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5:29 a.m. - 2004-01-07



In a moment of temporary insanity, I kinda pleaded with you guys to vote for Dennis Kucinich for president a few weeks back because he supported the legalization of marijuana, which also happens to be a cause that is close to my heart. And lungs.

I felt really strongly about the guy and wanted to see him win.

Now, it looks like there's no way the guy's going to beat Howard Dean for the Democratic Nomination.

This is all fine and good.

But what I'm getting tired of are these daily emails I've been getting from Dennis' people that are keeping me abreast of Dennis' fight to the top of the heap.

It's honorable that these people aren't giving up the fight just yet.

But now they're organizing things like "Sing-a-long Parties".

Here's a snippet of today's email:

"Our creative Kucinich supporters have written new lyrics to old favorites so you and your friends can have a rollicking Sing-A-Long Party! Songs are a powerful vehicle to carry a movement. Request your free CD from Ele at headquarters by calling toll free 866-413-3664."

It's been a while since I've been to a "rollicking" Sing-A-Long party. The last one I can remember is when I was four years old and an extended version of "Row Row Row Your Boat" got completely out of hand and ended in chaos.

Something tells me if I were to call my friends and say "Dude! Friday night. My place. Rollicking sing-a-long party where we'll be singing lyrics about Dennis Kucinich becoming president to old standards. Bring some dip" ... well ... I wouldn't have many friends left after that phone call.

I admire the desire to win and the efforts being put forth to do so.

But man oh man ... this would be one insane country if the guy actually won.

I've got to deejay again tonight.

I'm playing in one of the city's more popular bars as their regular deejay can't make it.

This means I'm going to have to deal with drunks.

I hate dealing with drunks.

Drunks see deejays as clowns hanging over a dunking tank and if they lob enough softballs at the deejay, eventually he'll fall in the tank and get soaked.

This is, of course, a shitty metaphor. Please don't think that I'm going to be pelted with softballs all night long.

I guess what I'm trying to say in a most confusing fashion is that I become a target for drunks to fuck with.

The battlecry for drunks when they're taking on a deejay is the old standard "When are you going to play something we can dance to?"

I used to have several different answers for this question.

A) "Sir, I've seen your attempts at dancing. You can't dance."

B) "2:14 a.m."

C) "'ll wake up the other customers."

D) "Dance? Who said anything about dancing?"

E) "Just as soon as you take your drunk ass out of here and go plow into a telephone pole."

The WORST thing I ever heard ... and this used to infuriate me because I heard it at least once a week ... is when some drunk bastard would come up to me in a deejay booth and say "When are you going to play some ... you know ... nigger music?"

I cannot tell you how bad that used to piss me off.

And I cannot tell you how often I heard it. Once a week is a good estimate.

You'd think people had more class than that. Sadly ... being a transplanted Yankee in Alabama ... I guess not.

I used to have one comeback for that.

I'd glare at them and say "Sir/Ma'am ... I'm MARRIED to a nigger."

Some people would then turn all shades of red and walk away.

Others would say "Well, when you gonna start playin' your wife's music?"

So, as you might surmise, the life of a club deejay is far from glamorous.

I just pray the drunks aren't out in full force tonight.

Since hearing from my old college roommate Dave on Monday, I've also heard from another bud from my college days ... Mr. Michael J. Fox.

Not THE Michael J. Fox.

And for all I know, it could be Michael S. Fox. It's been 23 years. Forgive me for not remembering the guy's middle initial.

So now, my old college buds are reading this site.

Which means I have to start including more stories about projectile vomiting and climbing on the hoods of cars in the dead of winter and pissing on the windshields in order to drunkenly "defrost" the windshield.

I never thought registering with would amount to such good fortunes.

Which may be overstating the results a bit as I have yet to receive a good fortune from all this.

But it's cool to have heard from old friends.

Even if they were responsible for throwing my best porno mag out the window from the 19th floor at an age when I needed it most.

(By the way Dave ... I used to masturbate into your shampoo bottle after you did that. Remember that bout of mysterious "dandruff" you had where you had to go to the dermatologist and even he couldn't figure out what was wrong? Heh. That wasn't dandruff, pal. Try "congealed jism".)

Alright ... It's 6 a.m. and I've got stuff to do.

Least of which is jacking off into shampoo bottles.

See you soon.

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