Collinization
Friday, June 06, 2003
 
Ironnica

So Metallica dropped its new album yesterday, and I went out and acquired myself a copy. Hey Metallica, Linkin Park called, they want their turntables back. Sampling!?! There's, there's sampling on a Metallica album!?! I never thought I'd see the day.
Aside from that, there's the song that named the album, St. Anger. James Hetfield, make a note: You can't sing. You never could. In fact, your singing voice, frankly, sucks. That's why on your first 5 albums, all you did was yell and bark, which you do quite well. Now all of a sudden your an old man, having a mid-life crisis, and I guess you must've realized that your a fraud as a singer and now you're trying to proove yourself? Well, don't. Your lyrics are still good, now try yelling them angrily, instead of singing them like some pussy. You aren't that guy from R.E.M., stop being so fucking whiny.
The lyrics are still good, although still not very clever. Like on St. Anger, when he says "Fuck it all, fucking no regrets, hit the lights on these dark sets", I really got into it. In fact, I got into it almost as much as the FIRST TIME you used those lyrics, on Master of Puppets. Remember a little song you wrote called "Damage Inc."? But what should I expect, really, from a band that put out a song called Unforgiven II. Hey asshole, the guy died at the end of the first song, you cant have a fucking sequel! But I digress.

Isn't it ironic, that the band that made the heavy metal genre popular, added the bassist from the band that invented the genre in the first place, and now they released an album which is a total ripoff of bands who were total Metallica/Sabbath ripoffs when they came out? This album sounds like Fred Durst took a shit on Re-Load. Seriously, there's something fucked up in the metal food chain when you hear a Metallica song and say, "this sounds like a Limp Bizkit song". I don't know how you reversed the polarity of the music industry, but I don't like it, so cut that shit out. Pronto.

Okay, okay, so it's really not that bad. It's a decent album, and if another band had released it, it would probably be a good album. But I know i'm not alone when I say that I expect something more from Metallica. You're living legends, and your album sounds like you recorded it in your basement. Comeon now boys, you can do better than that. We, the fans, expect more from you, although after Load and Re-Load you guys have made it perfectly clear that we shouldn't. I guess you guys really did peak at the Master of Puppets/Justice for All time, and this is just the slow, excrutiating decline, Aerosmith style. It's sad when your heroes aren't what they used to be. Listening to this album is like watching Patrick Ewing sit the bench for the Supersonics; you know what they used to be, and then you see what they are now, and it makes you sad. You coulda gone out on top boys; never put out another album, toured and toured and played the same old songs, and everyone would've been happy. But I guess not. I blame Lars, because he is a greedy bastard.

I'm still going to Summer Sanitarium, and i'm still totally fucking pumped for it. I'm still a huge Metallica fan. And deep down, I really did know that this album was going to disappoint me, just like the last two peices of shit did. Oh well, its better than both load and re-load, just worse than your first 5 albums. But at least we can't call you guys liars. Back on Kill'em All when you said "We'll never stop, we'll never quit, cuz we're Metallica", you obviously meant it. It's just that sometimes, we wish you didn't.

Thursday, June 05, 2003
 
Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?

Since so many of you people find joy in my suffering(bastards one and all), I think I should share with you the continuation of life shitting on me. So here goes:

Tuesday I went to see the ENT(ear, nose, throat) doctor to see if i did any damage to my sinuses, after my golden glove performance last thursday. They told me all he had to do was take a look and make sure my sinus cavity wasn't damaged. What they neglected to mention on the phone of course, is that to look at my sinus cavity requires them to shove a fiber optic cable up there and wiggle it around. So I'm sitting in this chair, and the doctor has this weird tube run up my nose, about as thick as a paper clip, and he's rifling around in there, looking for bone chips, blood clots, and small stray rodents. This is a sensation I have never felt before; its not pain exactly, although it is excrutiatingly painful. Put it this way; when someone told you what an ear whig does if it gets into your ear, and you imagined what that would feel like as it tunneled toward your brain, that idea you had is what this feels like in real life. So im in this chair, wishing I had never seen the movie "Total Recall", and let me just tell you, I was ready to tell this guy where Bin Laden was hiding if he would just pull the thing out of my nose. Seriously, get this guy down to Gitmo and we'll have Al Queda in no time. So he's digging around in there and the nurse knocks on the door and calls the doctor, so he looks at me and goes "excuse me a minute". WHAT!?! So this guy leaves me sitting in my little chair, with a foot and a half of fiber optic cable up my nose; when I reallized that this is what it would look like to use cocaine intravenusly. For some reason I found that amusing, and I started to laugh to myself. BAD IDEA. I dont know what I did, but while I was laughing I guess I shook the cord loose and it came out that little hole in the back of my throat that my nose is connected to, only i thought it was a loogie. So I cleared my throat and low and behold, the other end of the tube was in my mouth. I pulled it out a little bit, and I saw the end coming out of my mouth. That shit freaked me out in a way I couldn't describe, and I said "Holy shit!" really, really loud (it probably sounded more like "hnnly shhhht"). The doctor came running in all scared, and he saw me sitting there like a retarded chimpanzee playing with an electrician's snake. So he grabs the cord, and whips it out of my nose at a tremendous speed. Now THAT shit hurt. The doctor then gave me that weird, crooked head, confused dog look, and the rest of the time I was there, he talked to me like I was a 4 year old child. I wonder why that was. Anyway I got a clean bill of health, so I never have to see that guy again. Which is good, because he was probably half a step from perscribing me a helmet.

So then today I went back to the plastic surgeon, who took my stitches out. Sorry folks, but this actually went according to procedure. I think he talked to the ENT though, because I was not once left unattended in his office, which is too bad, because he had a fun looking box of used syringes...Anyway, my nose is now shaped like a bannana, so next thursday I get to have it reset, which sounds like loads of fun. The doctor was kind enough to describe the process to me in detail: He will jam cotton into my nose until as full of shit as a Clinton(zing!), shoot me full of sweet, sweet novicaine, and then pop my nosebone back into its original position. What kind of neat, high tech gadget will he be using to do this, you ask? His friggin hand! And he's gonna get paid probably more than a thousand dollars to do it! What fuckin scam. Maybe I'll set up a street nose clinic; you break your nose, and for 50 bux ill grab that shit and yank it back into place. Im not really looking forward to it, in case you didn't notice. And that of course, lead me to write this form letter, and distribute it accordingly:

Dear little league baseball coach,

I don't know if you remember me, but I was once a player on your little league team. I was a good student, and when you told me to get down on ground balls, and stay in front of them, I did my best to listen and follow your advice, and I have kept it with me all these years. For all your hard work and dedication, there's something I want to tell you, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart:

Thanks for nothing, you son of a bitch. I'll get you for this, if its the last thing I do.

Sincerely,

John "The Face" Collins

 
Call it a Hunch

Independence day is coming up on us. Call it a hunch, as this is based on no factual information whatsoever, but something tells me that our good friend the government is going to use the conveniently vague Patriot Act to go gestapo on illegal fireworks this year. Fireworks, after all, are just explosives. So that guy you work with who is driving down to North Carolina or wherever to pick up some stuff for the office? He could be charged with terrorism when he drives over a bridge in New York with a trunkful of whistlers. Absurd? Of course! But think about it this way; do you really put it passed them?
When I was a little kid, there were fireworks all over the neighborhoods on the fourth of July. All day, and all night, mortars going off, roman candles in the neighbor's yard, one year my dad even got one of those pinwheels and set it off; the whole block came down to watch it with the oos and ahhs.
Last year, me and a few friends were shooting off bottle rockets in an open field behind an elementary school, at night, and the school had been closed for a month. 3 separate people called the police on us. On the fourth of July. For lighting fireworks.

I need to get the hell out of New York.

Tuesday, June 03, 2003
 
Contact Your Narrator

Hey folks, I know I don't have comments or links or anything, and frankly thats because I don't know the first thing about this blogger program, and I hardly know anything at all about HTML. But if you want to contact me, you can email me at
mrcollins21@yahoo.com I guess I should change it to mrcollins22 now, but it will be mrcollins23 in a couple of months anyway, and besides, Im extremely lazy. Im talking watch infomercials because I can't be bothered to look for the remote and your crazy if you think im getting up and walking to the TV kind of lazy. Im so lazy, i dont know if ill even finish this pos
 
Sammy Sosa You Fucking Fraud

Holy not really that surprised batman! Sammy Sosa was ejected from his game today because he used a corked bat. Not many people understand what the big deal is, so let me summarize it for you real quick. Cork has some qualities that make it vastly superior to wood for making baseball bats. It is strong, but very light, which yields good batspeed. Cork also has that squishy quality, as anyone who has opened a wine bottle knows. This means that when you push on it, it will condense, and when pressure is relieved, it will expand again. So when you hit a baseball with a piece of cork, the cork condenses and expands rather quickly, giving the ball extra trajectory, making it easier to hit home runs.

Ok now that we have the physics down, lets look at Sammy Sosa. If you go to espn.com you can look up his lifetime stats, including his homeruns per year. Lets have a look:

from 1995 to 1997 he hit between 35 and 40 home runs a year. Thats some power hitting

Oh but whats this? 98 and 99 he hits over 60 home runs! 2000 he hits another 50! Then in 01 he hits 64, and last year he hit a pathetic 49 home runs. HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM I wonder when this guy started corking his bat.

But Sammy sez it was an accident! He only uses that bat for exhibition purposes, to hit home runs for his fans. But Sammy, sammy sammy sammy, if you can hit 60 home runs a year for 3 years, surely you dont need to cork your bat to hit home runs in batting practice, when theres some 50 year old coach throwing you meat balls! But you do need it, cuz your a fucking fraud, and you've been corking your bat since 1998. Good riddance I say. All you sons of bitches who cried and screamed about Mark Macguire using creatine, and how it was unfair to Sammy, you can all eat shit and die slow. I hope they ban that piece of shit from baseball, he can go sit next to Pete Rose. If your kid looks up to Sammy Sosa, I hope your pissed off too. Bad enough all the real heroes left in baseball are getting torn down with allegations of steroid use and illegal performance enhancing drugs, now good old rags to riches Sammy Sosa, the hard working kid from a 3rd world country who made it to the big time, is a fraud and a god damn cheater.

The truly sad part about this is, you know he won't be kicked out of baseball. I bet he doesn't even get suspended for a game. Everyone's gonna believe this bullshit about it being an accident, and forget it ever happened by next week. Baseball is going down the shitter, i tell ya. When does football season start?

 
Life tells me, 'Grab your ankles!'

Man, did I get shit on this weekend. Thursday my parents went away for 10 days. Sounds like the start of a great weekend. So thursday night, I'm at my softball game, just waiting for it to be over so we can all go bbq and get wasted in my backyard. About the 4th inning of the second game I hit a bomb to left field, home run. The weekend keeps getting better and better, and it ain't even friday yet! But wait, whats this? A hard hit ground ball to second? No problem, I sez to myself, so I bend down to get it...Hey, it looks like the ball might hit that rock-THUD! Bright stars buzzing around.

2 hours later, the doctor puts that 13th stitch into the bridge of my nose, and explains to me that I broke my nose in 3 different places. How you break 1 bone in 3 places is beyond me, but I guess that's why I can't afford a real website.

So here I am, 22 years old with the house to myself for 10 days, and a huge bag of frozen peas covering my face. Of course the painkillers they gave me(which don't work) don't mix very well with alcohol, so I get to hear all my friends get drunk while I suffer in the darkness of the green giant's bounty.

But what's this in the mail? It looks important. Oh, thats right, its the summons for that traffic infraction I committed over 2 friggin years ago, for next tuesday! Boy, it should be fun to explain to the judge that whatever I did wasn't my fault, even though I can't even remember what the hell the ticket was for, while staring at him through two huge swollen eyes. No sir, I didn't get into a fight, I just suck at softball. Suuuuuure.

Well my answering machine is blinking, maybe there's some good news on there. Let's see. First is the auto dealership, calling to tell me that the blue color on the 2004 subaru impreza RS is not the same blue that they have in the commercials, but rather a gay purplish thing that looks strangely similar to the color of my face after a few hours of swelling. Oh cruel fate, what more could you do to me? The next message MUST be good news, because bad luck comes in 3s, and we just got a hattrick on the car, right? Wrong! Next message is my dear, sweet sister, explaining to me that she made it safely upstate where she will spend the weekend. Innocent enough, it seems. But there's more! She casually forgot to bring the dog's medicine with her, but not because she forgot. Oh no, that would be much too simple. She accidentally took the wrong bottle, and the painkillers that don't mix with alcohol are in her luggage, while I am home to be conforted by antibiotics designed for a sheltie. Fucking Awesome.

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