Sunday, October 28, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 2

*Authors note: This story is set in a reality where the NFL, Gridiron, as a sport does not exist. At all. Ever. Soccer, the true football, is the second most dominate sport in America after baseball and before basketball.*

I had some marvelous dreams that night. In them, I had graduated college, found a very good paying job, hooked up with that girl with the purple tipped auburn hair, and was surrounded by people who loved me and I loved them. But right now, I was traveling through a dark place. No lights at all, yet the colors were still as vibrant as ever.

“Hey Johnny!”

I looked around, and there was no one around me. Somebody had called my name, but I don’t know who.

“Johnny, wake up man.”

I wasn’t asleep. So why did they think I was? Suddenly, I felt like I was falling. Like the floor had given way to a vast empty nothingness. I closed my eyes and wanted to scream, but I hit something hard before I could.

My eyes fluttered open and I was staring at the piles in the carpet. Oh, I thought to myself, I was asleep. Why am I on the floor? I cocked my head to the side and saw the Romanian barman set the couch back on the floor. His voice deep voice boomed, “Wake up time devotchka.” I heard a couple of footfalls near my head. I rotated and looked up. Paul was standing above me.

“Morning laddie. Take it you slept well then? Come on, get up. Go wash up. Big day ahead of us.” I apparently didn’t move fast enough. “Come on! Move! Go, go, go!”

I managed to get on two feet and started down the hallway, but I still got a jesting kick to the rear. Groping down the walls, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. The harsh florescent lights caused me to yell in pain and squeeze my eyes shut.

“You didn’t fall in, did ya laddie?” Paul yelled. I heard the barman laugh heartily. Ha ha guys, I thought, real fucking funny. I placed my hands on each side of the small sink to balance myself and looked into the mirror. God damn. I rinsed my hands under the cold tap, and brought then to my face to shock the sleep out of me. I did the requisite morning routine on auto-pilot and thought about what that girl had said to me in the elevator.

“Sometimes our worst days lead to our greatest moments.” What did she mean by that? Damn though…she was pretty hot. I shook my head. No no, can’t think that. Even if she was. Damn it!

Paul interrupted by pounding on the door. “Come on! Hurry up! You’re slower than my ex-girlfriend! Jesus, I let you sleep in cause you were sacked out, and now you’re slowing us down!”

“Yeah, okay, damn, what’s the big rush anyway?” I called though the bathroom door. I flushed the toilet and proceeded to wash my hands.

“It’s Saturday Johnny. Football day. Come on, were already late!” I opened the bathroom door and stood in front of him in my boxers. “’Bout time.” He looked up and down at me. “You could go like that, but the boys will give hell for the rest of the day.” He looked back down the hall way, “Hey Danny, throw me the lads clothes.” My jeans from yesterday came flying down the hall and hit Paul in the face. Wrapped in them were my shirt, wallet, and shoes.

“What, no socks?” I asked. A ball of socks also nailed Paul in the face. Quickly donning the articles while hopping after Paul back to the living room, I found the barman sitting on the couch quite amused with himself.

Paul officially introduced us, “Johnny, the barman’s name is Danny. Danny, Johnny, Johnny, Danny. Can we go now?” I offered my hand in a shake, and Danny’s massive hand enveloped and crushed it. He had a friendly smile on his face, but I was still unsure about him. Paul was holding the door open and tapping his foot, “We’re fifteen minutes late! Let’s go!”

Danny took his exit and I was close behind him. Paul once again punted me in the butt. The creaky stairs seemed even worse this morning, and it looked like the bar had yet to open. Regardless, we piled out the front door and into Danny’s Nissan. Once we got going, I asked from the backseat, “What’s going on?”

Paul turned in the passenger to talk to me, “It’s football day. Today’s game day. Greensea verus Charleston.” I looked totally lost. Paul sighed, “We right now are going to a park to play some 5-a-side games with all the lads. Then it’s to the abbey for drinks, then the match and then back to the abbey till we drop from drink”


“The pub. The bar,” he explained. “Don’t they teach you kids anything in school now a days?”

“What’s 5-a-side?” I must have been looking like a total and complete idiot at that point. Even Danny took the time to give me a “How stupid are you?” look in the mirror.

Paul sighed even bigger this time and hung his head, “You know the basics of football right? Eleven players per side, two goals at each end, blah, blah, blah,” I nodded my head, “Well, 5-a-side is just that. Just like football. Only with smaller goals and five players per side.”

I looked at Paul, then at Danny, and back at Paul, “I, uh, don’t play football.”

“That’s alright. This is just for fun. You know, just so we can laugh at each other and run around and have fun,” he turned to Danny, “You bring the ball and the drinks?”

“Yeah, it’s all in the trunk. What, did you think I would forget it?” Danny shot back.

“You have before, I just wanted to make sure.”

I tuned them out as they conversed. I turned my attention instead to the passing buildings and people outside the car window. I watched an old lady struggle down the street with a bag of groceries, a couple of lovers on a street corner holding hands and a lady with purple hair jogging. Purple hair? I quickly turned in my seat to get a better view. It’s her! That girl! I watched her until she was no longer in sight. What is she doing in down here? Maybe she lives here! Which means that maybe…

“Johnny!” I snapped turned and found Paul looking right at me. “Jesus man, what has got you all big eyed and fidgety? Never mind, I don’t want to know. You said you didn’t follow football right?”

I looked right at him and considered my answer. I shrugged, “Yeah, I like basketball.” I thought Danny was going to bust a blood vessel he was laughing so hard.

“Basketball? You like basketball?” His Romanian accent was really coming through now, “Basketball is for weak people. Weak people who like to play weak sports. People from Hungary like to play basketball. That’s why they are so weak. I crush them with my thumb.” He laughed deeply and both Paul and I just had quizzical looks on our faces.

“Anyway,” Paul continued as Danny kept chuckling to himself, “How much do you know about football? Am I going to have to start from the beginning, or can I skip to explaining other things?” I just stared at Paul with a blank face. He sighed. “Alright, you know the basic rules right?” I nodded. “That’s good. I can move on to the league system. You see, football has leagues at every level. At the very top is the North American Premiership. Both Canadian and American clubs participate. You’ve probably heard of the Los Angeles United or Toronto F.C or Chicago Fire. Well those clubs are top flight clubs. Below that the Canadian system and the American split into their own systems.

“Here in the United States, tier two is the American League. Clubs like Boston A.F.C, Washington United, and Detroit Steel play in that league. It goes down from there. League 1, League 2 and on down to the local levels. Twenty-five tiers in all. Something on the order of 700 different leagues that make up those tiers. What most people don’t know is that all the teams and clubs can be promoted or relegated in system. So like those guys there,” he pointed out the window toward a group of guys in jerseys playing a game of football, “can make it all the way up to the Premiership. And clubs like L.A. United can fall all the way down to the local league in Los Angeles.”

I understood what he was saying, but I really failed to grasp the big picture. I decided I’d figure it out later. “What about Greensea? Where are they?” I inquired. I had never heard of them, so I figured they weren’t a huge club.

“Ah, Greensea F.C. The '9th Fleet' as they are known as informally. They are a League One side right now. Last year we were an American League team, but we got rocked by a scandal and AFA docked us points and subsequently relegated.”

“AFA? Who’s that? And the '9th Fleet?'”

“The American Football Association. The governing body of the leagues. The reason thiey are called the 9th Fleet is that with every manager we've had a distinct and different style of footie has shown itself on the pitch. Greensea is on it's ninth manager since the clubs resurrection in the modern era. Hence, the 9th Fleet.”

"The '3rd Fleet' was best Fleet Greensea ever had," Danny interjected.

“Oh.” I was amazed. I never knew how deep football ran in this country. My country. Promotion and Relegation? That was alien to me as well. Basketball didn’t have that kind of system. “Wow. I never knew about how deep that system ran.”

Paul looked out the front windscreen and said, “Yeah lad, it’s quite a way to go. Correct me if I’m wrong, but basketball doesn’t have that kind of league play, right?”
“No, it’s all franchises set up by the NBA. No lower leagues.”

“Much more interesting dynamic, football. Isn’t it?”

I had to admit it was. And I was hooked. I wanted to learn more. But it was too late to ask any more questions. We had arrived at our destination. Paul said we were going to a park. It looked more like a mowed field to me. There were several guys sitting around drinking what looked like 40 ounce bottles of beer. I recognized a few of them. Namely, the black guy from last night. The gun nut from Los Angeles I recalled. I couple of them shouted greetings at us. One shouted, “Where the fucks have ya been?” I placed his accent quickly as being French. Paul wasn’t kidding when he said that everybody was an exile.

I heard a whistle and my name shouted behind me. “Catch!” Danny chucked a can at me and I caught it. A large Guinness. “Drink up man. We got a game to play!” He slapped me on the back when he walked past me while carrying the rest of the case of stout. I was a little nervous, so I popped the top and took a sip while waiting for Paul.

“Hey Johnny! Here!” Paul shouted. A football came soaring at me from behind the car and I caught that too between my chest and free hand. He jogged up to me, “Good catch. Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest.” I followed him into the field. I noticed what would be the goals made out of a couple of 4 foot tall poles stuck in the ground. Yeah, I guess that would work out.

Paul placed his hand on my back and pushed me forward. “Lads, this is Johnny. He just got kicked out of college and George sent him down to me. Johnny this is Sam,” pointing the black guy.

He shook my hand, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Paul pointed to another guy, “That one is Jack.”

I recognized him as the French guy when he spoke, “A pleasure.”

I met the rest of the guys and they all gave me their warm greetings. There was Rick from Korea. He was Caucasian but he was born and spent the first 18 years of his life in Korea. There was James from Australia, and Keith from Detroit, Juan from Mexico and finally Mark. Mark was the only one of the bunch that grew up in Greensea, let alone in the south. And his accent was deeply southern to boot.

“Finish up your beer boys,” that was Keith, “We haven’t played a game since Jerry died, and I’m getting itchy to start.”

Rick looked me over and asked, “So what happened that you got kicked out of college?” I noticed that both Paul and Danny had pricked up their ears, and that everybody else had stopped talking to hear what I had to say.

I took a long pull out of my Guinness before I answered, “I stole the University President’s new Lamborghini,” Rick reeled the slightest bit and I continued, “The guy had been jacking up tuition rates to try and get the lower and middle class kids off the campus, leaving only the upper blueblood class. I guess that he was trying to turn the college into an Ivy League school. So I stole his brand-new bought and paid for with tuition hike money Lambo. I sold it to a chop-shop for two hundred large and gave the money to the students that were struggling in debt.”

Sam whistled, “Ya got some balls kid. Wha’ ya did takes a huge fuckin’ pair of ‘em.”

“Why you no in jail?” Juan asked in broken English.

I shrugged, “They couldn’t pin it on me. They knew it was me because it had my style written all over it, but they couldn’t prove it. Nobody was talking, and everybody was laughing. Instead, they kicked me out on one failing grade.”

Danny quickly changed the subject, “Enough of this pity fest over dirty punk.” I smiled at that comment. “We have something bigger to worry about. Like how you guys are gonna get your ass stomped in this game.” Danny swiped the football out of my arms and pulled Juan and Mark out of the circle. Keith and Jack threw their beers out toward where Danny had dropped the case of Guinness. The sidelines I guessed. Those two bottles were followed by everybody else’s. The group had split up into two smaller groups and Paul had pulled me into his group. Sam, Jack and Keith followed as well.

“Alright,” Paul started when our group had gotten together, “Johnny here has never played. Which means he’s going be our star goalkeeper.” I was taken aback and Sam and Jack just snickered. “Sam, you’re with me up front, and Jack and Keith will try to help poor Johnny as much as possible.” The snickering turned into full on laughter.

“Alright, alright, settle down. Danny thinks he’s going to beat us, and he probably will because Johnny’s going to look like a fool out there.” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but join in the riotous laughter. Sam had fallen backwards he was laughing so hard. “Okay okay, seriously now. Johnny, just keep the goals to as close to zero as you can. Nobody is going to keep count, and we’ll all laugh about your misfortune at the pub later.”

“We’re waiting, you pantywaists!” Danny bellowed out. He and his team were set to go. I got into my position and readied myself as best as I could.

Jack looked over his shoulder and winked at me, “You ready?” I nodded. “Then here we go.” He turned his head back around and yelled back at Danny, “You sure you want to do this Danny? I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into!”

Danny smiled. The game kicked off.


Monday, October 22, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 1

"Fuck man, we need to get a van or something. It's brass fucking monkeys back here," I managed to chatter out.

"Hey Johnny," I turned to the voice in the back of pick-up bed, "buy a coat."

The talking weather-head on Channel 10 said it was going to be a cool, crisp, clear night. It was clear enough to see the stars overhead and the craters on the moon's surface. At least it would be, if it wern't for the streetlights passing overhead at forty miles an hour. As to the cool and crisp, it was cold enough to worry the local fruit growers about frost and freeze.

I closed my eyes and bunched myself up against the biting cold. The noise of the roaring tires, the one note song of the pick-ups engine, and the wrapping around the cab to smack me in the face cause me to remince about everything that had happened in the past 6 months. Fights, parties, blood, love, brothers, guns, insanely good football, and lots of beer and whisky. To think, I used to be just a college kid...

"Jonathan Lewis, stand and hear the verdict." I stood and waited. "It is the verdict of this court," The judge paused. Dramatic fucking effect, I thought to myself. "On the charge of academic misconduct..." Another pause. I wanted to scream out, Just read it you twat! I bit my tounge instead. "Guilty. The sentence of immediate expulsion carries. This tribunal is finished." The gavel rapped and in a swirl of tacky black cloth, the judge left the room.

So that was that. My college career was over. One guilty verdict and I was kicked out of Chester University. Out of every university for that matter. Nobody was going to accept an expelled Chester-head. That thought alone made me want to find the cardboard in a case of beer. I shuffled out of the courtroom and into the waiting sunlight. Stopping and lifting my head skyward, I felt the summer breeze on my cheeks.

Fuck, now I want to get really plastered. Placing one booted foot in front of the other, I started back to my dorm. I had to figure out what to do now. No job, little money and what about the parents? Yanking open the door to the lobby, I walked over to the elevators and punched the button. The polished doors slid open nearly noiselessly, and I walked in. "Yeah, what would my parents say about me getting kicked out?" speaking into thin air, "probably disown me or tell me to join the army. Fuck." I spit on the elevator floor and settled into the corner, hands in my pockets, waiting for the doors to close. I got lost in my thoughts.

Or at least I would have, if not for her.

"Hold the elevator!" a female voice called. Instinctively, I reached out and held the door open. What stepped through was not what I expected. She was a punk rock pin-up fantasy in normal clothes. Smiling politely at me, she pushed a few loose strands of purple tipped auburn hair behind her ear and reached out to the button panel. I noticed she wore black finger nail polish with electric purple accents on both hands.

I shook my head and thought, Come on man, you got more important things to think about. Problem was, when the doors closed, I found she was staring at me through the reflection. She saw a washed-up, withdrawn kid in a torn-up and rumpled hoodie, faded and ripped jeans, and black combat boots. Not to mention the sky blue hair on my head. Returning the look-see, I stared right back. Plain light blue button up shirt that was snug enough to show off her curves, but not tight enough to over do it. Wether she meant or not, she had managed to skewer her buttoning job and had it off by one. Wandering my eyes down met with black shorts that were clearly cut for a man. Suspenders were hanging free from under the shirt, and she wore black boots with white accents to top the package off.

I walked my eyes back up he legs, past her shapely hips and back into her watchful gaze in the reflection. Her deep blue eyes held mine and sucked me in. Time seemed to freeze. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a chime went off. Contact was broken when the elevator doors slid open and the reflection replaced buy a snap back to reality. The punk rock beauty took a step out, paused, and without looking back said, "Sometimes our worst days lead to our greatest moments." I cocked an eyebrow an eyebrow and watched her walk down the hall way until the doors impeded my vision. I was alone again.

The doors to my own floor opened, and there stood the requisite campus cop to escort me. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was that it was George who was given the job. “Hey Johnny, sorry to hear about the decision,” he carefully stated.

“Yeah, whatever,” I replied. George and I go back far enough that I knew I could crash at his place anytime I needed to.

“I’m serious man. I did what I could to keep you here. Everybody knows that it’s you that keeps this place from becoming another Ivy League dream-killer. But you gotta admit, stealing the Dean’s new Lamborghini and selling it to a chop-shop was too many toes over the line.”

“Hey!” I threw my arms up in mock innocence. “They couldn’t pin it on me. You know that as well as I do. That’s why they nailed me on my one failing grade. Besides, that money went back to the students that are were in debt because of tuition hikes.” I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door to my room. “Standard fare right? Pack my shit and leave?”

“Have you called you folks yet? You got a plan?” he asked.

“No I haven’t, and I figured I’d stay at your place a couple nights.”

“Sorry mate. No can do on the couch. Jill moved in with me.”

“So? I’ll stay out of her way.” Jill loathed me.

“Remember the last time you were at my place?”

I stared blankly at him as I tried to dredge up drunken memories. “Yeah, gotta find someplace else to stay. And by the way, so were laughing so hard you were crying.”

“You took a shit in my sink man! A shit! In my sink!” he belted out.

“Yeah, and? I cleaned it up, right?”

“After Jill beat my ass three ways to Sunday,” He laughed out. “But that was pretty freakin’ funny. Anyway, I got a mate down in Greensea…yes, its three hours away, but you don’t have to call your parents. But he’s got a couch you crash on. Lemme give him a call for you. He owes me anyway.”

“What, did he defecate in your sink too?” I chuckled.

“Jackass.” George pulled out his cell phone and started punching numbers. “You got some paper?” I pointed in the direction of the desk, and started to shuffle stuff around looking for what he needed. Somebody answered, because George started talking into thin air. I was too busy throwing my clothes into a duffel to hear the words. When I heard his mobile snap shut, I turned around. “Here, that’s the address to meet him at. It’s a pub called, oddly, Johnny’s Folly. Ask the bar keep if Paul is there. He should point out the way.”

“Okay George. And thanks. I owe you one. Just one,” I raised a single finger. Throwing my duffel over my shoulder, I started to walk out.

“Hey, what about this stuff?” George pointed at the still messy desk.

“Won’t be needing it,” I called back.

I found the place easily enough. It was a quaint and mostly quiet place. No flashy neon, no loud music and right on the corner of Green Road and Wycombe Way. A small, simple painted sign identified the place. “Johnny’s Folly,” it read, “Members Only.” Great, I thought to myself, this should be interesting.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and went in. The air was heavy with smoke, and a few people were milling about. A pool table sat unused in the corner. The whole place seemed to be the darker and more insidious set of that TV show Cheers from back in the 80’s. The barkeep was at his station behind the bar and seemed to pull double duty as the bouncer as well. His voice backed the theory up.

“You, pissant!” he barked, pointing at me, “Members bar! Fuck out!” He pointed at the door right behind me with a finger that was bigger than bratwurst. Mmmm…bratwurst, I thought. My stomach rumbled and I didn’t move. “Hey dickhead! I said get the fuck out!”

“I was told by a friend to meet a…”

“You want me to throw you the fuck out then?” he interrupted and started to walk out from the bar. All the eyes in the barroom were now on me. I sighed.

“Meet with Paul. Told to. Where?” I rushed out before I get interrupted again. The barman/bouncer paused.

“You Johnny?” he growled.

“Yeah, I was told to…” His bratwurst finger now moved toward a booth in the corner.

“He’s over there. And you speak like that to me again, I will throw you out,” he menaced.

“Thank you.” I nodded my head in his direction and he sneered in return. The booth the anger-management-issued barman pointed to was occupied by a single man sipping a pint of beer. Stout judging by the dark color and a Guinness I’d have to say, judging by the downward flowing bubbles. Can’t knock a man with good taste. I softly stepped my way over and took stock of the features of the man named Paul. White collared shirt, untucked, and a nice looking pair of grey slacks. His shoes were an odd choice though. White Adidas shell-toes. He reminded me of Leonardo Di Caprio. Only rougher. That has to go down as the gayest observation I’ve ever made.

When I got close enough, he stood and greeted me with an out-stretched hand and some words, “I’ve got to admit, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen stand up like that to Bradley,” he motioned to the barman. “Don’t worry though. He’s softer than a tabby.” Paul ducked as a piece of ice came winging its way from the bar amidst some drunken laughs. His own accent threw me and Paul must have seen it on my face. “Yeah, I’m from England. Newcastle to be exact. Exiled. Brad there is from Romania, and he’s,” pointing at other men in the bar, “he’s from Germany, that guy there is Swedish, and that black man there is from Los Angeles. He’s a big gun nut and sometimes we tease him about being from Somalia.”

“Los Angeles?” I asked.

“Come on, this is North Carolina. In Greensea, L.A. is like a whole ‘nother country. So yeah, were all exiles here. Speaking of which, sorry about you getting kicked out and all that bollocks. You should fit in nicely here with that under your belt.” He looked me over and at my bag. “That all you got?” I nodded. “Okay, come on, my flat is upstairs.”

I followed him to the back of the bar and through the tiny kitchen, up a rickety, dimly lit flight of stairs and to a door that looked it had been shot full of holes. Apparently there was no lock, because Paul just pushed it right open. The place was small, but well laid out. There was a kitchenette off to the side and a nice living area in the middle. A huge flag dominated the one wall that wasn’t taken up by furniture.

“That’s Greensea A.F.C. right there. You follow footie?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I do. More of a basketball kind of guy.”

“Now THAT’s a damn travesty. Anyway,” Paul pointed toward the single hallway, “bathroom’s down that way, sheets and pillows are in there,” pointing at a footlocker, “I apologize in advance if you hear me banging around at five in the morning. I like to get a good run in before breakfast. You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a runner, but yeah, that sounds good. That is, if you don’t mind slowing down a bit.”

Paul laughed, and I smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m sure I can go slow for ya. Besides, it’ll give a chance to get to know each other. Now, it’s ten o’clock, and I’m going to bed.” He walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Goodnight Johnny.”

“Night Paul, and thanks for opening up your sofa.” I called after him. I grabbed a pillow and blanket out of the footlocker and fell toward the couch.


Saturday, October 20, 2007


Oi Oi, hows the readership going? You lot, whom ever reads this really needs to start leaving comments. Outside of the one dude that John knows, I think I'm the only one who comments...So stat commenting damn it!

On that note, I'm a bit ticked since John is beating me in fantasty football, and I really want to know who his striker is, that or your defense is rock solid. Though granted Torres is injured then he will comeback and own the league. See this is how it breaks down, John and I got a fantasy footy tourney on yahoo, just us two for bragging rights, and I set out with a good team, and his was alright.

The problem was my good team was under the assumption they would play, his was medicore players(ok some not all) and they all did play, and were consistent- unlike my team high profile stars. The problem was they were either A) injured, or B) not in team's plans. So joe cole who now appears to be alright wasn't getting games(so I dropped him, have to check his price again). The problem was I left him in the spot and he didn't get me any points, so I just dragged myself down deeper.

The long and short of this is that johns up 399 points and I'm at 369. Which really doesn't help much. Oh well drastic measures this week. Sice Now I'll have to take Terry out, cos he's injured. Now to replace him with..John lets see have you any ideas?

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Mid Terms

so i just finished my mid terms.... and well i think i did okay on my math and i think i kicked ass on my psycology and the rest of my classes i dont have any tests in. so im done with school till next monday!

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Long but Short

Sorry I havnt posted in a while i'm trying to keep up with school... im taking 21 hours, working 20 hours monday - friday and 12 hours on the weekend... so im pretty busy, mid terms this week and fall brake!

Went to an awsome resuraunt called Pop's. Its in Arcadia Okla, on Rt 66. Very good and amazing selection of bottled cokes.

My Birthday is comming up to!!!

Johnny Rumble:
All Quiet On The Western Front

I've truely got nothing to report.

Our rental house is being "open housed" today, and while we are pulling for the realtor and the owner to pull off a sale, it will mean that we once again have to find new accomidations. Not good.

Recently picked up three new cd's. Might as well right a quicky review for them...

Dropkick Murphy's - The Meanest Of Times
I've been a fan of the Murphy's for a while now, and I must that lately I've not been happy with the progessive sound that has been coming out my speakers the last album. That kind of changed with Meanest. It's definatly not a pure "punk" album, nor would have to say that Murphy's are pure punk anymore, but Meanest just seems to hit that riht chord once my brain accepted the fact that the Murphy's arn't writing the working class material that they used to. That being said, it's not a bad album. Addicting like caffiene I would even venture. Good songs, good lyrics, good riffs. But not for those that prefer the Murphy's pre-Warrior's Code.

The Casualties - Made In NYC (live)
The drums are over miked, Jake and Rick can't sing to save thier testicals, and I can't stop getting enough. It may seem odd for me to say this concidering it's really one of the crappier sounding live cd's I've listened to but, this is really the best one I've ever heard. Jorge turned over the mic to an audience member for thier rendition of "Blitzkrieg Bop", and Jake acctually turned over the guitar to some punk on "For The Punks." Never, ever, have I heard of any band going that far to get the audience involved. And better yet, you can see it too. The cd comes packaged with a DVD of this live set. I haven't watched it yet, but I have no doubt that it will be just as good as the album.

Black Snake Moan Soundtrack
Sometimes a person just needs to break out a blues record. And this one is mine. My only too. For now. I can't really say much about it concidering it's a soundtrack compiliation, but if you enjoyed the movie, you WILL enjoy the album. And I think that Samuel L. Jackson should really concider learning to play the blues guitar and put on some performances down in LA. His voice is oddly that good. A solo album, maybe not, but I'd pay to see him perform live.

My writing has taken a back seat right now. I should go out and buy a spiral notebook to write in and (eventually) transfer on to here, but I'm too lazy to do that.

Picked a copy of FIFA 08 for Playstation 2. It's a repackaged FIFA 07 with some added features, but having the completely updated transfer lists is worth the money. The control scheme also got changed around a little, but it's nothing that a days worth of playing can't get used too. Oh, and the greatest addition? Custom formations. I can't tell you the amount of times I've wanted to alter where a player's positioning is on the pitch. This game allows you to do that. Finally.

I think I'll go get that spiral.

Johnny Rumble

Friday, October 12, 2007

Right on!!

Ok so Ive gotten lots of neat food in care packages, which is a plus. Now Ive gone and but Fedora 7 on my other computer. It has no trace of Windows on it and I think we're(Randy and I- He is chief user of that machine) doing quite well. My current mode calls for trying out Ubuntu 7.10 . However I'm not sure I want to mess around with Compiz and Beryl. Just give me GNOME or KDE. Thats the other item, I can't decide which I want. I will probably move to KDE once Version 4 comes out.