Sunday, October 29, 2006

RANT: Evil Women

I’m going to blame the Baroness. Yeah, you got me, it’s her fucking fault. Destro’s gal from GI Joe firmly displaced Penny from Inspector Gadget in my youngling brain as a primary object of childish lust. She had it all; dark hair; glasses; a skin-tight bodysuit that screamed “I verk for Cobra undt have gorgeous breasts!”; an agenda of her own; no shortage of brains; and, most importantly, she was fucking evil. That’s where I got my penchant. It’s why my characters make bad decisions when evil pretty faces come a’ calling. Evil women make me dumb, simple as that.

I know it’s not fair to blame all my past woes on a character from my childhood, but now that I’m past most of them I tend to get introspective. I wonder what it was that drew me to them so, that still draws me sometimes. Why do I rush in where a sane man would rush any other direction? I’ll tell ya. It’s ‘cause, way deep down, evil is hawtsome. S’why I crushed on the Baroness rather than someone safe, like Scarlet or Lady Jaye. Sure, Lady Jaye would never shoot me in the back, but she’d also never shoot someone else in the back to save my life. The Baroness would, and then we’d make sweet love over the fallen corpse. While Lady Jaye would likely shout warning, that’d be cold comfort at my funeral. At least with the Baroness, I’d get some sweet over-the-corpse lovin.’

I think that must be it. Evil is predictable while good is fickle. I know where I stand with a bad girl. I know they want something, ‘cause everybody wants something. While the good girls play coy, the Caveman finds he ain’t got time for that shite. He’s too old.

Now good girls, you take heart. I've got a cadre of friends I can refer you to, and I'll still look out for you. That's the Caveman thing to do.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

RAVE: I still got it...

After several years in a rewarding monogamous relationship, I'm still...

The Hornivore
Random Brutal Sex Master (RBSMm)

Don't ever marry, you're The Hornivore. Roaming, sexual, subhuman.

The Hornivores (you) are some of the most screwed up and naughty beings in the Universe. And their numbers are growing, mostly due to skipped or misused contraception. You care not. There's one thing you want, one sole need.

Half manly, half bestial, you act on instinct, and animal charisma smoothes the way. It's unlikely
Your exact opposite:
The Slow Dancer

Deliberate Gentle Love Dreamer
you're driven by much other than your own selfish, orgasmic requirements. Your appearance and personality have evolved for the hunt. Ass beckons, you oblige.

For the record, you can happily bang all personality types, however your match percentages might be low with the kinder, more sensible people of the world, purely because they all wish to avoid you. Good luck to them.

"One day, the villagers came with torches to the house. In the smoldering ashes, stray dogs looked for cooked flesh."

AVOID: The Priss, The Sonnet
CONSIDER: Half-Cocked, Genghis Khunt

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

I'm also a fucking corporate sell-out who missed two beautiful people who are perfect for one-another's day of matrimony. I tried to escape, but leadership requires sacrifice. Since I wasn't there to say it, I'll give it a whirl now: "Fuck yeah B&B. Have gorgeous jedi bebbehs!!!"

Friday, September 29, 2006

RAVE: Music

I'm a savage, savage beast. Like any good savage caveman beast, few things soothe me like the sweet sound of music (or a blowjob, I love those too). Since it's been a grip since I last posted, I thought I'd share some of the sounds that make me in lieu of some kind of heartfelt life update or an apology for not sharing my wisdom with you, dear reader, for almost a month.

So clean your glasses and expand your mind with the eclectic sounds that soothe the savage, savage caveman.

Glory Pit: They're local, they're talented, and I always have a good time at their shows. The Glory Pit delves deep into the realms of slam rock, work rock, the guitar solo, human resources/recruiting, and the paintings of John Constable. Dig around enough on their site and you might even find a few pictures of me at shows (in addition to some good frikkin music). These folks co-hold the dubious distinction of being the only musicicans to make me cry this year, along with Kelly Clarkson. (If you find yourself wondering why Kelly Clarkson makes me cry, click here.)

Outkast: There's just something about rappers having fun that makes me smile. If you don't own Idlewild yet, go get it now. It's like Speakerboxxx/The Love Below smushed into one disc, and Big Boi's stuff is better this go-round. Someday, I'm going to swingdance to "When I Look In Your Eyes."

Anarchy Club: Yes, I know they were on Guitar Hero. No, I had never heard of them before Guitar Hero, but that's because I don't live anywhere near Boston. If I lived near Boston, I'd be at an Anarchy Club show right fucking now. They're that good.

The Bags: Okay, so it's another band from Guitar Hero. What can I say? Penner's been playing the game again in anticipation of the sequel (which is available for preorder from your friendly local game shoppe). I remember being at Slander's place and using his hard-earned credits to purchase "Caveman Rejoice!" from the list of unlockable songs. The song rocked so hard that I evolved. Sure, I was a savage before, but I became the savage caveman you all know and love (arguably, I was a caveman long before I heard the song for the first time, but the story is cooler if I evolve like some over-levelled pokemon). AC/DC solos meet Bad Religion/Cro-mags vocals, and that makes the caveman happy. How can a band this fucking cool not be mindblowingly famous? There's just no goddamned justice in the world.

The Coup: Google 'em. Boots Riley is one of the most stepped-over rappers in the game right now. He's got politics, flow, skills, and an ear for beats. "My Favorite Mutiny" has been rocking my player since March and I'm still not tired of. Don't ever let they punk asses ever defeat you. They got us on the corner wearing pleather and see-through. All y'all's goldmines. They wanna deplete you.

Tori Amos: Even the most savage of cavemen can't be angry all the time. Sometimes he has to calm the fuck down and listen to some Tori. She genius creativity unbounded by earthly matters (or the ability to make sense half the time), but her voice is balm on my weary muscles after a long day of babysitting too many trainees (and trainers and team managers and clients and other folks you don't care about). So long as the caveman can listen to Tori, all remains well.

So yeah, my playlists are eclectic. You probably already knew that (or had at least guessed by now). Sometimes, the music is all that keeps me sane. It's gotten me through the shittiest times in my life, and it's still with me now that things're going well. Talented people making noise makes the caveman smile. So does sleep, so g'night.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

RANT: Israel

I know what you're thinking, "But Wargolem, nobody wants to read about politics - especially not me." But do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking, "Fuck that!" Followed by, "I'll write about whatever the fuck I want. I'm the goddamned caveman, this is my blog, and you're a goddamned pussy. That's why Jesus told me to hate you."

You see, Jesus was a bad Jew. He made trouble for the other folks that just wanted to maintain a low profile, dodge the fucking Romans, and generally not get enslaved again. Things didn't go according to plan because somebody couldn't stop using the secrets of quaballah to resurrect Lazaruses and walk on fucking water all the damned time. The way the Hebrews figured it, the fucking messiah should at least kick everyone's ass and get his people to be left the fuck alone. But no, the sonuvabitch had to go around dropping his dad's name all over god's green. Then the fucker went and got himself martyred.

This shit kept going for years until finally the Romans decided that this bad Jew must've been an okay guy. After some Da Vinci code shit, he's the son of god and the best thing since broken "this is my body" bread. Good news for the bad dead Jew, bad news for god's chosen people still alive and kicking. Many years later, founded on the premise that bad Jew worshippers with blonde hair and blue eyes were superior to everyone else, a failed Austrian artist got this bright idea to rant in a beer hall about rounding all the Jews up and taking their stuff. I think we all know the fucking zeig heil story that follows.

In the aftermath, the pissed off Jews of the world went to the holy land and wrecked some fucking shop. Much ass was kicked, and the Jews finally had a place to call their very own. A Jewish state, a Hebrew haven - Israel. It's a nation that's home to some of the most famous bits of history and holiest sites on the planet. I find the fact that it was founded on the premise of stomping a mudhole in anyone who fucked with it to be highly satisfying.

So when Lebanese guerillas fucked with Israel, Israel fucked back. If you look at the nation's history, you'll see that it's nothing new. Israel is like the scrawny kid that's scarred from so many fights that he just looks at bullies and makes 'em think twice. Sure, you may beat 'im up, but you'll get twice what you give. And that, dear reader, is why the international community pressured Israel to halt their retaliation against Lebanon. They knew that if you push the Lion of Zion far enough, you won't like how they push back.

But this wouldn't be a rant if I didn't disagree with something, so here goes. Fuck the international community. Most of them can head to the supermarket without worry of random rocket attacks. Most of them can pack their kids onto a schoolbus without fear of a suicide bomber ending their bloodline. Most of them don't know what it's like to make concession after concession after concession to parties they've already defeated in battle - only to have them returned with scorn and violence. Fuck them for judging the soverign nation of Israel. Hell, I'd be all for making Israel the 52nd state (Puerto Rico's waited like a trooper, so I can't give Israel cuts-ies in the queue).

I say, let Israel keep kicking ass. Hell, their staunchest ally is right next door in Iraq. It'd be the caveman thing to do.

Friday, August 18, 2006

RAVE: Hooters

So, that last entry was a pisser. I feel like a gotta follow it up with something cool to keep your attention, so that's what I'm'a gonna do. I'm gonna write about the greatest place on Earth. That's right, I'm gonna tell y'all about Hooters. No, not boobies (those're great too), the best place I've found to eat in a damned long time.

Caveman like!

Where else on god's green can you get wings, beer, millions of TVs, beer, and comraderie - all served up by a gorgeous young buxom lass. Hell, even if she ain't young, at Hooters, she'll damn sure be buxom. Cavemen like buxom!

It's not just the girls though. I got a great Cuban sammich, a bunch of brews (and a spectacular view of a metric fuckton of hawtness) for me an' Slander for less than forty bucks. (That's after a generous tip. Always tip your waitress.) I got to watch four different guys get singled out and humiliated by the Hooters girls just for aging a year. Hell, I even caught the ass-end of a Royals game. Heaven is a Hooters near you!

And it wouldn't be me without a little rant at the end. Slander got a plate of wings, and the waitress asked if he'd like them de-boned. He said no, and we lived to regret it. At the table right next to us, two guys with their sig-Os ordered a ton of wings and got them de-boned. The waitress actually got a rubber glove, peeled the meat from those deadly wing bones, and put the chicken on a plate in front of the guys. IT WAS AMAZING!!!!!! I watched in awe (and arousal) as our waitress heaped steaming meat drenched on sauce on a plate in front of our neighbors - peeled from the bone by her own delicate hands. I almost ordered some fucking wings after seeing that. Stupid me for getting a sammich.

So here's the rant part... while Slander and the guys at the next table are watching this beatiful spectacle, one of the sig-Os cast a look of pure disdain at the buxom young serving lass. I was hurt. I mean, how could she do anything other than watch in awe at what was going on? Did she think the server was demeaning herself somehow? Hell, she made good money for peeling meat off the bone and serving it up. In this era of liberated women and pussy-fied men, this was a spectacle to be cherished and enjoyed. Hell, maybe if she's served her man a plate of meat she'd de-boned for him, he'd look at her like that. In short, if you're the type of down-the-nose, stuck-up bitch that would dare look down on the buxom serving lasses at Hooters, stay out of Hooters. Learn to swallow after a blowjob and you might get those looks too. Let the man enjoy his chicken, dammit.

So yeah, caveman like Hooters. Caveman hate bitches what don't.

RANT: Going Home...

So, I gotta share one of my biggest secrets ever with you. No, I don't know who you are (but if you're reading my blog, you're likely someone who enjoys being offended), but I think I can trust ya. The secret is this: I never want to go home.

"Where is home?" you ask. Well, I'll tell ya. Home is the rat cesspool of a hamlet known as Coffeyville, Kansas. I think of the sulphur stink and the racism and the endless array of bad memories and I tremble. I hate the town.

Still, I've been dragged back there on more than one occasion. I had to do a stint at when times got tough, and I have to pay lip service to the time-honored tradition of visiting family. I drive down my old street, past my old schools, toward my old house, and I really want to turn the car around and go the fuck right on back to Manhattan. That's mostly the reason I won't be attending this thing.

It messes with me, 'cause I'm mostly fearless. I'm a goddamned caveman golem. I'm fucking invincible - the distilled elemental essence of 'fuck you!' Still, the thought of touching base with the three folks I used to run with that I'd actually want to see isn't worth the trip. My brain won't rationalize it. I can't make it click in my brain that I should want to see folks I went to highschool with because that's what people do after ten years.

In writing this, I think I might've figured out why. I'm not afraid that I'm not as successful as I should be, I'm not afraid that folks'll ask about shit I don't want to talk about and I won't have a good answer other than "Never marry a whore.", I'm not afraid that they'll judge Penner ('cause she's invincible too, fucking A right!). Nope, I'm afraid of getting swept up in that thing I used to be and those things I used to do. It'd be easy to fall into old molds, but they aren't me anymore.

So I'm not going home. I just got a big promotion and I can't afford the time away from work anyway. It's a good enough excuse for me, and generally an easier one to explain.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

RANT: So, you're a jackass?

I'm a bastard, actually. My biological father died when I was 16. Mom brought me the obit and said something to the effect of "I thought I'd tell you that he died, 'cause it wouldn't be fair to tell you later if you ever asked me." Yeah, my mom loves the run-ons almost as much as she loves me. I thought it was weird at the time because I'd never once asked her about the guy that knocked her up. Sure, my dad (actually my stepdad, but anyone who'd marry a 21-year-old gal with a five-year-old kid deserves the title way more than my sperm donor) and his best friend made mention of the dude when they were drunk and I was but a wee lad of 14, but I'd never said word one to my mom about the guy.

Turns out that the asshat had a kid before me and like four afterward with the gal he actually married. I imagine that a shotgun and an angry old man from rural southeast Kansas were present at the ceremony. I met my half-sister when the Arby's opened up in my hometown. She knew me, and I didn't know her. I still don't know her, because I wasn't interested in catching up with the firstborn of my deadbeat bio-dad from across the counter. Jamocha was just more important at the time.

Still, it's haunted me ever since, and it's started a trend most foul in my life. I remind everyone of someone. I talk to someone for a minute, and they know me from somewhere. Maybe it's my familiar face, my ascerbic wit, or the funny way I cover my fucked-up teeth with my lips when I talk, but everyone knows me from somewhere. It makes things tough for me, 'cause I suck with names. I don't know a damn one of these people who know me from somewhere. Maybe my evil twin (remember, I have four half-brothers that I've never met) has been acting all cool and me-like around folks. Regardless, I remind everyone of someone. I think I reminded my ex-wife of the first guy who raped her when she was six or somesuch melodramatic bullshit.

It's handy sometimes, I'll admit. When I met my present chick, I think I reminded her of someone she either really loved and respected, or just really wanted to make the sexings with. Either way, I made out like a bandit. If bio-dad could see me now, I'm sure he'd be real goddamn proud (or he'd have no idea who the fuck I was, since I'm almost certain he never saw me). I remind my baby girls (s'what I call my cats, no rugrats for the golem) of that guy who feeds them in the morning and lets them climb on him when he gets home from work. (Who is that guy, anyway?) So it ain't all badness and woe-is-me.

So, this is me meandering through a writing exercise. The idea is to answer some really defining question. I chose "So, you're a jackass?" because it seemed easy enough to answer. I hope it's been revealing, 'cause it's intended to set the tone for my entries from here on out. I'll either rant about something that pisses me off, or rave about something that makes me smile. Heck, sometimes I might bring in a guest to do one or the other for me.

That's just the kind of magnificent bastard I am.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006


Hey cavemen / Sharpen up your sticks
We'll drive that wooly mammoth right off the cliff
Now cavemen / Gather 'round the flames
We'll eat the meat and divide up what remains
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice

Hey cavemen / Now that we are a team
We'll attack those other cavemen across the stream
We'll sneak up / Ready for a fight
We'll steal their skins and weapons in the dead of night
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Ay abuna!

Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen dahuh
Ay en e uh / Ay en e uh / Ay en e uh

- The Bags, Caveman Rejoice

So shit, here's my blog. I don't really have any high ambitions about reporting news or getting famous or any of that jackassery. I'm just looking for a place to put my thoughts and opinions to page, and maybe make some people think along the way. I'm a guy, and an unrepentant guy at that, so some of what I put here may offend or frighten you. If that's the case, exercise your freedom to click elsewhere.