3rd guest post comes from my good friend Drew.

Drew is 85% of the reason I started this thing. His Livejournal (circa 2002-2005) is something that transcended typical puffy-eyed bloggery to become something quite heroic. He inspired me. He still writes, but it is more like stand-up comedy now. He now makes more money than he deserves to, selling insurance in one of the Carolinas. He also used to have the most entertaining temper problem in history. I once saw him flip out and beat his hands into scappy lumps against a brick wall because an ATM wouldn’t give him money to buy obscure Scandinavian pagan black metal CD’s.

Enjoy.

I remember a few years back I was walking around with my friend Scott Bibus on some railroad tracks. As we walked, we went by this sheltered kind of area where there were these two bums hanging out. Being that Scott’s biggest fear was getting raped in the ass by a homosexual bum while light rock hits of the 80’s were playing, we were already sort of on edge about the situation, but it was made worse when one of the dudes saw us and started yelling, “HEY! HEY! HEY GUYS, C’MERE!” Which went from really scary to really awkward because we had to just sort of smile and wave like two fucking morons that didn’t know they were about to get a case of anal AIDS. Nothing happened, but one thing I did notice was that while the one bum was yelling at us, the other one was kind of covering his face and looking away, like he was embarassed. So I learned that people who cook shit in soda cans and literally shit where they eat (in dumpsters) actually do have shame. Which is fucked up. Even this dude who was crouching in a bus station all by himself was screaming apocalyptic shit at the moths surrounding him. It also made me sort of think on a deeper level how when you’re in a shit situation where you feel totally isolated, you’re forced to make due with what you have. To further elaborate, you have to make a fucking friend that you don’t want to make – shit happened to me in the 5th grade with a kid named Andrew Lorge. Now, don’t get me wrong, Andrew Lorge was a nice kid but there was a reason he didn’t have any friends. The kid fucking smelled like shit. Those years where the onset of body odor occurs and if you’re not careful, you’re suddenly an outcast for reasons you might not understand. Of course, it didn’t help that he was so pale that you could see the veins through his skin, either. He was obsessed with this role-playing game that I never understood but pretended to; called Mechwarrior. He would bring these fucking books to class, talk about them in the locker room; just fucking everywhere. The worst part was how he’d bring it up. He’d run up to you and yell, “YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT MECHS?” Being ten years old and already feeling like an ass because I had this group of girls who relentlessly teased me (the worst of which is now a fucking stripper), I did what anyone else would do: I beat the fucking shit out of him at recess until he stopped talking to me. Kind of an aimless story, but I guess I just wanted to say that on a very petty level, I understand what it’s like to be forced to partner up with someone for survival.

A lot of shit on my mind. I will be honest and say I have been stagnating a bit as of late. I was feeling pretty uninspired, until my meeting with the boss man.

Our advertising department recently got a new big cheese, the new SVP. I met with him yesterday, and the effects of the meeting are still being felt.

He is one of those big idea advertising guys, the type of person that jerks in ties would pay 1500 dollars to see give a seminar at some swanky hotel in the city. He would definitely rock an N*sync-esque headset and use sweet powerpoints. Think Tom Cruise in Magnolia, Everything Scat, the main character in the book Syrup wishes he could be, Topher Grace in the movie, In Good Company, and Henry Rollins’ character in Feast…I’m telling you, see that fuckin movie because I am going to keep dropping obscure references to it, and you are going to miss the frackin‘ boat. One of those people that is self-consciously hip, because he knows he has to be, lest he get swallowed up by all the tech-savvy young guns fresh out of college with their arsenal of Helios and Zune players, who think Myspace is “played out”.

Be that as it may, I met with him, and it was refreshing, a solid shot in the ass for my attitudes toward work. He, of infinite success and almost unrealistic vision, expressed a lot of faith in me because I am young, and I will be “the future” of this organization and blah blah blah. He told me to go ahead and step on toes, ruffle feathers, and don’t listen to what any old fucks have to tell me, Besides him, I need to listen to him, (he’s 40, but you wouldn’t know it…that’s the point) and I don’t have much of a problem.

He wants to “usher us into a new age” or whatever, break people down, generalize, compartmentalize, figure out how to manipulate them into buying ringtones so we can stop using outdated media like print (egad!!) radio (wholly defeated, I hear) and TV (we all love it), in preparation for the cliff-dive that CD sales are going to take. Now I can take this either way. Ive spent a lot of my life, especially my academic one, railing against this kind of manipulative, catch-phrasey jargon-rich rhetoric that comes from “Advertising Professionals”. I am still very uncomfortable with it, but since this is my job for the time being, I am going to do my best to break it down, balance it out (the benefits of being a Libra), and go “black checker, red checker” on it…thanks uncle Joey.

Ok, quickly, my cynical analysis: This is all well and truly fucked. I’m fucking quitting, going vegan, deleting my facebook, shopping at thrift stores, and moving to Wascott Wisconsin, where I can drink in ONE bar, write leaflets, and jerk off a lot, safe from falling prices and the retarded/old greeters at Wal-Mart.

Anyway, on with the angular over analysis of this situation.

See, a lot of people hate on such pie-in-the-sky thinking because it is unrealistic, but when all the chips are down/the cards are on the table/at the end of the day/when all is said and done, cut and dried, the men separated from the boyz II men (pick your favorite cliche, apparently…) and you need to pull off some cool shit, it doesn’t hurt to have one of these big dreaming motherfuckers in your crew. Inversely, it also helps to have a cynical realist fuck around too, to keep Mr. Helium Brain tethered to the ground.

In my situation, I have to weigh the options.

My other influence apart from this guy (we’ll call him SVP), is my immediate boss, who I work with day to day. She is sweet, smart, and driven, but the truth is that she is extremely overworked and frazzled. I watch her writing emails and it is strangely amusing, watching her hammer on her keyboard and swear a lot. She resents SVP. She is the gruff Sargeant in the trenches stepping over rats and corpses holding defiled and failed magazine ventures, he is the Colonel, all shiny buttons, medals, and fucking fantastic boots (the 2009 Jordans, probably). To her, he doesn’t know the reality of the situation, and he truly does not know what its like to bust ass every day in the mud like she does.

Because of SVP’s rallying though….I get the distinct vibe that my department is afraid of me now….more on this later

(TO BE CONTINUED)

There are a few other things though. Lil’ Wayne is a fucking genius, if you don’t know by now, you better get to the learning annex, bitch.

So be a competitor or get out the weather
Me? I got a umbrella and a Beretta

I shook this guy’s hand, it was like he barely saw me, I am of ZERO concern to him, and his handshake reflected that. Loose, soft, unmotivated. I’m surprised I even got a look at all, or any kind of acknowledgement. A dark club, sunglasses on, and a non person like me is not a combination a guy like this even needs to concern himself with.

They ask me why I wear shades at nighttime…cause I don’t wanna see nothin’.

The Diplomats work right next to me. I see Jimmy Jones’ mom almost as much as I hear “Ballllllllin!!!”. In the same vein, the cool ass AV technician guy made a music video about his receding hairline called “Ballllldin!!”

I went to the offices of Rolling Stone/US Weekly today for a luncheon with the rocker guy from American Idol who lost. Free food, and I got to see if the people who work for US weekly really are the twits I imagined they were. They are. Free food, free Rolling Stone magazines everywhere.

Ok, that’s it, I’m out. I have a big weekend planned. Have a good one. Wait…before I go…

MORE SHANE MCGOWAN!!!!! AAAAHHHHH!!!

I realize it’s small….thus making it anticlimactic, but, AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

So that last one, the one with the cockeyed references to ex girlfriends and hard drugs, yup, that was the 50th post. Lets celebrate.

If you read this, do me a favor, tonight, slam/drink 4 beers in 40 minutes. Easy, no problem. Slam ‘em and grab your cell phone. Go through it, find the phone numbers of all those random women/men you managed to grub digits off of. I’m talking randoms, the ones who probably don’t know who you are. I know you all have plenty of numbers like that at your disposal. Bonus points if you skeeted/sat on their chin but that is beside the point. Take your 4 beer buzz and give them a call, what you do from there is your business…mostly, but please say one of these three things:

a.) I just got back from the doctor, and its not looking good.
b.) “You’re the ebony to my ivory” (bonus points if she isn’t actually “ebony”.
c.) “Hey momma! You still do that thing with the back of your throat??”
d.) “I love you.”

Really, try it, let me know what happens. Email me the results at warnberh@gmail.com
I’m serious. If one person does this (HIGHLY unlikely) I will be ecstatic.

This blog is now interactive, now go for it.

More to come later.

And now, Shane fuckin McGowan of The Pogues. The greatest man to ever walk the earth (?)
beginning…

during…

now?…