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.