Rotten Bastards

It's a blog. It's a way of life. It's many things in between.

Wednesday, 24 June 2009

another self important post.

as the great philosopher ma$e said, "mo money, mo problems". now i don't know about you but i find it hard to feel sorry for a celebrity when they say these things yet the cost of the music video for the song is more than some third world countries GDPs.

jonathan davis was a whiny cunt for "got the life" when he's complaining about fame. boo fucking hoo, go find jesus like your former guitarist and write a crappy book about it. and while your at it, quit fucking a porn star and go back to the regular bar whores.

that's not to say money solves all problems. i am making more money now than i ever had and it's not like i'm getting laid left, right and center. then again i am not making hollywood money.

money is just paper. it's paper that we attach a meaning too. if our economy turned to shit and the dollar was worth as much as the zimbabwe currency (sorry i am too lazy to research what the fuck it's called), would we value toilet paper more than money? and if so, would we wipe our asses on dead presidents (or prime ministers for us commonwealth folk).

to bring this rant to a end i think i should state the obvious. you should fuck me even when i'm poor.

Saturday, 20 June 2009

Good for something

Hey there brother, can you spare a dime? Or a penny? Or a cent? Or a Euro? Or some yen? Maybe some shellfish and shiny rocks?


Oh well, thanks for your time.

Any medium of exchange will do.

Something that will allow me to obtain goods and services.
Something that will make me feel safer.
Something that I'll obsess about.

And think about constantly.

Plan, scheme, connive.

It's about comfort. It's about power. It's about sex.

Once again, your desperate need to procreate has made you a slave. Kneeling before Mammon.

But this no false god of mythology. This shit is real.

When you have it, it's your best friend. When you don't, you say you're better off without it.

But all it is, is a medium of exchange.

You exchange your labour for it. As does your neighbour there. As does farmer Jim.

How else do you propose we make this shit work?

This isn't Star Trek motherfucker.

There are no golden ages. From now on all our ages will be green.

Opening my wallet, I pull out a brand new bank note. Fifty dollars.

I feel it between my fingers. Smooth. Plastic.

I roll it slowly in my fingers, making a tube.

I put one end in my nose and leave the other end hovering above the plate.


Ahh... that's better.

Money. Not totally useless.

Friday, 5 June 2009


"Even if you're clever enough to write a pop song in 7/8, you're almost definitely going to go to 4/4 for the chorus." - probably said by someone in Pink Floyd

As I've mentioned on this blog before, I've been unemployed for seven months now. Drawing a check. Living on the teat. But these days I do make it to work- if you want to call it that.

And because of my fondness for tardiness, for early-outs and absences, back when I was employed, my unemployment checks still end up being up about seven eighths of what I was making at Apple.

So this one goes in the 'win' column.