| Silentpaul's Dubious Adventures pt. III |
[Jun. 16th, 2009|08:38 am] |
And so it was that my life had become as desolate and empty as the days were long. I needed something, anything, to get me on the path to righteous elation. Enter the Antiques Roadshow! It was with great and undeniable zest that I would attend such a gala of both wondrous treasure troves and infamous crap pieces; I was off, at once, to the happiest place on earth! Upon leaving I picked up the nearest novelty item I could find, sitting in a box of junk by the door, and drove six hours, non stop, to Dublin, Ohio. The "novelty item" I grabbed at the last second turned out to be some lion statuette from eighteenth century France, said it belonged to this "Sun King", and was worth between twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Now I know what you're thinkin', "Silent P, what'd you do with that statuette, you didn't sell it did you?" Not to worry lil' buckaroo, I jammed it in a safe deposit box at the bank, safe and sound. My dubious adventure to the Antiques Roadshow in Dublin, OH, that's the ticket!
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| Silentpaul's Dubious Adventures pt. II |
[Jun. 14th, 2009|01:35 pm] |
And so it was that I found myself sacked by thirst and dazed by the immediate searing sizzle of the afternoon sun, it was preposterous to accept any other condition otherwise. I knew I had better find an eatery or bar of some sort to replenish my life force or I would be a goner. It just so happened, at that miracle moment, I had breezed through the burly wooden doors of the Red Oak Brewery Pub or some such as it was called and my troubles had been temporarily absolved! Now I know what you're thinkin', "Silent P, how could you've been at the Red Oak Brewery, I don't even think that place is in business anymore?" Not to worry lil' buckaroo, this was some time ago when the Brewery was still open. "But Silent P, you weren't of legal drinkin' age yet?" Well, it just so happens, if you had let me finish, that I ordered a coke, yes, a coke not an alcoholic beverage! My innards were cooled and my outlook high afterwards. My dubious adventure to the Red Oak Brewery Pub, that's the ticket!
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| Silentpaul's Dubious Adventures pt. I |
[Jun. 11th, 2009|09:41 am] |
And so it was in my time of untimely hunger I came upon a revelation, a mystic vision, one of enticing anxiousness and affordable pricing. The acute throbbing of my gut suggested a quest for the ages to my nearest Hardee's restaurant in the glorious pursuit of a juicy Hardee's steak sandwich! Now I know what you're thinkin', "Silent P, how'd you get your ever-lovin' hands on a Hardee's steak sandwich, I don't even think they have those anymore?" Not to worry lil' buckaroo, it was 1973 and all was well when purchasing a steak sandwich at Hardee's. I think a coffee, small fries, and an apple turnover are in good order here and I've got myself a meal fit for your's truly! My dubious adventure to Hardee's c.1973, that's the ticket!
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| Truman Capote and the metric system |
[May. 24th, 2009|03:42 pm] |
This here's Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hampton's Ghetto!
The recent encounter that had shortchanged my bemused person faster than a '74 Chevy Vega was one of insufficient productivity and self-righteous indignation. It was on this occasion in particular that I was hosted by one Truman Capote although quite to his dismay after his recovery from a seventy-two hour vodka & company binge. It was only following my departure from his festival O' roistering debauchery that Mr. Capote recalled and denounced the transactions he set forth in stunning exactitude and under the superb mastery of such cronies as Mr. Beam, Mr. Dickel, and some guy name José C. It was apparent from the get-go that lil' T.C. had been marked 'Not Applicable' in the official register of rational thought and proper etiquette for that weekend. He had taken it upon himself to refer to his person as "Lord Kick*ss" and as being rightly so he would expect no other title than said rank from his associates. Most of the "coherent hours" were spent swindling nary all the papas fritas from his own bar O' supreme vittels, shouting as he stuffed handfuls of sliced and fried potate into his ever swelling short pants, "Take the oysters, d*mn it, take the oysters!" Soon after this more complications arose such as the bursting of the kitchenette plumbing attributed to said papas fritas and what was referred to as, only by those who swear to have been witness at the time of its occurrence O' uncanny mystifications, "The Perfume Refinement Incident".
It was sometime just after this "memorable event", although I didn't get to see a f*ckin' thing considering my involvement at the time in coaxing Capote from the fireplace with an imitation slice of Jewish rye (bread), that I threw up my hands in exaggerated disbelief and decided my departure from this "wasteland of semi-moderate talent" was finally boarding. In the week or so that was to pass in the face of the series of spectacles O' tormented brashness Capote had called me out of the blue one morning to issue this two-word statement, "metric system", and hung up quicker than a Mexican Bullfrog on the fifth of May. I was left in absorbed sentiment and benign profoundness as the phone began its usual b*tchiness of, "If you need help please hang up and try..." Damned if I ever went to another one of T.C.'s parties O' bastardized frankness again and damned if he really even noticed.
This has been Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hampton's Ghetto. Tune in next time when I explain soft tacos and how they impacted a war O' inert dissensions... thanks for stoppin'! |
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| Back in the Gate City |
[May. 17th, 2009|01:43 pm] |
Good to be back in town once again and to see who's who and things of that nature. Super props to Michael and Christine for a scrumptious cookout with the charcoal and mustard, among the other important items. Bowling is of a semi-supreme natural ability to me so a night at the alley was quite fun with all who were present! Shomer Shabbaz.
Paul "eighty-five bucks an hour" Vincent |
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| R.J. Muttonfluffer and the great cinema controversy |
[May. 14th, 2009|05:59 pm] |
This here is Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hampton's Ghetto!
My recent encounter that mustered forth in fierce hedonistic intimidation had to do with the trappings of ol' T. Edison and his "lite-brite" machine. Ya see in them days no one with an IQ lower than a barrel O' salt taffy knew what a kinetoscope was so they took to callin' his distasteful contraption the "lite-brite" machine. Edison's perseverance with his inventions was, as he called it, one of simple visionary competence but was really of a caliber so complex that no one else could comprehend his mechanical dialect. Seeing that nearly all the townsfolk saw Edison's so-called "genius" as nothing more than a juvenile parlor trick they attempted to regain control of their own senses in the shadow of the astute entrepreneur by calling forth the mildly great R.J. Muttonfluffer to provide his cinematic services so as to call Edison's bluff.
So as rough and tumbled pistoleers at dawn do the two entered into the town square with their weapons of choice: R.J. with his recordin' devices and such and Edison, well, Edison brought another type of device, unheard of in his day and age, to the party as one passer-by shouted with surprised exactitude: "he's got a warhammer!". The next fourteen minutes were of tumultuous paranoia and bloodthirsty savagery as the "Wizard of Menlo Park" hacked at his assailant like a rack of spare ribs at a Fourth of July cookout extravaganza. Soon after this debacle he would come to be known as the "Butcher of Menlo Park". It was speculated that no such event would ever arouse the spirit of ol' T. Edison again and the name Muttonfluffer became as commonplace as would a sousaphone be right to fit a horse's anus... but, again, that was just speculation.
This here was Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hampton's Ghetto! Tune in next time as I explore the wide world of the metric system and if it really was the brain child of famed writer and author Truman Capote... thanks for stoppin'! |
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| It's time for another installment of... |
[May. 7th, 2009|06:50 pm] |
This here is Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hamptons Ghetto!
Well, I tell ya, it's been nary a fortnight here in the ol' ghetto since I last reported any tomfoolery or hornswogglin' afoot but I do have one such bit o' supreme unmentionables to ah... mention. This here's about ol' 'Beaver' McCool and his run-ins with the Municipal Authorities. Well, it all began some short time ago, three minutes or such, when Beaver went to renew his hunting license at the esteemed city hall. As he proceeded up the the stairway with self-centered ingenuity a profound moment came over the old boy like an Italian madman in the mattress store. Turns out that profound moment was the stampedin' orneriness of no less than fifty-one head o' rip-roarin' cattle preceedin' into the esteemed city hall. Them heifer's were ablazin' through the grand lobbyin' area with a vengeance the late great Teddy R. could've only hath conjured with his late great 'b*tchin' club'. Much to say the most the event was one of irreconcilable mastery and timed aggression. Ol' Beaver never did get his hunting license renewed and damned if the whole town went vegetarian at his expense which totaled $11.04.
This here was Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hamptons Ghetto! Tune in next time when I figure out if Thomas Edison's 'lite-brite' machine was worth the buffalo nickel it claimed to not be... thanks for stoppin'! |
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| Memory |
[May. 6th, 2009|02:07 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Walker St. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Jimmie Rodgers ~ For the sake of days gone by | ] |
This must be a testament to just how bored I've become with myself to re-examine the posts on this here journal and rekindle the fleeting moments shared by close friends. My mind seems to have dwindled these last months that I am grateful this site even exists so I could remember them. I've spent the last four or five hours sitting here reading over most of Kyle's posts from way back in '05 up until now. Two things I found, too:
1) A phrase Kyle said once said, wanted it patented, and never could remember it (here it is, man): "Guns speak louder than words".
2) A saying we used when we posted on the fantasy football chat room or whatever it was: "Stonehenge Beatdown", wouldn't want one of those... for d*mn sure!
Anyways after reading all that it was good to remember all the events that went down in the 4+ years his journal has been maintained. I think 2005 was a renaissance for us with the journal. We wrote about so much and, for now, it sits to be read again, to remember again. Remembering the alleyway that sat between Carmichael and the old music building, lobbing the ol' football back and forth, Gustin always trying to throw it up and over the Taylor Auditorium which did eventually happen, and through the walkways between the music building and Brown. That beautiful Dogwood tree that sat in the Brown Annex beside the music building. Hell, the old music building itself, the rehearsal rooms with the squeaky, wooden floors, the sound-dampening fabric hung on the perforated square-tiled walls, and the ceilings fifteen feet tall. The hallways lined with lockers and laid with checkered floors, it was like a miniature university all to itself. I remember one of those lockers with a Greenpeace sticker from '93 slapped up on it. Ol' Frankie P's office suited him well there on the Second. This all just a miniscule slice from memory lane.
Ya know it was funny one night when Kyle and I headed out to the bar and sat reminiscing about that alleyway. I said it had this Brooklyn neighborhood feel to it like back in the day when the kids would be out in the street playing ball and everyone was moving, hustling all around like a big city would but everything was alright with the scene. Kyle said, "It's interesting you mention that because I felt that way about it too like all we were missing was an old Italian woman shouting from a window above". It's rare when you have a memory that someone else can completely recall with you and its a good one, too. |
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| Dogs |
[Feb. 19th, 2009|04:22 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | 144 Pepper St. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Shoot the bird ~ Jack Benny | ] |
If I ever own a dog I'm probably gonna neglect it. I mean other than feeding it and letting it out to relieve itself all I'm gonna do is give it this piece of advice, "this is your life... so go at it." |
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| Oscars... or somethin' |
[Jan. 22nd, 2009|08:44 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Greenwich Village | ] |
| [ | music |
| | You payed how much for nachos? ~ Ray Charles | ] |
'Slumdog Millionaire' got nominated for some of those Academy Awards... and somewhere a pig is being jammed into a combination washer/dryer. |
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| Just a clown makin' flapjacks... |
[Jan. 20th, 2009|08:47 pm] |
Well... yeah... this here is Silentpaul with another rompin' round-up of tales from Hampton's Ghetto. Let's see, to answer last episode's questions:
Q. Just how much does a box of raisin-berry mallomars really costs?
A. Man, I don't f*ckin' know, probably doesn't exist anyways.
Q. Does anyone even care?
A. I don't even care so what the f*ck!
O.K. so this here story involves another "bastard gentleman" by the name of 'Lame Legs' Larry and "The cane".
It was in all my glory that I witnessed such an event o' sensational superbness as that of 'Lame Legs' Larry and his encounter with "The cane". Let me be the first to say that Ol' Larry wasn't always known as 'Lame Legs', he had a fairly stable job processing horses into glue with mediocre pay just above minimum wage, four cats (one of which was given hemorrhoids... don't ask), and... a... a marvelous collection of taco magnets ranging in years from ca. 1956 to ca. 1969. Life was workin' itself out in seemingly all the right places for Larry until the day he began an unhealthy obsession with his yoga instructor's daughter. That perverted couple engaged in acts so f*cked up beyond belief it'd make Dennis Rodman suckin' a walrus' testicles while gropin' a diesel tractor in front of the corpse of President Mckinley propped up against a Coors Light vending machine while wearing a rainbow-colored afro covered in navy beans and other unmentionable bodily fluids as a Toyota Matrix filled with nineteen year old urine specimens and seventeen year olds flies headlong into the Potomac River... aww sh*t, I forgot where I was goin' with all this. Umm, alright, so he was messin' around and this yoga instructor went straight to his confidant, Big Daddy Pimp. Big Daddy Pimp confronted Larry and communicated to him, though hand gestures, how he was "gonna lay it down on his *ss". Larry's supposed last words were, "Give it your best shot!" B.D.P.'s final ultimatum was, "O.K. but your not gonna walk tomorrow". The next three hours were then dedicated to Larry's legs becoming what they are today by the doin's of a four foot long, one half inch thick lead pipe known as "The cane" and the pristine justice the yoga instructor had sincerely wished for. Damned if Ol' 'Lame Legs' ever fooled around with the offspring of another gay exercise teacher ever again and damned if I didn't spend $17.99 for the DVD "The beating of 'Lame Legs' Larry: A documentary".
This has been another rompin' round-up of...Aww h*ll, you know what this is and I'm tired...peace out. |
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| Oh sh*t... |
[Jan. 19th, 2009|09:23 pm] |
Silentpaul's kickin' out the jams...
Whew! I done kick'em out! |
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| One.. Two, One.. Two! |
[Jan. 19th, 2009|07:59 am] |
Well, on this second time 'round the Eagles still know how to put it down, couldn't ask for a better performance than that. Parking sucked donkey waffles though at $15 a pop.
Memorable quotes:
"Make that Whopper my b*tch" ~ The one and only, Wahoo Kid
...and don't forget...
S.P. "Man, better take that leather jacket off, this ain't 1983!"
W.K. "Commie!"
~A.K.A. 'Paul and Kyle' talkin' smack (safely from inside the ol' Escort) to the departing concert-goers |
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