up with stuff I don't use because it's going to run out the bottom in half an hour. Then I have to clean it up so for 5 minutes it looks like everything works. Then my vehicle gets the State of Texas stamp of approval to join the other drunkards, malcontents, coked up truckers and gunracked roadragers in DeathRace 2006.

And that concludes today's bullshit.

Moose out
Current Location: work
Current Mood: cynicalcynical
Current Music: air conditioning
21 June 2006 @ 12:39 am

For a Soldier and Fan...

I direct you to this story about a soldier and selfless citizen, Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree of the Guard's 2nd Battalion, 19th Special Forces Group:

Family, Fellow Police Officers Remember Ohio Solider Killed in Iraq

One of the first lines tells us that this soldier loved Star Wars, among other simple pleasures in life. But that's not really the point. Lots of people like Star Wars. The more important point is what a friend said about him:

"He was brave and kind. He loved to help people, and he loved his country.''

As I read this story about a soldier who traded his life for his beliefs and for his nation, it made me wonder why there is only one Memorial Day a year.

Our wars are fought by folks that have a calling apart from most. Here's a man who heard a calling for much of his adult life - to serve his community as a police officer, to serve his homeland as a National Guardsman, and to serve the interests of freedom abroad as a soldier in the Special Forces.

I've never been in the military, though often I wished I could have served. Back in the day, when I was much younger and quicker, my father expressed his most heartfelt wishes that I would not join up. He served during the Korean War in the Navy, and he didn't want to see me go into combat. Since I loved and respected my father, despite twice wanting to join the Marines at the behest of an old mentor and boss who served 2 tours in Vietnam as a captain in the Corps, I didn't. Sometimes, many times, I regret not doing so.

And then sometimes, I feel blessed that I didn't given news of late - even today 2 soldiers have been found tortured and killed in Iraq. It's a solemn undertaking to become a soldier, and that's something I say without truly understanding it.

Of course now I have a life years beyond then, and I have a wonderful daughter. But I wonder how I deserved such fortune over people such as these.

Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree had his own daughter, now 1 year old, and he'll never see her through the blur of years as she becomes a young lady, as I've had the fortune and trial to do. I feel he has been cheated, and against logic somehow I feel that I and others like me enjoy serendipity where he deserved it more.

So here's a man, a fan, a person who loved Star Wars and lived to demonstrate some of those qualities we sometimes think exist only in these films - selflessness, sacrifice, courage, commitment, compassion, belief in something greater than himself, and the idea that one person can make a difference.

The point is not that he liked Star Wars; the point is that he's the stuff our heros are made of.

We may not have known him, nor many of those brave people over there in savage heat and desolate landscapes that deal out death and injury in commonplace terms. I'd like to think that as a fan, he frequented the the online Star Wars communities with us and enjoyed our company from time to time in between his duties as protector of the peace and soldier. We may never know. But we may indulge our fandom to quote a wistful Obi-Wan:

"He was a cunning warrior, and he was a good friend."

A friend to those that knew him. A friend to any of us strangers he fought for. And a friend to his brothers and sisters who continue to do so, or have likewise fallen in honorable service.

May the Force Be With Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree, and his family, and the soldiers that fight our wars.

DM out

Current Location: Home
Current Mood: Thankful for others
Current Music: Star Wars ROTS Soundtrack - A Hero Falls
23 May 2006 @ 12:30 am

Darrrk Moose Matey.

A note from the choir leader:
This would ideally be sung by roughly 150 to 200 members of the 501st whilst either dancing a jig of some sort, or perhaps while performing Da Wherda Verda.

Everyone, raise your Jawa Juice boxes, Correlian Ale, beverage of your choice, whathaveyou, and repeat after me...

anda one, anda two.


There was a wee boy named Annie
And that was the least of his woes
His favorite word was yippee
And his robot had no clothes
He helped a queen by winning a race
A Jedi took him off into space
It's all Jar-Jar's Fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

Ten years later dear Annie
Had made a shiny sword
And he and man named Obi
Got themselves in a War
He lost an arm to Christopher Lee
And Palpy bought a Grand Army
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (you in the back) OOOOOOOO (with feeling) OOOOOHHH...

He grew to a man called Annie
And a hero all the same
But because he loved dear Padme
Dear Annie went insane
While Palpy started a new Empire
He lost more bits and caught on fire
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

Now twenty odd years behind him
Annie had a brand new game
He was called Darth Vader
And Ben was Obi's name
Vader made Ben join the Force
Luke and Leia kissed of course
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (just the girls now) OOOOOOOO (where are all the girls anyway?) OOOOOHHH...

Now Luke and Leia were Rebels
And in trouble with the law
Luke had blown up a Death Star
A pirate made Her Higness thaw
They kissed some more and Han was iced
Luke found out his dad ain't so nice
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

And now the end is coming
And not a moment too soon
Luke went to fight dear daddy
High above the Endor moon
Vader grabbed Palpy and tossed him in
Luke and Leia found out they're twins (everyone: "eww"...)
It's All Jar-Jar's Fault!

Everyone: "It's All Jar-Jar's Fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (big finish now)OOO
OOOOOOOO (almost there) OOOOOOOO
(ok stop harmonizing, you're not good at it)
OOOOOOOOO (louder please)
OOOO (louder)OOOO
OO (seriously)OO
(ok too loud) O
(this is it)
Or not.

DM out

Current Location: Home
Current Mood: amusedAlways able to amuse myself
Current Music: An Irish Jig in me head
22 May 2006 @ 07:50 pm

Never tell me the odds.

1 in 136 in the US are now in jail

As we approach Memorial Day, and I see a figure like that, it makes me think.  It should probably make you think, too.

Some would call this a success in the penal system.  Others would say its an indicator of a few ominous trends.  Breaking it down, here's what that means:

- That figure has risen 2.6% over the previous year.

- It's a weekly rise of 1095 inmates per week.  A thousand more people are going to jail every week. Wow.

- That's a total of 2.2 million people currently in jail.

- Here's the real worry.  62% of them are unconvicted, waiting on a trial.

This isn't including or even remotely about Gitmo or some secret CIA-run prison in Europe.  This is the American Justice System we're talking about here, founded on the idea that people are innocent until proven guilty.

Now, to be fair, I'd imagine a fair chunk of those people are good n' guilty, caught red-handed, witnesses and all.  But statistically, there have to be a lot of people in there that are innocent.  Not everyone that goes to trial is proven guilty.  And yet there they are, their numbers growing, rotting in jail.  It might be for weeks, or months, who knows.  The point is, 6 out of 10 people in jail have never been proven guilty.

The article indicates this may be due to a recent trend in judges being reluctant to release the accused before trial.  But there's the problem, we're taking folks off the streets, sure, but are they the right folks?  And what of the slow erosion to our bill of rights in the process?

What happens when that 1 in 136 becomes you or me, wrong place, wrong time, detained and tossed into a cell with criminals, and we wait.  Meanwhile, our lives go to hell.  Job, loved ones, friends, family...everyone waits.  And what does that do to something less quantifiable like your reputation?   Can you spend weeks or months in jail, be found innocent, and just come back to the life you've left?  Go right back to your cubicle or checkout line like nothing happened?

This, to me, is a symptom of the subtle shift occuring in this country over the last few years.  The disregard for the poor, the disregard for racial inequality (many in jail are minorities, a much smaller fraction are white), the disregard for human rights, the disregard for the Constitution itself. 

It's also a symptom of hard times.  Some of those people are guilty, no doubt.  Desperate people do desperate things.  I know, I've seen it.  Worse, angry, disillusioned people do angry things.  

We aren't taking care of our own in this country, and our solution is to drag them off in droves to prison, where they will await a trial that is a long time coming.  We're overloading our system, and in a jobless recovery that leaves so many behind, or are underpaid and struggling to fill a tank or buy groceries, we're doing little to give people an opportunity that doesn't lead to jail.

Folks really are fighting for our country, right now.  And for our part, we're out there working and paying taxes and supporting them.  But I wonder if their sacrifices are valued by a country who might just as well put them in jail if they were at home.  1 in 136 of them, at least. 

I'm tired of little telltale signs like this that something is wrong, something is off, something is happening decidedly un-American.  Something to think about on Memorial Day.

So there ya go.

DM out
Current Location: home
Current Mood: awake
Current Music: Marvin Gaye - What's Goin' On
14 May 2006 @ 02:30 pm
Few know this, but my real mother died quite early in my life. She wasn't around long to teach me what I needed to know to be a man, but she was around long enough to teach me the beginnings of being a person. She taught me to think before I speak, she taught me to say please and thank you.

But the most important gift my biological mother gave me was a belief in my own mind. She pushed for me to go to one of the finest schools in North America, even though we couldn't afford it. She believed in me, even if I was too young to believe in myself. This is what mothers do with their sons - against their heaartfelt instincts, they push them forward into the world to prove themselves. My mother was smart, beautiful, ambitious and quite Irish for a Texan. Her name was Doris, and she had hazel eyes.

Years later, after many years of being a just a father-and-son household, my father finally met another woman. She was practical, funny, diminutive in stature but hard-working. She had lost a husband before, and she had no delusions about forever. She was around for some of the most important times in my life, and all of the choices that go with entering adulthood: my first real job, my first years at college, the birth of my own child.

What she taught me was very different, and was often in the form of cryptic little sayings: "Don't be backwards for coming forwards" (State your true intent, don't be coy); or "Tak the bit an the buffet" (You have to take the bad with the good). She taught me that though life is hard, I might as well get after it. She taught me that honesty, toughness, forthrightness, both with self and others, that's what made a man. She now suffers from advanced Alzheimers and lives in a home. She neither remembers me nor my father, who passed away in 1995. In some ways, I feel better that she's forgotten, because she loved him very much and it pained her to lose another husband. Her name is Catherine, she has laughing eyes, red hair and a thick Scottish brogue.

These were different lessons from different teachers, to be sure, and I am lucky to have had two mothers in my time. The higher truth came to me as a hybrid of their upbringing: That the world is your oyster, and you have to work to get the pearl.

In the middle of all these was another teacher of sorts. But "teacher" is a bit strong to say of his role. He was, however, an excellent guide.

He didn't teach me right from wrong. That was covered. He didn't teach me how to tie my shoelaces, or to always tell the truth, or the rules of fair play. That's what parents do. I use the word "guide" because that's all he's ever done - show things to people, tell people about about times and places and people that, in many cases, never existed. Ultimately that "guide" was to somewhere inside of me, inside of each of our own minds, to a place where we knew almost anything was possible, if you imagine it. And in those places, there is good, there is evil, and there are people brave enough to believe.

He didn't teach me to be a better person, nor did he ever intend to. He only showed me perhaps the more important truth: that believing in a better world, and making a better world, is up to me. His name is George, he has a beard, and he lives somewhere in Califorina. I've never met him, nor do I think it likely. All the same, he's been a guide.

These are not the only people I have learned from, either from afar or nearby, and there will be many more. The lessons of my youth were compounded, shaped, guided, sometimes twitsted, sometimes fortifed by many people, some I knew, some I admired, some I aspired to be. But perhaps the most important truth I could share is what this particular trio taught me: That the world is your oyster, and you have to work to get the pearl. But you'll only find it if you can first imagine it.

Happy Mothers Day to my two mothers, and Happy Birthday to a visionary. :0) Thanks for showing me the way.

DM out
Current Location: Home
Current Mood: hopefulIt comes and goes
Current Music: Beatles - Blackbird
05 May 2006 @ 03:56 pm

What, pray tell,  in media tie-in hell is this?

A real book by a fictitious author that died on a fictitious Oceanic Flight 815, that was preceded by another fictitious book that really doesn't exist.  But this one does.

And supposedly it's brimming with clues and allusions to what the hey is going on with these folks.

And most notably:

> Is based on some equation to accurately predict the date of the apololypse - some number?

> Is a detective story that has many mentions of philosopher John Locke

> The fictitious author's name is an anagram for "Purgatory"

I'm starting to think my original theory was not so far off about what's happening on that island.

Too bad I haven't kept up :0\  I really have no freakin clue what's going on now.  I'm just sharing with those that may care - because I'm truly Lost on Lost.  There's no way I'll ever catch up. :0(

DM out 
Tags: , ,
Current Location: Work
Current Mood: curiouscurious
Current Music: Air Conditioning and Chair Squeaking
28 April 2006 @ 11:14 am

Blak Mooz. So hot.

I've finally tried new Coca-Cola "Blak" (notice there is no C in our Blak. Let's keep it that way. Thanks, Oka-Ola). I was intrigued by the pakaging, the promise of a new "fusion" experience (we all know Fusion equals Good), and the Twofer $3 special at the Stop n' Go.

On the pakage it tells me its a "Carbonated Fusion Beverage". On the bak it tells me it's got nothing but good stuff - karbonated water, koffee extrakt, phosphorik acid...you know. Just like mom used to make.

So I twist my kap and pour it down my gullet.

It's ass. It's liquid ass. Not ass in the figurative sense. It's liquified sphincter. Ass juice.

It's tastes like ass, it feels like ass would feel like if if ever slid down your esophogeal tract. It settles in like ass would if ass ever saw the inside of your stomach. And now, it's sitting in there, being ass.

What's worse, is I'm not done with my first 8 ounce bottle of Blak. I only have like 2 ounces of Blak Ass in me currently. I have another 6...no...14 ounces of hot Blak action to ingest.

I can only stand so much Oka-Ola Blak Ass, I'm telling you.

And now I'm just sitting here staring at this bottle, seeing it for what it truly is for the first time. It's one big marketing trick from a huge Corporate Jesus that tried to turn Ass into Wine. It goes something like this:

Hi, I'm Cola-Cola. I have huge plants that crank out life-giving Coke for the world. I have a problem. In the process of producing the world's Coke, we have lots of byproducts and wasted packaging. For instance, what do we do with all these old glass 8 ounce bottles we used to bitch at you to return for a nickel? And what do we do with the swirling spills of chemical overflow from our machinery?

I'll tell you what we're going to do, we're going to make it look cool. No, fuck that. Not just cool. Kool. What's the color of the giant matt-shot all over our plant floor? Duh - all that caramel coloring and lubricant? It's Black. So get this, G - let's pour that krap into all those 8 ounce bottles, mix in some coffee...no dammit - koffee from the brak room that's been sitting there since last Tuesday, cover the bottle with plastic labeling to cover up all those glass chips from these 16 year old bottles, and BAM. What do you got?

New Coca-Cola Black. NO, fuck that shit. We're going for the hip market. Coca-Cola BLAK. Feel it? Huh? are you exTREME enough to FEEL IT? It's like X-Coke.

It's straight up hip to the scene, boo. It's a Shak Attak of Wak Crak like Staks of Wax in a Mak Daddy Pak.

And if we can't sell it, we'll run the rest out in Stop n' Go's on a twofer $3 special. The point is to get money for bottling ass. It's genious.

Never trust your Coke dealer, kids.

I've now finished the remaining 6 ounces of my first Blak ass juice. I'm wonding if I should just keep the remaining bottle as a reminder of what it is to be a mindless drone consumer.


Oh god. I think I'm gonna yak Blak. At least it'll get me sent home.

DM out
Current Location: Work
Current Mood: nauseatedpolluted
Current Music: Static X - Bled for Days