Friends Don't Let Friends...

....don't think you have to say anymore, I know that I didn't post last night. Because if I have one guarantee for all of you, it's that I won't post anything without a damned soul. I may offend, I may humor, I may make you cry, laugh, snicker, sympathize, dream of me, etc., but I refuse to come on here and go through the motions. Much.

So yeah, tonight is Thursday and while I might ordinarily insult your intelligence and pretend to have posted really, really super hard late and that you're just seeing Wednesday's Child on Thursday, I decided to go in a different direction this week. The beautiful girls will always return. No wonder I have such a man crush on myself and my blog. It's the one place where the beautiful girls always stick around and the ugly girls are nowhere to be found. Wow. That's the most cockish statement I've made in a while. And it rhymed! If women are allowed to be occasionally bitchy, I'm allowed to be occasionally (God I have a loose definition of that word) dickish. Or cockish. Or whatever "-ish" you all think I am.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Maria Sharapova politely requested to leave. I, in turn, politely replied that this would be impossible and said something about "Hotel California" and told her not to worry about it. She replied with tearful anguish and said something in reference to the film "Misery" and informed me that she would be contacting the local authorities in regards to both outbound transport and a restraining order. In short order, I replied that I was the mayor, police chief, and district attorney of HappyFun Town and that she need not burden herself with such things. She was defeated. But luckily, she was still gorgeous.

Now usually, my weekly columns are inspired by an event, an idea, a sentence, a word, a face, a person, etc. And yesterday, my thundergod lightning rod of destiny and creativity was nowhere to be found. And I thought it unfair to subject a beautiful woman to such mediocrity. And today, a female friend (apparently, they exist) informed me that I didn't just have to write about women. I could write about something else that didn't deal with women and sex and porn. To which I asked if I could just write about women OR sex OR porn. But alas, I decided to stretch my sealegs ever so fearlessly into the sea of the unknown. Luckily, today I was sufficiently inspired by the depth of a message that was right before my eyes and seen through the looking glass of my windshield. Tonight, I will explore the depth and veracity of the messages found in a bumpersticker slogan...OR "A bit based on a really superduper ditherydathery premise that Rob cooked up because he's got a bag."

So as I was making my way to the head doctor to tell her how my own self assurance of my gigantic radness was all I needed to comfort me in the cold, cold world, a beat-up black Chevy pulled in front of me. Plastered along the back window (Not a "bumper" sticker. F all of you) was a message that read like a beacon in the dark redneck Nascar universe of all Larry the Cable Guy references ever: Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Fords.

Now inevitably, I could say how I was thinking that "friends don't let friends emulate every redneck, rebel flag, Jefferson Davis, Bo and Duke Luke" stereotype by conveying their deepest thoughts on the platform of their greatest posession--their piece of shit truck. Don't get me wrong. No one gets a tasty giggle more than I do when I see $5,000 rims on an '89 Civic hatchback or when I see the FAR left who have plastered so many bumperstickers on the back of their '72 Beetles that they can't back out of a parking spot without wondering whether or not an SUV is going to run over them. But it's these fair men of stock car groupiedom that humor me the mostestest. And that is generally because they don't allow the fact that they're driving to keep them from talking shit. No, no. Not only will they talk shit. Their TRUCKS will talk shit, too. To other trucks. But hell, what kind of man would I be if let these deep words go without more careful consideration and introspection. What else don't "friends" let "friends" do? On to the bit...Remember. List-making is a sport. Here are some of mine. I look forward to yours. Maybe.

1. Friends don't let friends leave the club with a group of strange men in Aruba.

2. Friends don't let friends play "I Love This Bar" by Grand Dragon Toby Keith on the jukebox AT A BAR. Or anywhere else for that matter.

3. Friends don't let friends wear the t-shirt of the band/artist to the concert of the same band/artist. Otherwise, the friend must call the friend what he or she is--a douchebag.

4. Friends don't let friends take home that girl who looked old enough but really wasn't and ended up causing a messy trial and jailtime. Only Luke Wilson in "Old School" can get away with that and you and your friend are not that cool or lucky or fictional.

5. Friends don't let friends overrate U2, the Dave Matthews Band, Coldplay, or John Mayer. U2 peaked in 1987. Dave Matthews has merely made drunken slurring into marketable pop music. I didn't buy the latest Coldplay album because I bought it when it was their last album. And "your body is a wonderland" isn't deep. It's the shittiest pickup line I've ever fucking heard.

6. Friends don't let their white friends say "let's kick it old school."

7. Friends don't let friends call them friends and excuse them for disappearing without word.

8. Friends don't let friends make fun of their friends because they cried when they watched "La Bamba" for the first time.

9. Friends don't let friends stay out of touch for too long before calling them to have a beer, a cup of coffee, or a night out on the town. Or sending them their blog each week.

10. Friends don't let friends get away with screwing the male readership out of a picture of a pretty girl on their kickass hardcore blog each week (see below).

11. Friends don't let friends complain about long lists. Much like Spinal Tap, sometimes you need that "11".
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RV's Album of the Week: Illinois by Sufjan Stevens

Pitchfork Media Review: http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/record-reviews/s/stevens_sufjan/illinois.shtml

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Song of the Day: "Who"


Artist: Son Volt

Album: Okemah and the Melody of Riot

Lyric of Possible Relevance:

"On wide avenues the air moves the sound
Cruising around
Who makes the minutes move?
The postmeridian new
Who?
Who else but you?"