Addressing My Previous Post

Dearest Dears,


Thank you for being a friend. I'm back! Like Shaaaaaaaaaaady.

I need to preface this post by expressing my joy, based upon two rad occurrences, taking place pre-post.

Rad Occurrence One:

I hit it into McCovey Cove(good news) with my breakfast:

English Muffin(who knew English muffins could create the bomb, besides that crazy brotha Ronald...... ohhhh and some English basterd)

Thinly Sliced Salami(like a boss)

Gruyere Cheese(the bomb diggity indeed((tm)) )

Two fried eggs(one on the side.) Maybe I was most pumped that I didn't burn the freaking eggs this time.

garnish the eggs with dill(dill+eggs=crazy delicious) crushed red pepper, salt, peppa

And, there you go; slap that shit together and welcome to flavor country!

It was good, I swear to Jerr.

Rad Occurrence Two:

Pandora Radio also hit it(baseball) into said Cove with their playlist today.

Who knew I like the Shins and Spoon that much? Not this guy. But, here we are, speaking the words. I guess technically I'm writing the words, but I'm also saying them in my head at the same time. I hope that doesn't creep you out or anything. I hate being creepy, it gives me the chills. How does Eminem sleep at night? The man is clearly creepy. Talking about feltching and such. That's just awful! For shame Marshall! Hmph. Maybe you could offset said creepiness by talking about snuggling with bunnies and such. Maybe a nice walk in the park with Halley, sans items(pills.)*

*I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize, from the bottom of my loins, for my poor punctuation.

Ok ok, I was getting side-tracked. I love Pandora and I have to take this opportunity to thank Kristin for introducing me to it. Fitting it happened to blow it up like Hiroshima on a Saturday. It tends to repeat the same songs, ad nausium, during the week. I suppose I should be concentrating on work while I'm, uhm, at work and all, but the feeling my job gives me is akin to the feeling of feltching a homeless man, who hasn't bathed in eons, would give the average person, who is in complete control of their faculties and has any semblance of a sense of taste. Ok, maybe that was an exaggeration. But it sounded funny. Thanks Marshall! You're all right after all buddie. Come here and give me a hug, you rap scallion! See, this is the kinda mushy shit you could include in your rhymes to offset the mention raping and killing Britney Spears. Right.

According to Pandora, I LOVE LOVE LOVE Radiohead. But, in all fairness to myself, I really don't love them that much. In fact, I'd have to say Radiohead is one of the more over rated bands of all time. They certainly have their moments of goodness, yet they tend to wade in the mediocre sea as well. The feeling to me is like......ok ok, I'm feeling it, I'm feeling it.....and.......and.....AND? Hopefully this blog doesn't evoke similar feelings. Right? Right? RIGHT????

Well, I'm still writing it anyway!

Clearly Radiohead is no Def Leppard. Def Lep hits the ground running. Takes you on a journey of love. I'm a simple man, I like simple things. Butter in my....... . Ok, that was going too far. Shady, you're influence is quite devilsh indeed, touche good sir.

So, the Sattelite of Love. I reconsidered my stance on said Sattelite. I pondered the lyrics of Mr., Mr. ......uhm, uhm, shoot; what's his name???? Uhm.... JOE ELLIOTT! The old thinker still puts any google search to shame. To toot my own horn. Mr. Joe Elliott's lyrics seem to refer to things he saw on the radio growing up. Or maybe his lyrics to refer to what the average American saw on TV growing up in the 50's and 60's? That some nice pandering right there sir! Kudos. Chaaa Ching! I should be nice to the guy. After all, his drummer only had one arm. Maybe his junk could keep excellent time. Did they ever put that to use? Can he feed himself with his feet?

As per my style, I'm getting side tracked again. So, Sir Joe Elliott was referring to things
"we" saw on TV growing up. The royal we indeed(tm.) So, the sattelite that allowed for these images to be shot into our brains was apparantly lovely; feeding us electronic impulses of love. We shared in the love of the sattelite and the TV and the unforgettable imagery. Now, I understand what he is saying, yet I can't help but think that Sir Joe(he has been knighted, right?) and I share dissimilar views of what love is. I'm not a British man, Jennaaaaay, but I know what love ii-is. Maybe the point is that, as I suspected all along, British are not capable of experiencing true love, in the biblical sense. Joking joking, I know the British can pro-create, otherwise those goofy bastards wouldn't have spread accross the globe; ignoring their oral hygene and bitching constantly.

Well now I REALLY feel sorry for Sir Joe. Not only, much like Tin Man, is he not capable of true love but he also had to endure the pain of having a one armed drummer. Maybe god was punishing him for being an English pig dog? Thoughts, feelings?

Maybe those millions of women who flashed their boobs to get backstage were merely a sharade. Maybe Sir Joe wasn't trying to find true love; he was simply trying to spread his awful, British seed throughout the known world. I think, because of the lack of human kind in Antarctica, Def Lep was forced to let female Polar Bears backstage. Inter-species erotica, in the name of rock 'n roll! When I told Gene Simmons this story, he was so enraged he started screwing the chair he was sitting in. It was quite the scene, believe you me.

Well, it's times like these, I really feel for Sir Joe and Sir Gene. Their fruitless quest for love is most disheartening. At least I have true love in my life, and I'd like to thank her now officially. Her name is............is................uhm..................NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I forgot her name. Let me google it........................Ok, Jay McMullen's true love...........results...........0! Wait, is that an "O"? Is Oprah my true love????? I hate her!

I have no true love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! And no one armed drummer either! This sucks!

Ok, ok Ive regrouped. I'm now talking applications for the position of my true love, sans Sattelite. I need a fleshy true lover, none of this virtual buisness Sir Joe referred to. I'm no Englishman. I have no real requirements, I just want you.......to want me!

Any takers? I make a mean english muffin sammich, swear to Jerr.


Werd,


Jay


PS I still think he's saying City Lights in Blue, but I guess it really is Sattelite of Love.

Sattelite of Love

GREETINGS! HOW ARE YOU GUYS????? WOOPS!

Sorry, sorry, the caps locked was on. My fault. How are you guys(sans caps it is a more soothing question?) I'm feeling good; feel great, feeling good. I kinda feel like a boss, if you will. Will you? WELL, either way I still feel like a boss. Let's try to not be jerks about this, shall we?

GOD, what was I going say? My word. My pot stickers are reheating in the oven(thanks Chuck!) and I have a little time to kill............................

RIGHT

Satellite of Love. Rocket....yeah.....SATELLITE OF LUU UU UVE. Did any know out there understand that that was what Def Leppard was saying in that song? Was it a Lou Reed reference? Doubtful; Def Lep is probably not equipped to handle such dangerously honest levels of coolness. I'll get to one armed drummer thing a bit, OHHHHHHHHH Fo sho fo sho fo sho.

Satellite of Love? What the hell is a satellite of love? Like an S.O.S.? Some type of celestial smoke signal, letting us know we are not alone in this galaxy? Firstly, I don't believe in love(lol,) nor do I care for the combination of technology and emotion. Or do I? Hmmmmmm..I suppose Mr. Spock would be the embodiment of this conglomeration. The machine with feelings. I suppose the Terminator, in such films as Terminator 2 and Terminator 3, would also exemplify.*

*God damn, these pot stickers are good as gold son.

Is it a female fantasy? A man who functions as half man/half robot? Sometimes, in this modern world, I feel forced to function on a robotic level. And I'm a shitty robot for certain. The reason being that people are generally used to my sensitive, frankly dope demeanor. So, when I function as a robot, people are put off by the vibe. HMPH. I'm merely trying to do work. My hand was forced; I never bargained for a technology based vocation. I'm an English major! Speak freakin' ANGLISH! Damn.

Has Def Leppard created their own version of the "Spock" archetype? Half man, half robot? I'm pretty sure his anus is wired to some sort of percussive element. Clinch, release.......clinch, release. FREE THE MAN! Do you think his anus enjoys playing in time? Mmmmmmmmmm.....anus in time.

Ok ok, I'm getting a little weird here.

We all try to beat robotic to an extent I suppose; to be the best that we can be. Sometimes, as a dude once said, the best that you can do, is fall in love. The canvass can do miracles, just you wait and see. Believe me....It's not far, to never-never land, at least it's not for me. WOW! I was just taken by the spirit of Christopher Cross. Chris Cross, if you will, will you? COMMON! I've asked nicely TWICE now, and you still will not. Ok ok, I'll take you out to Outback. We'll get a nice glass of red, I'll read to you from Dan Brown and we'll visit, conjugally. NOW, that all being said, WILL you? Hmmmmm, surely don't like the sound of that maybe!

Speaking of Chris Cross, I'm pretty sure those little kids were robots...............but did they have Feelings? I mean, did they REALLY wanna make you....JUMP JUMP! I have to say, using the mack daddy and the daddy mack in the same breath as each other's names lacked creativity. Hmmmmm, the work of robots indeed. I have a feeling they were more the Data style of cyborgs, lacking any true emotions. Is it possible to be robotic like a boss? Maybe promote a lil' bit of synergy?

I think they need to bring data back in the new Star Trek series. Only, this time, he shall wear is clothes backwards......... And so it is written.

I'm going to go enjoy my curry chicken. Have a terrif day. You are ALL bosses; feel it, will it, live it.


PJ