I got another message today from our accent-switching whacked fuckhead who called a few weeks ago. (Call number 7 if you click the link)

Here it is, painstakingly recorded word for word, or damn close:

“I was wondering, as ah, somebody who has warned you continuously continuously, continuously, continuously about the fact that well, on the one hand I think like yeah like yeah you really owe me some money for…

for what exactly?

What do YOU think you owe me money for…

As somebody who wrote [something unintelligible]… Why would I be thanking them, yeah like yeah like your continued association here with people who have been bugging my house, nixing this thought and that thought, et cetera et cetera.

When the World Trade Center either went down or it didn’t, I haven’t been there to see… I haven’t seen the corpses…. And that’s the reality of it, I didn’t even meet you but these are people that I’ve known for a long time, and I said, (American teenager/hippy accent) ‘what are these guys talking about man? Are you ok?’

Reality…(Long pause, the way she said this word was creepy) They probably don’t like you either. So as we sit here looking at you… you’re looking at us… who’s the best? I’m better than any…[cut off by the voice mail system]

Call 2: (Bloated oil tycoon southern accent) “Hi, I’m like a good friend of Donald Trump’s, and I’m about the most aggressive purchaser that you are ever going to find.

cuz like, uh…

(stunned Irish accent) Who was that guy? Eminem was it? Really? like Eminem drove over a cliff with his pregnant girlfriend?

America! You are off your scrawny’s! And that’s why you lost the World Trade Center.. and thats why over…what, two thousand of your troops or something are dead?

that’s why you are losers!

that’s why you’re NOT the #1 economy, because I said so!

Now I’m gooing to take you over, because you are bad news for everybody!

(Really screaming now in a cadenced Irish/Australian drill sergeant voice)

You are Hamburger Hill!
You are Ewan Mcgregor!
You’re Colin [something unintelligible...Probably Farrel] jackin off!
You’re fifteen fuckin years old!
BYE!”

In a rush of screaming static, she was gone. She wasn’t cut off that time. I think I heard her handset disintegrate.

Now that I think about it, and verifying the location of her phone number that she didn’t bother to block, I’ve been getting calls from this Australian woman during the day. She claims that she wrote a few songs by our biggest female artist. She would just tell me that she is extremely flattered but not angry, she just wants some money for them. These calls she sounds just spacey and extremely weird. In so many words, I always tell her to fuck off. This must be the same woman calling me after the sun has gone down and her Lithium/Foster’s/Lithium cocktail has worn off.

We learned about this in abnormal psych, word salad, switching accents, and this woman is fucking off her nut. Or maybe I am. Either way, I was either close to laughing or close to screaming the whole time I was listening, yet I did neither, I just hovered in reactionary purgatory until it was over.

She did say some awesome things though, I really liked the bit calling us Hamburger Hill. However, despite her best efforts, she is still in second place for CRAZY, behind the legendary Mr. Steves.

I have the number of an ex-cop security guy who works for us, I am thinking about calling him up and giving him this woman’s number. He’s done some good work for us, namely on an extremely troubled Anthony Kiedis “fan” from Toronto. He fixed her wagon, fixed it real good.

Will keep you posted. Probably post some stupid picture later in the day.

One of our huge, big time, G-Unit Sympathizer rappers was just doing an interview slash photo shoot in my reception area.

It was cool the way the photographer did it, he would ask him questions about each track on his new album. When he started saying something that made him happy or serious or whatever, the photographer snapped a picture, mid-sentence.

He was what many of my music journalist friends would consider a “good interview”. He was very forthcoming (then again, who doesn’t like to talk about themselves?…ahem…) and wasn’t spitting out pre-programmed answers.

It was cool to sit there and pretend like I wasn’t eavesdropping.

What else….shit I only have a few minutes before I leave work….

Um, I went to the strip club a block away from my house on Friday with my brother, my roommate, my cousin, and this random russian fuck who lives in my building. It was going well with the jiggling asses and all, but ended badly when, after dropping 200 dollars between all of us, I flipped out on a stripper that tried to sell us a 5 dollar bottle of water. I left yelling, “that’s how they get you!” while dragging my cousin by his shirt collar. It could have gone a lot worse.

I also just got an assignment to review the new CL Smooth album for this magazine. I’ve been verbally bitch-slapped a hundred times for not ever hearing the original Pete Rock and CL Smooth disc, and headquarters was no exception. Apparently I need to get the original before I can hear one note of the new one. I love the way these guys do business.

And now, the band that makes Slipknot look like the fucking Banana Splits.

Wow, I think yesterday’s post was the most blatantly misogynistic (spelling?) thing I have ever written. Always good to reach a new low.

My brother and my cousin are coming from back home to hang out here for the weekend. Sheeeeeeeeeeit.

And now, a picture of my brother, blacked out, hitting on two of my ex-girlfriends at the same time.

This is the definition of foreshadowing.