He is angry. He is German. He has foam weaponry. And he is completely fed up with American live-action role-players (Larpers) not taking this thing seriously. I often display the same level of frustration whenever Jesse describes how adorable his girlfriend is in the morning or when Neil stretches and yawns in an exaggerated manner.

And now, a word form our sponsor...

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-HBD

I’ve often been accused of selfishness, egotism, hypocrisy, stealing change, encouraging prostitution, unreliability, inappropriate displays of wit, sleeplessness, liking hockey, yelling at imprudent times and targets, shoplifting fantasy novels, cheapness, locking myself out of my own bathroom, lateness, anti-Semitism, loquaciousness, prolix, verbosity, wordiness, pretention and drunkenness.

To deflect, I would like to enumerate several sins against humanity of which I, personally, am not guilty:

I Have Never…

Perpetuated an urban legend about an autistic kid stealing a penguin from the aquarium and then idly watched as you ran about town spreading the details of this tale, convinced that it was the best story you’ve ever heard. NPR Dispels Penguin Urban Legend

Devised a three-tiered system of responsibility in which you and I will first take care of a plant together, then a cat, and then have a child. Nor have I, after the plant died and the cat ran away, went ahead and had the kid anyway.

Offered my services to you as a dog walker, ignored your directions to your apartment, called you from the kitchen of your neighbor’s apartment wondering where the dog is, come into your bar later and offered a pile of unsolicited stories about your personal life, jammed a bunch of nonsense into Ennis’ ear while he was trying to draw quietly in his notebook and have dinner, then asked you to borrow money a few days later. And I never will.

Exploited the natives. Not directly.

Written this email to Here Be Dragons: Listening to How To Build A Coal Furnace From Scratch on my plane ride and I have to tell you that even the low voice narrator was wrong about Gaudi and Jessie(sic) was just utterly retarded about him. The architect that designs everything to look like bones and "other human innards" is Antonio Calatrava...Gaudi made shit that looked like sand castles. Do some fuckin research. That’s ok—airplanes make me cranky too, and I’ve known enough architects to know that a sense of humor is not a prerequisite for the field...and if you're interested, I think this link should put the issue to rest: Gaudi's House of Bones

Displayed a racist statuette of a monkey dressed as a stereotypical African-American servant in my home. This statuette:

Used national tragedy as a means to enable the machinations of the military-industrial complex. Eh? Take that, Establishment!

Taken a 5 lb shit. Zack has. Told us aaalllll about it, he did. Who’s a good boy?

Withheld thousands of dollars in pay from one of my most loyal employees, run a bar without a liquor license, or suspended someone’s health insurance without telling them first.

Fought over the body of a loved one.

Come to town to visit old friends, forgot to call you, then called you the following day to invite you to breakfast and also to ask to borrow money so I have enough gas to get home (do you see a theme here? Since when do I have money?).--Sorry buddy, my phone was off and I lost my ATM card anyway so I couldn’t have helped. And since I find it impossible to be angry with Johnny, please enjoy this video he made in a radiation suit: Johnny's Video

Run a daycare service that rents the babies out to local gypsies for begging purposes. This really happened! How can they be making a profit? Is the cut from a gypsy’s daily alms-gathering really enough to compel you to do something this scumbalicious and then wither away in some dusty Spanish jail? I could really use an economics lesson here.

Peed in my sink. Ok that’s not true—I have. Recently. To be fair, I woke up to discover that I’d locked my bathroom door before I went to bed, even though I live alone. I was late for class and had to go, so I urinated in the basin in the kitchen sink. What?

Well, now that your attentions have been successfully redirected from my shortcomings, I think it would be best for all of us to take a quiet moment and prioritize our apologies. I thank you for your forgiveness.

-Jesse Ackles, Penitent

]]>I’ve often been accused of selfishness, egotism, hypocrisy, stealing change, encouraging prostitution, unreliability, inappropriate displays of wit, sleeplessness, liking hockey, yelling at imprudent times and targets, shoplifting fantasy novels, cheapness, locking myself out of my own bathroom, lateness, anti-Semitism, loquaciousness,...http://herebedragons.typepad.com/here_be_dragons_podcast/2009/11/things-i-have-not-done.htmlhttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/HereBeDragonsPodcast/~3/-Rj9PTEu6EQ/jesus-deaded-all-them-indians.htmlHere Be DragonsThu, 26 Nov 2009 10:37:44 PSTtag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e552ac326788340120a6de1261970b

Due to the holiday I will be dedicating most of my time to binge-eating, holiday shopping and napping (in no particular order and often simultaneously). So, following the lead of Mr. Ackles, I won't be posting anything of my own creation. After all, Jesse said it best this week when he told me, "while I didn't generate what I posted, I stand by it as a unique document worthy of our readership." It's a plausible bit of reasoning that I will now further exploit.

Ocho: Right. So now, we all know that, when he was a kid, Jesus had to spend most of his time fighting the dinosaurs. Now, the dinosaurs were real savages and shit. They ate airplanes and everything. But there was this one little girl dinosaur Jesus met one day that wasn’t like the other dinosaurs. She was very kind and gentle. And she was sexy as all hell. So Jesus went to the head dinosaur and asked for a truce. He said, “Mr. Head Dinosaur, I cannot tell a lie. I love your little baby dinosaur daughter. I would like to marry her, so that we have little DinoJesus babies one day, and raise them to be cage fighters.”

But the head dinosaur wasn’t hearing that shit. He was very racist against Jesus, and only wanted his daughter to marry other dinosaurs. So Jesus said, “All right, BITCH. You wanna play it like that? You gon PAY!” So then he went over to England and hooked up with the Pilgrims, who had these machine-gun musket type things. Then, they deaded ALL THEM FUCKING DINOS. Even the flying ones. POW! They just shot that shit right out of the air.

Now, when the Indians heard about this, they got really fucking pissed, because they liked painting dinosaurs on their teepees and shit. So they sent out this giant smoke signal from America that said HEY YOU WHITE PEOPLE! COME GET A TASTE OF SQUANTO, BITCHES! Then they did that thing where they cover their mouths and go BA BA BA BA BA BA BA!!! Well, Jesus didn’t like that too much. So he hopped on the pilgrims’ boat and sailed on over with his little dinosaur baby momma.

But they didn’t know where to land, right? They needed to land somewhere where the little Indians couldn’t wrestle them. But then, out in the middle of the ocean, this big turkey flew onto the front of their ship. And he said, “Follow me.” Then he flew ahead.

So Jesus and the pilgrims followed the turkey all the way to a Plymouth dealership. This was a long time ago, so they did have brokeass Plymouth Dusters back then. So Jesus thanked the turkey for leading them to the car dealer. But then he thought to himself, “Hey, you know turkey is a pretty good lunch meat. But I bet it would make a good dinner meat, too.”

So Jesus asked the Indians to help him catch the turkey. Only they had a Butterball already cooked and ready to go. So then they just all ate. Then Jesus deaded ALL THEM INDIANS. Then he banged that hot little stegosaurus. Then they drove off.

And that's the true story of the first Thanksgiving. Legend has it, if you take a boat out into the ocean, there are still turkeys out there, ready to guide you.

Always warms my heart. A safe and happy Thanksgiving to you, all 23-36 of our listeners/reader, from all of us at HBD.

It’s been a long road for Joel Ropesman. A long, excruciating, improbable road. Joel’s is a journey beset by hardship. By confusion. By disfigurement. And by huge swarms of monstrous insects. Join us for the conclusion of Joel’s exciting journey into pain and misery.

Download Worse Than Death - Pt. 3

-HBD

This is an old favorite of mine. From the Coldwater Daily Reporter in Michigan, an op-ed piece I came across while working for Balthazar last year. -JRA

Coldwater, Mich.

To the Editor:

Some of Bush’s oil friends want to rent the Grand Canyon because they are running out of places to store the oil profits.

George W. and wife were going out and the wife asked, “George are you ready?” George replied, “as soon as I find my crown.”

Why don’t they have seat belts on school buses? We get a ticket if we don’t have them on. I watched a story on TV about polar bears in Canada for National Geographic. I get tired of hearing how dangerous this is filming sharks, bears and alligators. When the animal does respond it's terrible and either shot or carted off to some remote region.

They are doing what is natural to them. The one we should worry about is the two-legged ones — and I'm sure they don't work for free. So when you guys are in some place where God has never been chasing snakes, don't tell me how dangerous it is, please.

When you hear some of these motorcycles go by, why do we have to have mufflers on our cars?

Why don’t they have seat belts on school buses? If we don’t use them we get a ticket.

Due to the economy, people are getting rid of their pets. Why don’t they sell the sea-doo, snowmobile, float boat and one SUV?That would buy a lot of food and care for the animal.

What happened to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan? I guess we’re getting used to the body bags coming back.

Robbers are using women’s thong underwear for masks. I think I’d rather use the Lone Ranger’s.

The candidates have promised us the moon. Don’t expect much from our hard-working Congress.

-Jesse Ackles, Archivist

If there has ever been a position in all of professional sports where egocentric, outlandish and sometimes insubordinate behavior has become not only emblematic but the determining factor of your popularity it is that of the NFL wide receiver. A passive fan of the league (i.e.- your girlfriend, mom, girlfriend's mom, 4-year-old nephew) would have a hard time identifying the likes of Andre Johnson, Steve Smith or Larry Fitzgerald, all of whom have put up fantastic career numbers and consistently produce at a higher level than most in their position. However, they're relatively quiet, opting rather to let their play on the field do their talking for them as opposed to openly taunting defensive backs in pre-game interviews and slandering teammates in post-game press conferences. Now, ask those same aloof fans who Terrell Owens, Chad Ochocinco (formerly Chad Johnson) or Randy Moss are and you would get a resounding "Oh, I like him! He's funny!" response. Why? Because they're assholes.

People like assholes, despite what most say. For instance, I happen to be one myself. I'm crotchety, judgmental, selfish, mask most of my insecurities by pointing out the flaws of others (often my own friends) and have great difficulty finding a woman who can stand my presence for more than a few weeks, tops. Yet, somehow I find myself surrounded with people who enjoy my company. It's fucking ridiculous. People just find assholes more interesting, I guess. Look at about 3/4 the people on your TV. Asshole, asshole, asshole, Anthony Bourdain, asshole, asshole, asshole, Tina Fey, asshole, asshole, asshole, the guy from Dirty Jobs. Done. And with all this, Grey's Anatomy and NCIS continually top their nights in Neilsen ratings. We're talking that skinny fuck from Loverboy and Mark Harmon, people.

In professional football, the star wide receiver commonly displays his eagerness to be the top contributor to his team's success. After all, a receiver NEEDS the quarterback to give them the ball so it only makes sense that they would express this in an abrasive manner whenever a camera or tape recorder is present. It's quite ironic that the only player he cannot battle for face-time with is the starting quarterback, due to the fact that he's always the de facto face of the team and inherently looked at as a "good guy" (unless you're Jay Cutler, but that's mainly because his mouth looks like a dickhole). With the possible exception of the running back (or in Cleveland's case, kicker Phil Dawson), the rest of the team members are looked at as minor contributors and are commonly overlooked by roving reporters in search of juicy quotes. Who wants to hear an offensive lineman talk? He's paid to be fat. Here's a bacon-wrapped chili-cheese dog deep fried in Dr. Pepper, fatty. Now, shut your fat fucking face!

Now, the mouth of the wide receiver can only be as big as his talent, which brings us to the subject of today's posting: Freddie Mitchell. Who? Exactly. Most may remember him as the mohawk-sporting Philadelphia wide receiver who caught this famous pass that contributed to an Eagles Super Bowl appearance. I remember him as a mediocre slot receiver who tried to ride a single catch into NFL stardom by turning into a grand-standing prick. He exhibited asshole-like behavior by thanking his hands in a post-game interview for "being so great" and showed up to subsequent press conferences with oven mitts to prevent any unexpected damages. He also went the Wu-Tang route and gave himself several nicknames. It takes a special type of asshole to give himself a moniker, let alone several. This thought never crossed Freddie's mind as he relentlessly implored people to refer to him by such aliases as The People's Champ, The Sultan of Slot, First Down Freddie, Fourth Down Freddie, Hollywood, 4th and 26 Freddie, Puppetmaster, and FredEx (because he "always delivers" – see what he did there?), a nickname shared with San Francisco Giants infielder Freddy Sanchez.

I repeat, one catch.

The Eagles eventually lost to the Patriots in Super Bowl XXXIX, a loss that Freddie took quite gracefully by claiming the outcome would've been different had he been thrown to more. He was released before the start of the next season. Mind you, this was a Philly team that included everyone's favorite asshole Terrell Owens, who looked like a fucking bathroom attendant in comparison. Anytime T.O. tells you to get your shit together you should shoot yourself out of a cannon into a brick wall that's on fire and wrapped with razor wire.

So, where is Freddie now? Glad you asked. After unsuccessfully shopping his 1,263 career yards around the league, The People's Champ landed a stint as a substitute teacher in Mishawaka, Indiana. When that didn't work out (due to his soliciting of high school girls' phone numbers), Freddie dropped from the spotlight for a spell, only to triumphantly return with the following series of videos:

Ah, the lovely "haters" word, commonly used in defense of people taking umbrage with one's self-serving, deplorable behavior. The close-up makes me chuckle every time. But wait, Hollywood ain't done, y'all! To make this next message seem more authentic and in no way hastily shot immediately following the previous rant, ol' Puppetmaster takes his jacket off to give his thoughts on the draft.

Notice how he uses the draft as a way to abstractly talk about himself while actually saying nothing even remotely close to an analysis of anything having to do with the draft? Oh, F/FDF (First/Fourth Down Freddie)... you spinster, you. You got me. Wait! Now the hat's off!

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS THROWN TO IN THE GAME! He even says it! Just over a minute to go in the most important game of the season to that point and he hasn't even gotten a fucking look. Delusion is a hell of a thing, my friends.

There's a lesson to be learned from the tale of this bag of dicks, people. If you're going to be an asshole have the talent to back it up. Also, don't ever hire Discount Marketing to shoot anything for you. Seriously, if you view the actual YouTube pages for these videos you'll see that they were all posted by Discount Marketing. He hired a fucking marketing agency to produce that shit. Discount. Marketing. Oh, Freddie.

FredEx recently bought a barbeque restaurant called "Brothers" in his hometown of Lakeland Florida. As of September of this year, the restaurant has been closed and ol' Freddie's facing a lawsuit as a result of failing to make payments on the business. Yep. Sounds about right.

-Zack Hull, Professional Asshole

Things just aren’t getting any better for Joel Ropesman. If you thought eyeball-gouging dairy cows were bad, imagine what a bunch of ducks and geese can do. Episode 2 in the saga of the Man from Anglo.

Download Worse Than Death - Pt. 2

-HBD

OK today's real inspiration is this: yesterday Robyn and I were hard at work painting and scrubbing my apartment when we took a necessary internet break on the fluttering, borrowed signal that sometimes graces my environs. I noticed that she was navigating some website called the “Boone County Memorial.” It turns out that some miscreants in Kentucky have had the whatall to secure the site www.hbd.typepad.com for the purposes of honoring their “war dead”.

From what I can tell, this site is mainly used for the dubious purpose of remembering the brave citizens of Boone County who senselessly gave their lives for causes beyond their understanding or control. While I am as much a fan of heedless sacrifice as anyone else, I think a little propriety is in order.

First of all, who “forgets” to honor their dead soldiers but a bunch of moonshine-addled crackers and most important, what are they doing with such a close approximation of a web address to that of the esteemed Here Be Dragons? And no, I would NOT like to buy a “paver”, but thanks for asking, I already bought a memorial fightin’ stick at the gift shop.

Once the rage of this revelation wore down to a dull and persistent sting, this episode got me wondering about other entities on the ol’ omniweb that may be coasting in the wake of Here Be Dragons. So, here you have it, a comprehensive rundown of startling importance:

www.zazzle.com/hbd+gifts This will-o-the wisp takes us down the rabbit hole to a realm where people are so fucking busy, they need to abbreviate the words “happy birthday”. A treasure trove of useful items is available to the syllabically challenged, including HBD postage (featuring a panda bear who, aside from being a filthy and maladjusted animal, apparently loves you, so congratulations). And look closely: the HBD Grandmother card and the HBD Aunt card are the same image (some kind of trellis, some foliage and a rectangle floating in space with roses on it). Are your aunt and your grandmother the same person? I’m looking at you, Boone County.

Urban Dictionary: HBD At least Urban Dictionary vindicates some of my rage. I especially like the dialogue between X and Y. Apparently the writer was on the same bus I was this morning.

www.hbdbooks.com I can’t figure out what the HBD stands for here, but I can figure out that this guy loves writing about race, racism, racenomics, racialocity and racistics. I felt guilty just for looking at the headings.

Hair By Dan My next search brings us to the delightful world of Facebook, a medium I, like Neil, have chosen to pretend doesn’t exist anymore, though I tolerate others’ conversations about it the same way I tolerate others’ conversations about astrology and “God”, whatever that is. Anyway, this particular Facebook page and HBD barnacle is known as “Hair By Dan”, featuring such compelling updates as the administrator’s latest trip to the beauty supply shop or his recent treatment of a client with split ends. Scroll down further and you’ll be enlightened to the minutiae of celebrity-bashing, and what Dan would do to a particularly atrocious comb-over. More tongue clucking than a coop full of gay chickens.

acronyms.thefreedictionary.com/HBD This is just a catalog of the acronym, but it's nice to see Here Be Dragons listed 3rd on the list. Happy Birthday and Homebrew Digest, we’re comin’ fer yer throats.

Home Brew Digest At first, one would think that a site for homebrew enthusiasts to gather is a natural evolution of a communal hobby. As much as I love beer, I have to say that I don’t think these people should be allowed to communicate with one another. People who make their own beer should stay home and drink it, with the lights off and the internet a distant memory.

http://twitter.com/hbd “HBD” in this case is the Twitter handle for a fellow calling himself “Devin” who apparently lives in “Canadia”. You know, this is the first time I’ve really read a Twitter page. It may be the last. Everyone, just shut up.

www.flickr.com/photos/3ko0osha/4057297461 Good luck with this. Apart from the text being mostly and badly converted from a non-Roman alphabet language and therefore unintelligible (presumably to anyone), you get a niiiice picture of a big “N” on roller skates. Get it?

HBD Inc. I think these people sell bulk items to prisons. Notice the “inmate laundry bag” for sale, as well as the "plastic ladymouth" under miscellaneous. At first I thought this would be the least interesting link on the list, but as I peruse the products available for purchase, I grow aroused and intrigued. Definitely climbing the ladder.

Any additions to the file will of course be welcome. We can’t be vigilant without your help—let’s stop the unfair use of HBD initialism now before it gets worse

(No, this has nothing to do with Bill Clinton’s autobiography, though it has turned out to be nearly as long.  Oh, and those actors Zack mentioned in his last post?  Don’t know a one.)

Whenever Jesse calls, we exchange pleasantries and he asks what I’m up to.  I often give him a literal answer instead of a blanket “chillin’” or the like.  If I’m home at the time, the response is naturally quite mundane.  Of course it is.  There aren’t many exciting things one usually does as home, but no matter if my answer is making something to eat, watching Jeopardy!, doing dishes, working, internetting, preparing to take a nap, enjoying a burrito from the taqueria down the street, or if I’d just gotten out of the shower, Jesse reacts as if none of this is boring or normal or, in many cases, even defensible.  Without fail, Jesse finds any detail of my life to be completely absurd.  He consumes my life as side-splitting fodder for his enjoyment and fuel for his feelings of towering superiority.  And that’s great.  He’s in school and often has dinner with his girlfriend, after all.

This past Saturday Jesse came over to have a couple bloody marys and to “be funny”. He was undeterred by my protests; I was watching my beloved Michigan football team and didn’t want to day-drink, and I told him this.  No matter.  He was here, and he made his presence known constantly in no uncertain terms.  During one commercial, to satisfy his cries for attention, I gave him some details about how the little things in my life had changed since my then-girlfriend moved out three months ago.  He predictably howled with (dis)approval at every tidbit of misfortune, and urged me to expand this exercise and put to record a typical day in the life.

This is a rough outline of a typical weekday and is subject to numerous outside factors.  It is not drawn to scale.  I am not including times because many of these noteworthy events overlap one another.  Personal interpretation is encouraged. 

I hope you all enjoy it as much as Jesse will.

• Wake up with Mark Domino curled up next to me.  He’s a cat; not a rapper/gay porn actor…I don’t think.  Get up and make the bed, which is now much easier as much of my bedding is gone.  I sleep under a warm, red blanket that is tucked at the foot of the bed with an afghan type thing on top of it.  The upside of my loss is that no sheet or comforter makes for an easy bed to make, and a delighted friend in Jesse.

• Bathroom time.  I am currently reading Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States.  There’s nothing like better informing myself while feeling sad, angry and defeated to accompany me in my early morning routine.  That book is a devastating record of all man can do to one another in the name of greed and conquest (and America!).  And those emotions carry over on a personal level quite nicely after putting the book down and learning what my body has wrought.  I’ve learned to put those things behind me quickly, lest it carry over and ruin my mood indefinitely.  A shower can help, but is often shelved or skipped altogether, depending on the rest of the day.

• Grab some V8 and a banana, turn on TV and tune in to the CBS for The Price Is Right. Nothing buoys the spirits like watching over-eager dirigibles win prizes they can’t afford the taxes for while pining for the company of a washed up comedian from Cleveland.

• Crack open the laptop.  I check email and gauge how much work I need to get done.  I then put off said work for about an hour while I peruse the nets (New York Times, Deadspin, HuffPost, Bears and Bulls blogs, Michigan football blog, Slate, FiveThirtyEight, MrRooterHardlyKnewHer).
  

• Aggressively tackle whatever work is in front of me.  I work at home and I like to bang out as much as possible in my first session.  This lends some satisfaction and a bit more freedom for the rest of the day.  The “humor” here lies in the fact that my work is highly irregular, so some days there isn’t really a whole lot to do.  Oh, and any freedom gained isn’t used to study talking or stalk bookstore goers; it’s usually used for relaxation or running routine errands.  Isn’t that a fucking gas?!

• Gfight with Zack.  Good spirits or bad, Zack will always chime in.  Usually we’re able to joke about some absurdity we’ve recently witnessed.  But as surely as the Gooch beat Willis, he’ll say something I don’t agree with and an argument will ensue.  It may be mild, even playful; but it can turn into Rip Torn vs. Norman Mailer too.
  

• Make lunch.  The usual suspects are:  scrambled eggs, bean and cheese tacos, a big salad, veggie burger with a Clausen pickle, tuna melt (I recently started putting Bacos on these things – amazing.  Spicy mustard is a must too), any leftovers I might have, or soup with bread or crackers.  Soup has become kinda depressing of late, even though I love Progresso’s lentil.  This is because I’ve been stripped of nearly all pots and pans, so now I have to microwave that shit in Tupperware.  I’d opt for a proper, civilized bowl, but the directions implore me to cover the contents.  I microwave my rice in Tupperware too, which works pretty well, but is undeniably slumdog.  However, I tend to garnish everything with green onions and diced plum tomatoes these days, so I like to think I’m fighting the good fight.

• Back to Work.  Now that I think of it, isn’t that an ‘80s movie starring Rodney Dangerfield, Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez? 
  

• Watch Jeopardy!  I often grab a snack and set the computer aside for Merv Griffin's classic.  I love Jeopardy!, though I’m not very competitive with the really good players.  If a Tournament of Champions player is a 10; a multiple winner a 9; a single-time winner an 8; and a losing contestant a 7, I’m probably a 6.95 – worse than a fucking loser on the show.  Still love it though, Alex’s smarminess, social retardation and all.  Snack favorites include reduced-fat microwave popcorn, baby carrots with hummus, and habas con chile (spicy dried lima beans).  The last two weeks they’ve shown the Teen Tournament, which stinks.  And since that junior-year Amanda Peet look-alike lost in the first round, I’ve been forgoing Jeopardy! to shower, if I put it off, or get something done around the house that needs doing.  So, while mildly creepy, at least I’m practicing personal and apartmential hygiene.  Take the good with the boy, all.
  

• Brush one or more cats.  I have three cats.  Only one of them is mine, but I’m happily looking after two that belong to a friend (no, Jesse…not Gina.  Shut up) who isn’t able to properly care for them.  They’ll usually rouse from their enviably sound sleep in the afternoon looking for companionship.  If it’s warm and dry enough, I like to take them on the balcony for grooming.  They love it and it serves as the only thing I can do to fight my ongoing war with cat hair.

• Personal time.  While Jesse was over on Saturday, he used my computer to find us a Star Trek message board to infiltrate.  I’ve gotten in the habit of keeping two Firefox windows open – one for the respectable business of email, work, and general surfing; the other for porn.  So I open up a fresh, new tab in the non-offending window for him to use; but he immediately clicks over to the dirty one (I didn’t think Jesse even knew what the taskbar was trying to tell him.  Or maybe that’s his usual mode of navigation between sites, having no idea what tabs are).  I’d been enduring his ramblings on Star Trek and whatnot, doing my best to parry his enthusiasm so I could watch my goddamn football game, and now he was squealing with delight upon finding porn on my computer.  The fact that there was a site called Ass4All, and that I had it open, was just too much for him.  Oh my, I don’t need to tell you that I was just flushed with embarrassment!  We don’t all jerk off to D.H. Lawrence, Jesse. Besides, didn’t we stop making fun of each other for masturbating when we were 15?  Anyway…personal time.

• Try to finish up any remaining work, do some gravity bongs, watch the NBC evening news (Brian Williams is the best, and I love me some Chuck Todd), catch some syndicated offerings of The Office and The Simpsons (pre-2000 only), and practice some aggressive relaxation.

• Dinner.  I’ll make something if I have stuff around.  Favorites include stir fry, pasta with homemade tomato sauce, veggie burger with Zattarain’s Black Beans and Rice, and a big salad.  If Jesse gets really lucky and I don’t have anything around or am not in the mood to cook, he’ll call around the time I’m ordering/eating takeout.  There’s nothing that tickles Jesse’s undercarriage more than hearing that I’m eating fried rice, falafel, an eggplant parmesan sandwich, or a burrito if it was prepared in a restaurant and eaten at my apartment.  Really.

• Pick up multiple ladies at the happenenest New Wave/Britpop night in town (read: go to Streetside, the Blind Robin or the Bucktown Pub and usually leave by myself).  I used to frequent any bar or club with irrepressible confidence, great fervor, and a quick wit. This is no longer the case.  Now I go to a handful of bars in a hoodie du jour with friends who are sick of each other.  I play the disinterested and disdainful sop at the end of the bar.  Because, for right now, that’s exactly who I am.

• Hit the proverbial hay.  I often have to stave off pangs of depression and anxiety as I recount the laughable minutiae that makes up my day.  Eventually, I emerge victorious, and mercifully drift off to sleep.
  

None of this has been embellished, as it needs no embellishment.  It is simply the story of a well-adjusted, slightly depressive thirtysomething leading his life in search for some peace of mind.  At any rate, I’m just lucky to have a supportive friend by my side as I sift through the riverbed.

– Neil, jerk  

Have you ever played the sympathy card to get a woman into bed? Does it still weigh on your conscience? Well, you’re about to feel way better about yourself.

Download A Terrible, Terrible Man

-HBD

Brothers Brian and Joe Hackett (Steven Weber and 'Tim Daly' ) and friend Helen (Crystal Bernard) attempt to run a Cape Cod-based airline while surrounded by their various wacky friends and employees.

This is the IMDB synopsis for one of the most delightful and influential sitcoms of the early nineties, Wings. What these words fail to tell you is that the show was singularly responsible for injecting a certain Lebanese-American actor into our hearts and minds for years to come. That actor is Tony Shalhoub.

You may be thinking that Mr. Shalhoub’s rise to fame came with his casting in the title role of the current niche series Monk, in which he plays an adorably self-deprecating widower who attempts to solve cases as a freelance detective while battling his severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. Well, I say “nay”! This great actor’s mantle would not be adorned with a variety of Emmys, Golden Globes and SAG Awards if it were not for his heart-warming portrayal of Antonio Scarpacci, the adorably self-deprecating Italian cabdriver who’s desperately searching for love while always lending a supporting ear and encouraging word to his friends at fictional Tom Nevers Field.

Not since George Clooney’s star-making turn as an overbearing boss on Roseanne had I been so convinced that a future leading man was emerging right before our very eyes. When show scalawag Roy Biggins rhetorically asks “You know what I do when I have problems with a woman?”, Antonio casually quips “Deflate her?” and an uproarious wave of laughter erupts from the audience. Brilliant! The steely charisma. The flawless accent. The almost effortless sarcasm. All contributed to one of the greatest displays of television acting I have ever seen.

18 years and 2 Satellite Award nominations later, Mr. Shalhoub is on the verge of superstardom as he’s in current negotiations for the role of Mario in the upcoming Scorsese-directed reboot of Super Mario Bros. The role would reunite him with long-time friend and fellow thespian Stanley Tucci, who has already been cast as brother Luigi. This will be a drastic departure from previous roles for both actors and it is almost certain they would be subjected to rigorous make-up effects and dialect coaching in order to make them appear and sound more Italian. I applaud their courage and ambition. I applaud it.

Now, I understand you might be taken aback at my infallible eye for talent. I must admit, it is a gift. The following actors are who I firmly believe to be the next crop of Hollywood heavyweights. Clearly having paid their dues, they are on the brink of an Edward Furlong-esque rise to A-list status over the next few years.

David Caruso
His role as Lieutenant Horatio Caine on CSI: Miami is clear evidence of his dramatic range. Just take a look at how, given a number of distinctly different scenarios, he is able to deliver every line with such restrained fury and just a touch of vulnerability.

Lou Diamond Phillips
Every time I watch this scene from Young Guns, I shed a tear. It’s as if I can feel the souls of every member of his tribe piercing my heart. Just give him a chance to carry a movie on his own and I’m certain he’ll make spirit warriors of us all.

Tommy Wiseau
His movie The Room has become a cult hit across the world despite being seen in only a handful of DVD players. The trailer even describes him as having the “passion of Tennesse Williams”. ‘Nuff said.

Al Leong
You might not know his voice but you definitely know his face. Long has he been second fiddle to major villains in such films as Die Hard and Big Trouble In Little China. It’s about time we see him in a much meatier role. I would suggest the Xenomorph queen in Ridley Scott’s upcoming Alien prequel. But, y'know, a kung-fu Xenomorph queen.

Ray Young
Apart from playing a veritable beef stew of supporting roles in the 80’s and 90’s, Ray is a very large gentleman and could easily play the lead in the next summer superhero flick. An aged Bruce Wayne in a film adaptation of The Dark Knight Returns would be just what he needs to… what? He’s dead? 10 years? Shit. Well, enjoy his portrayal of Bigfoot. So long, Ray.

-Zack Hull, Producer/Talent Scout

Here Be Dragons and The Learning Channel have collaborated to produce a reality show unrivaled in its exploitation of a pathetic subject. Meet Joel Ropesman, a man so stung by misfortune and cross-eyed genetics, listeners will be tempted to turn a deaf ear again and again as each punishing detail is recounted. Horrified or not, it is impossible to stop listening as Joel recounts his catastrophic experience with an unsympathetic car, Mother Nature’s worst, and a woeful intellect, somehow presented with a warm naïveté that only endears the poor bastard to us all.

Download Worse Than Death - Pt. 1

-HBD

Someone who works in a Chicago high school told me that the kids collect the tabs from Monster Energy drinks (which are sold in a vending machine in the school) and make necklaces out of them. They compete to see who can collect the most. This confirms several of my hypotheses:

* There is a very large handbasket being woven somewhere, probably in Indiana, for which we will all be distributed boarding passes very soon.
* When kids aren’t shooting each other, they’re doing something stupid.
* I made the right decision when I chose to never, ever teach high school.

I also just heard that police superintendant Jody Weiss has hired a “firm” of some kind to analyze the content and frequency of the department’s 911 calls. This is so they can decide where to distribute their officers, because they have run out of money to hire any more. While I won’t question the logic of using the money they apparently don’t have to hire consultants, I would like to suggest that we skip this step altogether and redeploy cops to the following areas of the city:

*The bus
*Any corner without a flashing blue police camera
*Myopic Books
*Dave & Buster’s
*Each other’s houses
*In front of Monster Energy vending machines

As per Neil’s last post, I would like to point out that it was Tony Shalhoub that Zack was defending (along with Stanley Tucci), against my correct assertion that both of these men are terrible actors. My authority in this matter derives from personal experience: I am a first-class terrible actor as well, so I recognize other members of my set when they ply their pitiful craft.

But I could be wrong. Let’s let this trailer speak for itself (in full disclosure, I’ve seen this film, but I’m sure I didn’t like it as much as Zack will):

Zack’s post was pretty accurate…disregardless of everything he wrote, but most especial-like when he got to the part of me dismissing pop cultural nonsense because it’s too new.  Truth be told, I love many things quite deeply.  You see, I just have really good taste, whereas Zack will defend, to the death, any words or names he has come across in his whole fucking life.  Really.  Last night, he was sticking up for Stanley Tucci and Chris O’Donnell like they were Marlon Brando and Orson Welles.  Our friendship once again shaken, I decided to quietly leave.

Chris O’Donnell does have one immaculately groomed pubic area, and Stanley Tucci is certainly a lobotomist, so it is easy to get behind them.  But really, Orson Welles would like a word.

– Neil, Jerk

Do you know of this website called facebook? It’s supposedly the cat’s pajamas and is all the rave with the kids. What it’s mainly used for, aside from keeping you linked to people you met at that party last week or high school classmates you haven’t been in touch with (for good reason), is posting HILARIOUS videos to share with your personal online rabble of easily amused acquaintances. To my friend and colleague Neil Potter, this is facebook’s lone valuable trait. The rest of the website’s features are poppycock and his account lasted a mere 45 minutes before he was completely fed up with the whole damn lot of it.

You see, Neil would like you to think that he cancelled his account the same day he activated it due to his almost perverse disdain for anything popular. He even has a knack for intentionally not listening to an album or watching a film until at least three years after the release date to ensure he has nothing pop-topical to discuss at the next party he attends. Yet, his dissatisfaction with America’s latest craze was born from more than just pop-culture rebuke. He had grown weary of the continual reminder that every one of his friends led more interesting lives than he. That’s about as shocking a revelation as finding out the emotionally unstable girl I went home with the other night has seven cats.

Since he discontinued his account, Neil has been pining for an outlet that will enable him to share with the world the almost limitless stock of internet videos he finds both amusing and enraging. Which leads me to the subject of this week’s PC (Producer’s Corner – see what I did there?): half-assery.

You might have noticed Neil didn’t post anything in his usual Friday blog slot. I say “usual” because that’s what the three of us agreed upon in discussing this latest HBD format. While sitting around a table one night at Easy Bar, we decided to add blog postings to the site. Why the hell not. TypePad IS a blog service, after all, and I figured it wouldn’t be too hard for each of us to pound out a few hundred words each week to contribute to the vast internet wasteland of pounded-out words. When discussing the order of postings, Neil elected to blog on Friday. I assume this move was strategic in order to ensure he would have a few extra days to conjure up a posting once we began the re-launch, which was at that point 2 months away.

Let’s cut to last Friday. While gchatting with Neil during his daily routine of armchair everything, I asked how his posting was coming along, to which he replied, “it’s been up for 14 hours.” Hot-damn, I thought. Not only were my worries of Neil not posting at all (let alone on time) put to rest, but he actually happened to have his contribution up early. Excitedly, I pulled up the site expecting to read the type of sarcasm-laden diatribe I’ve become accustomed to that details how both Jesse and I are unbearable pricks. Low, and behold, I’m unsatisfactorily met with two sentences of cryptic humor followed by this:

What follows is a transcript of our ensuing conversation:

1:13 pm
me: asshole.
Neil: why? it's funny. that's the point.
me: way to go the extra mile.
Neil: you mean, way to have an idea and execute it? yep. that's what i did.
me: by posting someone else's video? good job.
Neil: it's a video that is funny.
me: two sentences.
Neil: the point is being funny.
me: well, i'm glad you were able to meet your required contribution in 10 seconds. very efficient.
Neil: i value efficiency. it's funny. you know it is. shut. up. talk to jesse. oh, and somehow the promotional email killed our viewership.
me: yep.
Neil: not many uncles on our distro i guess.
me: guess not. well, i'm up for any ideas. but you guys are far too busy.
Neil: ideas for what? ok, let's hire a fucking sky-writer. wait, that only took me 3 seconds to write. no good.
me: jesus christ.
Neil: just stating an obvious difference in attitude. so piss off. when one's first reaction is nitpicking, then i will object.
me: why are you telling me to piss off?
Neil: why are you calling me an asshole?
me: listen, i don't know what your beef is with me but i put a lot of fucking work into this shit and when someone that's supposed to contribute puts something up that seems to be pretty half-assed i get a little upset about it. whether it's you or jesse.
Neil: i've always patted you on the back and told you i appreciate the work you put into it. i have a beef with anyone telling me i'm shit.
me: no one said you were shit!
Neil: dude. this is going nowhere. let me do my shit and get off my back.
me: what is "do my shit"?
Neil: post what the fuck I want to. or you should give me some guidelines so i can satisfy you.
me: fuck off. don't act like your post was some sort of stroke of genius that i'm just not getting. indignant prick.
Neil: never said it was genius.
me: do what you fucking want. but it's pretty clear you don't want to put in any effort.
Neil: ????
me: and you turn into an asshole when anyone calls you on it. you could just say "man, i didn't have anything this week, so i posted that".
Neil: why would i? i had an idea and went with it. how does that make me an asshole?
me: your idea was to post a video.
Neil: i think that video is fucking funny. i though others would too.
me: i think TONS of videos are funny. but i'm not going to post that as MY BLOG. this isn't facebook.
Neil: fucking yell at jesse for his impenetrable shit. that's a fucking slap in the face.
me: man, fucking do whatever.
Neil: ok.
me: i’m tired of trying to explain shit to you.
Neil: i don't know what that means.
me: i'm tired of trying to reason with you when all you want to do is self-sabotage yourself and us.
Neil: i appreciate your viewpoint. learn how to work with people.
me: learn how to work.
Neil: huh? cuz i didn't write 750 words?
me: you're being intentionally difficult.
Neil: nope. you are wrong. i thought that was funny. so that's what i did.
me: clearly, you can't be that naive to think that putting up a video similar to what a 12-year-old does on facebook between watching episodes of "flava of love" is a proper weekly blog posting - especially when that is your only fucking responsibility at this point.
Neil: but this is your blog. so i'm sorry. out.

2:15 PM
Neil: you are my friend. we are in this together. stop treating me like shit.
me: you are my friend. and i love you. but you can't have the "i do what i want, fuck you" attitude.
Neil: all i did was post something i thought was funny. so let's hug it out. and get off my back. i posted a fucking japanese ad. it's ironical.
me: jesus.
Neil: take it down then.
me: if you're gonna do that why not write something that accompanies it describing why you think it's funny or adding to the humor.
Neil: i think people will get it, zack. i'm not gonna write 750 words of dense non-conversational prose to describe something that only needs 20 words just to show you that i'm putting in effort.
me: it's a weekly blog. it's not your facebook page.
Neil: it's your blog. you've made that clear.
me: no, i haven't.
Neil: so what are you doing tonight? writing for your blog?
me: you can't obsolve yourself of everything because you've had a tough time of late. we all have tough times. shit happens. life.
Neil: absolve. i have nothing to absolve myself of.
me: why do you always shit on my chats?
Neil: haha! really? not bad.
me: ok, then. can we agree to not just post things that we find funny but actually create the comedy itself. i don't care if it's 100 words or 10000 words. as long as it's original.
Neil: it had context.
me: how?
Neil: ugh. take it down.
me: i'm not taking it down.
Neil: how gracious.
me: when did i give you the impression that i would just take things down if i didn't like them.
Neil: you didn't. i was giving you permission if you found it so offensive to our site.
me: you make it very clear that you think i call the shots on this thing.
Neil: that's exactly right.
me: when anyone wants to step in and exercise a little initiative and start making decisions, i'm all for it. so far, that hasn't happened.
Neil: sky-writer.
me: great.
Neil: i appreciate the work you've put in.
me: clearly, you don't.
Neil: why?
me: because according to you that means i call the shots.
Neil: nope.
me: then what is your basis?
Neil: zack, i'm not getting further into this.
me: COME UP WITH A FUCKING IDEA OR SUGGESTION!
Neil: "stop yelling"
me: how can you claim that i bat everything down and make all decisions on my own when you never fucking bring anything to the table?
Neil: we came up with this structure. i am adhering to it. i have enjoyed it. perhaps i am not the conceptual contributor you are.
me: clearly, we need to have another meeting to discuss a meeting to discuss the blog.
Neil: no thank you.
me: well, you have a problem with jesse's shit. i have a problem with your last posting. seems like things are off.
Neil: i don't treat him like a subservient piece of shit.
me: i don't treat you like that either.
Neil: i allow him to do what he likes. b/c that's his space.
me: so, you think it's fine to just go ahead and post videos? if you really believe that, i'll back off.
Neil: if i'm gonna be ridiculed for whatever i post, then what am i in this for? i posted my thoughts about soy sauce in a light, humorous fashion and then posted an accompanying video i thought others would think is funny.
me: the two sentences you wrote tell the reader nothing. there's no context other than the dinner we had that only the three of us know about.
Neil: so? people interpret things while reading them, zack.
me: fine. do your thing.

3:24 PM
Neil: it's down.
me: why? leave it up. if that's what you want to put up then leave it. don't be a fucking asshole. i'm not telling you to take it down. nor would i ever because it's not my call. leave it up if it's what you want.
Neil: you've been chastising me on fucking IM for 3 hours. i will take it down to satisfy you.
me: it's been 2 hours. and i never wanted you to take it down. if that's what you got this week, so be it.
Neil: how gracious.
me: fuck you.
Neil: really? relax, chuckles.
me: you're impossible, dude.
Neil: you wanna ruin friendships over this?
me: you take everything the worst way possible.
Neil: it's all how you present it, zack.
me: i'm typing into IM, neil.
Neil: warmly. re-read how you write things. it's all poisonous.
me: it's not poisonous.
Neil: gangrenous.
me: you're just way too fucking defensive.
Neil: i will change. for you.
me: i won't. for me.
Neil: how Egyptian. i'm just saying don't be a dick.
me: and i'm saying i wasn't being a dick.
Neil: not your call. it's how i took it.
me: we fundamentally disagree.
Neil: then why are we arguing still?
me: done.

5:56 PM
Neil: fucking bill simmons on colbert.
me: he is quite popular.
Neil: the worst. just compared kobe to teen wolf. fucking hack.
me: pop-culture references! he's just a regular old guy!
Neil: god.

See? Problem solved. Clearly.

I mean, if he was going to post anything, it should've been this:

-Zack Hull, Producer

Fret not, little ones. A brand new Producer's Corner is on its way. But first, there are more pressing issues to address, like game 6 of the World Series. In the meantime, enjoy Mr. Brett's pre-game banter.

-Zack

While visiting Florida, Jesse bicycles 54 miles to a marina in search of strong drink. Once satisfied, he is perplexed by the native’s lack of originality in naming their boats. Seems like a perfectly good reason to leave a voice mail.

Download The S.S. Unimpressed - Your Boat Name Sucks

-HBD

I moved to Logan Square from Humboldt Park this weekend. One advantage to the timing of this was that it was Halloween, and as anyone in Chicago knows, holidays last an average of about a week here. Think St Patrick’s, MLK or Casimir Pulaski Day.

I am not fond of driving. In spite of jamming my neurons full of psychotropic medication, I have an adverse reaction to people who, in any situation, lack consideration of their surroundings. I’m the guy who mutters under his breath when people exit through the front doors on the bus and cause everyone else to wait. I find those who stand on the left side of escalators intolerable. Even less tolerant am I of hordes of drunken, costumed jackasses crossing the street against traffic. This is an offense I find unbearable when committed by people wearing everyday clothing (most of which I also find unbearable), but the proliferation of confused subhumans donning predictable getups in the interest of using the word “party” as a verb makes me feel as if all the goodwill I’ve worked so hard to cultivate toward others is being violently squeezed out of me.

So I didn’t have an overly joyful time having to navigate an automobile through the one-way swamp that comprises the west side of Chicago Friday night. What I did enjoy was this:

On Saturday my movers arrived promptly and exhibited a stunning display of organization as well as efficiency. Once my things had been loaded out the front door and into the moving truck, I went to get my girlfriend’s car, which was parked around the corner.

A note on the location of my previous apartment: it was on Division Street, near the intersection with Maplewood. Any west-sider knows that this means the place is located directly “between the flags”, meaning the area between the two massive, steel, drooping Puerto Rican flag structures that define the south end of Humboldt Park. This neighborhood is known as the Paseo Boricua, and the people there take their heritage seriously. The first week I lived there my roommate Hobbs and I watched with grisly fascination as an Easter Parade processed below our window, complete with a posse of Roman soldiers kicking and beating a beleaguered Jesus who, at some point, took a break from the lashings and hopped into the back of a mini-van while someone with a megaphone quoted some of the darker verses from Scripture in Spanish.

There are so many parades and ethnic festivals in the neighborhood, including at least one that, true to fashion, lasts a minimum of a full week, that there is a community center on the corner of California and Crystal, where I used to walk the dogs every morning, that touts itself the “Humboldt Park Parade Planning Committee” and is apparently open year-round. I have often imagined there being a social set among the nationalists in the neighborhood who only see one another during parades. All this is their own business; I know my place as a casual white observer.

So anyway on Saturday, I pull through the alley to meet up with and lead the moving truck to my new Xanadu in Logan Square, and as I round the corner a cop car with its lights flashing is blocking the intersection I need to go through in order to meet the movers. The cop comes over, I roll down the window, and he tells me that the street is blocked off to the west. Ok, I say, preparing to back up, and then, with hopeful disbelief in my voice, there isn’t a parade is there? Yeah, he tells me. I ask if he saw where the moving truck went, then the other officer comes over and tells me if I hurry I can go now. I start to pull up but they stop me again. Too late; coming down the block I see a phalanx of red and blue flags bearing a single star heading toward us. Life on the Paseo Boricua.

As happy as I am to have my own place I do have concerns that I may be missing out on some of the inherent hilarity I often took for granted for the last 6 months—from the lady raising exotic cats downstairs to the excessive fighting and noise on the side streets, life there was never boring. I only hope I haven’t traded peace of mind for boredom.

-Jesse Ackles, Academic

I'm a little slow to post today, so while you're waiting for my next fun installment, I'd like to share with you a clip from a feature I discovered on my Star Trek 3 DVD while unpacking my new apartment last night.  This is part 1 of 5; I promise to post the rest as you inevitably clamor for more:

Love and Phaser Rifles,

Jesse

Boy gets job. Boy goes to South Korea. Boy gets drunk. Boy defends wrong person. Boy has face rebuilt. Boy flees country.

Download Half A Korean Face

-HBD

Good morrow, dear listener and reader. As a new dawn approaches at Here Be Dragons, one that will hopefully bear tastier fruit than our previous incarnations, I would like to take a moment to address a few concerns you may have regarding our Internet Radio Show.

You see, it’s come to my attention that many of you may be experiencing a bit of buyer’s (or, more appropriately, subscriber’s) remorse when listening to our most recent audio postings as they have been a bit on the truncated side and, in some cases, not entirely constructed of new material. This, coupled with the reports that we are not getting along, may lead you to believe that Here Be Dragons will once again slip into another indefinite slumber similar to one taken by a morphine-addicted truck driver who’s just inhaled a bushel of BK Chicken Fries while giving his big horn a few tugs.

And by “big horn” I mean penis. He’s masturbating.

Well folks, I can assure you that this ridiculous notion could not be farther from the truth. We neither own nor drive a truck. Plus, Jesse gave up morphine a long time ago and Neil is a vegetarian. See? You got the long end of the stick on that one.

Although it’s quite apparent that our audio postings (or “bits”, as we refer to them in the industry) have been significantly whittled down lengthwise, we are confident this will help in your enjoyment and appreciation of the show. No longer will you have to endure the epic postings of yesteryear and be forced to digest them in stages as you find time to listen amid your busy schedule of reality TV shows, online college courses, fantasy poker leagues and staring. We know your time is valuable and we are dedicated to ensuring a more convenient listening experience free from the hassles of such overrated concepts as “concentration” or “focus”. You clearly have better things to do on your commute and we wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of your precious enjoyment of burgeoning hip-hop artists, crying babies and Jenny, the blonde chick who emphatically describes to her phone the day’s attire of that “icky” guy in IT as she carelessly wallops you with her Whole Foods bag on the way to standing directly in front of the train/bus doors. She’s a gem.

No, this change in format has everything to do with the comfort of the listener and absolutely nothing to do with the unwarranted accusations of laziness or ineptitude. Granted, most of the material we are releasing was recorded a number of months ago but that does not mean we have been merely sitting on our collective asses doing nothing.

On the contrary, since Season 2, Neil has visited seven bars he had previously deemed as either too far away or too “offensive to his drinking sensibilities” for him to risk changing out of his sleeping pants for. Five of these bars are located approximately between nine and fourteen blocks from his house. The other two did not serve chilled Jagermesister.

Jesse, as we all know, is very busy. His exploits during our hiatus are none of your concern. Anything he did was the greatest thing in the history of things and was met with wild and encouraging enthusiasm by his girlfriend.

As for me, I spent my summer helping to bust a cat-fighting ring and am glad to report that all of the felines involved are well on their way to being rehabilitated in hopes that they may one day become an adequate replacement for human companionship like they were meant to. In my spare time from that, I delivered mp3 players to homeless shelters and visited various children’s hospitals to play The Game of Life with terminally ill cancer patients. I know, it’s pretty amazing. Think nothing of it. I’m just trying to do my part in this world.

So as you can see, we’ve been quite busy in our absence but rest assured that, going forward, no watering holes, fantastical notions of false greatness, homeless people or children dying of cancer will ever again get in the way of your need to hear utter nonsense spewed from the mouths of three highly-under-qualified thirty-somethings who constantly struggle with their own sense of purpose. We are back for good (or at least until Neil pisses me off again). We’ve re-dedicated ourselves to you and are gelling the way a polished professional sports team would. We’re firing on all cylinders. Taking it one posting at a time. Finding our fire and passion. Gaining momentum by giving one hundred and ten percent. Staying focused by getting it done and going out and doing what we gotta do and executing. We’re orchestrating a comeback and, when the dust has settled, we’ll use this win as a stepping stone to the next level.

-Zack Hull, Producer

Meet at Zack’s house, finish off a bottle of El Jimador, get in an argument about science fiction movies, encourage the women to participate, then bring in Sean Shipley several days later to save the conversation. Got it? Any questions on this process should be directed to this woman.

Download How To Build A Coal Furnace From Scratch

-HBD

While I was writing this, my demented grandmother, who lives in Ann Arbor, took a bus here to Chicago. My mom called me around midnight to tell me that someone called her from the bus station to tell her that they were in possession of a really confused old woman. This really happened. Grandma got a ride to the bar where my sister was celebrating her birthday. This morning they discovered that Grandma’s wallet is missing, which isn’t a surprise, but the bonus is that she tried to escape from my sister’s apartment in the middle of the night and apparently lost my sister’s wallet as well. Exciting times we live in. Grandma D once hitchhiked to New Mexico from Michigan and slept in a stable while writing novels about horse thieves. Sorry Zack, wish I had a better excuse… JRA

Recently I joined the burgeoning ranks of dissatisfied young Americans looking to make a fast buck in the field of Languostics. Deep within the ruins of the University of Illinois Chicago I am free to roam as one of the elite members of an institution whose prowess is cleverly masked by a penchant for Brutalist, riot-proof architecture. The Behavioral Science Building, wherein the department houses its “learning cells” is a tour-de-force of archipsychological torture (which was legal and even subsidized by the government during the free-wheeling 50s and 60s), with each student or unlucky visitor being subjected to an ongoing experiment in confusion and “derationalization”.

In the interest of improving the literacy of our audience, I want to share the fruits of my education with the less fortunate among you…I shall endeavor to set forth a curriculum that speaks to the needs of not only the cretins, but the plebes and vassals as well.

Some of the juicier items I’ve come across in my forays into the field:

• Most languosts agree that it is now not only acceptable, but preferable, to add “wise” to the end of any word, formwise.

• The volunteer firemen of Mt Horeb, Wisconsin, have over 1,000 words for fire but only 1 for smoke (i.e., “smoke”).

• The first word ever recorded is “uck,” which means sand, eat, run, light, pituitary, and a cultural approximation of spousal abuse. It is also believed to be an acronym, but no alphabet supporting this claim has yet been discovered.

• Spanish is spoken not only by Spaniards, but by educated Americans and certain wealthy Asians as well.

• All prefixes and suffixes are essentially interchangeable, making such words as “preregardant” possible, as well as a hell of a thing.

• The word “erudition” comes from the Erudites, a lesser known and underappreciated tribe of the Upper Nile, whose main contribution to civilization remains a weapon known as the “anti-plow”, with which they were able to sufficiently annoy the Coptics for a time. This device was later given wings and renamed the Sopwith Camel.

• It is virtually impossible for a child to retain any prudent information about language beyond the age of 4, which explains why you and I no longer speak.

• Portuguese was invented in 1835 by a traveling salesman from Boston who called himself “Rubeford the Mantabulous.”

• The Klingon tongue has no words for “surrender”, “defeat” or “astringent.”

• “Literally” once meant the opposite of its contemporary definition, or “figuratively.” The meaning was inverted through reckless misuse, resulting in the ironic deaths of hundreds of pedants.

• The phenomenon of text messaging may actually constitute the evolution of a pidgin English, which, within a generation, will evolve its own grammatical standards, thereby achieving status as its own creole--or it would, if these stupid kids weren’t going to be the death of us all.

• There are no innocent prisoners on D Block.

Feel free to mail me your questions or wild assertions concerning the mysteries of Languostics. Those enclosing tangible albeit useless gifts in their submissions run the risk of being answered first.

-J Ackles, Academic

Greetings there, shitbirds –

This here blog entry may not be cohesive with respect to the preceding posts.  You see, I didn’t even get through Jesse’s demonstration, er, experimentation, ummm, provocation from the other day.  We’re trying to make things enjoyable for people, Jesse.  What a jerk.  That kinda ruined me for Zack’s contribution, but knowing Zack it just would’ve lent more anger anyway.  Maybe it’s for the best.  So I beg for your pardon if there seems to be no cohesion here.  If you want something cohesive, try super gluing a penis to your stomach.  Wait.  What?  Oh, that’s adhesive.  Well, then…try super gluing two penises to your stomach.  There.  Solved.

I’ve had my reservations about returning to this Here Be Dragons nonsense.  You see, I’m lazy.  And one could very fairly characterize me as indecisive as well.  Those two elements combine for a great dose of the apathy, but that doesn’t really tell the whole story.  The truth: it’s tough to commit yourself to spending time advancing a project when you’re working with these two tit willows.  They’re both impossible in their own unique ways, and really, I don’t find either of them particularly funny.

Jesse…oh, Jesse.  He is chock full of great ideas, at least he is if you take his word as gospel.  We don’t much hear about anything in detail or see any notes, mind you.  Zack and I are left to shake our heads as Jesse excitedly but vaguely expounds on his latest bolt of brilliance, only to have it derailed by some unexpected disaster in his personal life.  You see, Jesse is very busy — we hear this repeatedly — and he tends to get sick at inopportune times, leaving our schedule in shambles.  Then he has to walk his dog (isn’t that adorable?!); then he has to fall down and get hurt, laying himself up for a week or two.  If we could turn all that potential energy of his into the kinetic sort, then we may have something, really truly have something…on second thought, we would just end up with that incomprehensible mess he posted on Monday.

Zack is an entirely different animal.  He fancies himself the one and only voice when we discuss ideas and such.  Well, “discuss” is a very charitable way to put it, as any thought offered up from me or Jesse is read by Zack and spit back out as dismissal if we’re lucky and pure rage if his Chipotle Burrito has his poor belly a’twistin’.  I no longer edit the bits with him for this very reason, so now he tells us where he’s at and asks what ideas we may have for titles, sub-titles and such.  This is often just for show, of course.  He tends to shrug those off and just goes with something he came up with.  It’s like Dick Cheney getting assigned to go find the best candidate for the job and coming back saying all those others out there stink; may as well go with me!

So now here we are, having breathed life into this project for the third time, and I’m still having a hard time generating the enthusiasm necessary to make it really work (the boys love to hear me talk like this).  Laziness, irresponsibility and an inability to work with others aren’t the three main traits you want from contributors in any arena, but here we are.  The fact that writing like this makes me feel like Doogie Howser or Carrie Bradshaw (yeah, I know her full name) doesn’t help either.

My Uncle Barry used to tell me to never do anything halfway; either do something or don’t.  That makes me think at uncertain times like this, but then I remember telling him, "This is my life; mind your own damn business.  Oh yeah, and get your fucking hand off my knee, you creepy bastard."

– Neil, Jerk

So you know how sometimes, you’re sitting around the house on a rainy day, trying to decide which household items to use to asphyxiate yourself before the Thai food arrives? Well Here Be Dragons does, and for just such occasions we’ve assembled a series of archived bits from shows past. We feel that the proper blend of nostalgia and hilarity offered by these bits present the casual listener with everything you need to hack away at the time.

Today’s archived piece is the story of a man who makes the most of his adverse circumstances. We give you the tale of Balthazar, a guy who routinely shits himself.

Download The Tail Of Balthazar

-HBD

Hello, listener. Welcome (back?) to Hear Be Dragons. My name’s Zack. If this were a legitimate podcast with even a smidgen of merit or credibility, my position would be what is commonly referred to as “producer”, but enough with the high-level industry terms. Since this sweeping internet fad has most of you befuddled and intimidated, I’m here to shepherd you through this period of uncertainty by offering a few guidelines on how to listen to our marginally mediocre IRS (Internet Radio Show).

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But, Zack, can’t I just casually recline while sipping from my $38,000 dollar bottle of Macallan Scotch as my uproarious laughter echoes through the chamber halls of my palatial estate?” No. No you can’t. Mainly because I find your bragging to be a bit inappropriate, but also because your laugh is downright horrible. Seriously. No one should be subjected to that. It sounds like Chewbacca getting railed by a dildo made of mangled straight razors.

You see, it takes a special set of circumstance to fully enjoy the Here Be Dragons Podcast. Otherwise, the effect is somewhat lessened by an overpowering wave of depression. If you adhere to the following seven guidelines, I can almost promise you the type of ethereal bliss that has only been experienced by the likes of NASCAR drivers, Widespread Panic fans and Tom Sizemore:

1. Under no circumstances should you attempt to listen to Here Be Dragons
This is probably the most important of these guidelines because it helps to define you as a person. Are you one of those people who just follow whatever suggestion some asshole gives you? Or, are you a go-getter with a devil-may-care attitude who will say “FUCK YOU, HITLER! I DO WHAT I WANT! DON'T TELL ME WHAT I SHOULDN'T DO! I'M GONNA LISTEN! YEAH, DICKFACE, I'M GONNA LISTEN TO EVERY FUCKING EPISODE!”? That’s what I thought. I knew you were special, listener. I just knew it.

2. Headphones are key
This is to ensure that those within ear shot are not startled by our often rude, obnoxious and offensive behavior. Seriously, when Neil starts in on the midgets, who he commonly refers to as “demi-humans”, you don’t want to be anywhere near someone under 4 feet who’s over the age of 10. Trust me, there are more of them out there than you think. You just don’t notice them because they’re easily overlooked due to their physical handicap. God, you’re such a prick.

3. Isolate yourself
Forget what I said above. This is, by far, the most important guideline. Not only do you want to be free of all external distractions but you also want to ensure the safety of your fellow man and woman. Here Be Dragons has been known to cause violent fits of laughter that often result in severe bodily harm to those in the immediate vicinity of the listener. Ever see 28 Days Later? The scene where that tiny drop of virus-tainted blood drops into Brendan Gleeson’s eye and he goes bat-shit with a sudden blood-thirsty desire to attack his sweet daughter? Yeah, it’s kinda like that. But with laughter.

4. Drink heavily
My grandfather used to tell me, “If you can’t understand something, drink until it makes sense.” Unfortunately, he passed away before my alcoholism took flight, so his words were often met with a child-like stare of bewilderment.

5. Wear a smoking jacket
This is merely for cosmetic purposes. Smoking jackets are boss! Should you ignore guidelines 2 and 3 you want to ensure that you look as sophisticated as humanly possible in hopes of convincing onlookers that you are listening to some real high-brow shit that is beyond their elementary comprehension. This is most effective when listening with one arm casually draped across the mantle of a roaring fireplace. A pipe is also suggested. A smoking pipe, not a lead one (see guideline 3).

6. Feel with your ears and listen with your heart
This is not so much a guideline as it is a way of life. You cannot experience the sheer joy that can be obtained from Here Be Dragons without completely letting go of your inhibitions and pre-conceptions. Forget all that you know and clear your head. Unlearn what you’ve learned. Feel the sage words of the collective wash over your brain like a bath of summer sunshine on your bare skin. Let their words caress your frontal lobe as your mind explodes in a quiver of orgasmic mental stimulus. Yeah… that’s right, ladies. Now let down that hair, unbutton that blouse, hike up that skirt and send us a picture of your post-audio-coital bliss. Damn, you like fine.

7. Get in where you fit in
I actually have no idea what this means but I listened to a lot of Too $hort when I was a kid and I just REALLY like saying it. I’ve found you can say this phrase in response to just about everything. Your friend just got that job they applied for: “Go ahead, player. Get in where you fit in.” Your girlfriend just told you she’s pregnant and doesn’t know who the father is: “Girl, you better get in where you fit in with that shit.” The doctor just informed you of your acquisition of a rare flesh-eating virus: “Well, sometimes you just gotta get in where you fit in, I guess.” See? It’s fucking AWESOME! Now, get in where you fit in and download that podcast, fool!

So, there you have it. Seven simple guidelines for optimizing your listening experience while enjoying the Here Be Dragons Podcast. Follow them faithfully and you very well might obtain the feeling of enlightenment that DJ AM felt right after he said “Aye, don’t be stingy, yo! Lemme get anotha bump, mothafucka!”

Too soon?

-Zack Hull, Producer

Here at Here Be Dragons we like to pride ourselves on being ahead of the curve, which has been apparent from our timely updates and trend-setting internet radio show concepts. However, there seldom comes a time when we are presented with material that is so astonishingly substantial that we are forced to bury it for fear that, should this material become public, it would mean certain retaliation from the parties in question. Retaliation that would, most likely, come in the form of bodily harm to ourselves, our families, our friends and (heaven forbid) you, our dear listener.

Fear not. Now is not that time, partly because we have an overt desire to express our unwarranted bravado, but mainly because we don't give a shit about you or ourselves.

With no further ado, we now give the open-minded, inquisitive, scrutinizing citizens of the free world exclusive audio that sheds light on the real reason behind Chicago Mayor Richard M. Daley's failure to secure the bid for the 2016 Summer Olympics. It will be tough for some to hear but the truth usually hurts, especially when it's being shouted at you by an angry ex-con who wants to trick-out a baggage cart and ride it through your kid's maul ball game while playing Naked Battleship.

Download Getting Down To Bidness

This episode was composed using sound effects from the good folks at the freesound project.

-HBD

As Season 3 bears down upon us in ragged, airborne darkness, I take solace in a single, ineluctable truth:  that we will fail; that this endeavor, like the endeavors of so many crazed and talentless men of our epoch, will slide down the rocky face of our union with the dizziness of an intoxicated garden slug.  The confidence bestowed on me in this judgment abides not only in the sure-footed fact of my own documented failures, which are beyond mortal count, but in that of my cohorts, whose own lack of prowess in such elementary and rude pursuits as mating are legendary to the minds of that wispy herd of scorned, bedraggled acquaintances who purport to care.

From its first incipient gurgle, this project was destined for obscurity.  The formula:  3 man-children, secure in their unjustifiable confidence in themselves, record their own flaccid and inane observations over several days, all the while crashing into one another’s sentences with the alacrity and reeling of a Conestoga wagon commandeered by a band of liquor-ruined plainsmen.  A series of menopausal arguments ensue, resulting in a string of episodic embarrassments that take on such contemporary targets as the late proprietors of convenience-restaurant chains, athletic celebrity, and dwarfism.  Most, if all, of the narrative content is occluded by an almost unanimous disrespect for tact or the sound of one another’s voices. 

And this all in just one season!  The following year, these motley gentlemen set out to once again regale the deaf ears of a public attuned to the sour chimes of their underfunded voices.  To capture the spark and charge of their brackish wit, they set pen to paper and produce a series of written scripts, no line of which are any of them qualified to act for posterity—yet there it sits, Season 2, in all of its mono-episodic glory.  Ask not whence the rest of Season 2 has gone to; wonder you not, for it is not.

The present recycling of this haphazard picaresque comes in the form of old backwash from those golden years in which the gentlemen found fit to actually record their ideas, rather than victimize them or force them into long hibernation, to be extracted and dangled as a hanged rebel from a wash-line.  One can only expect that, given the known history of these men and their talents, the effect will be as indelible as that of a turtle peeing in the water somewhere off the Galapagos.  May our pale cone of cadmium-assisted light limn the corners of your troubled and smog-filled day, my friends, and remember, after the rainstorm there will always be a fledgling or two splayed out on the sidewalk as a chthonian reminder of our own foetal origins.

Love,

J Ackles, Academic

Dear listener,

We’ve been away for awhile. We’ve neglected you. Our usual incompetence isn’t solely to blame this time, however. You see, we were busy throwing an uncle party, and you know how uncle parties go. You tell a couple friends to bring their uncles, and then they tell their friends to bring their uncles. Soon there were many uncles.

Godammit. We were overrun with fucking uncles. How the fuck could such a great idea turn on us so mercilessly? All the molester uncles were off chatting in a closed-off circle -- closed-off unless you were one of their toddler-aged nephews.

So, Neil's always-correct and ever-creepy Uncle Barry advised us to release our comedy bits one at a time, with blog pieces tossed in for good measure. We were thrown. But after the uncle party ended (with incident), we sat and discussed Uncle Barry’s suggestion, as any good threesome of nephews would do. After much deliberation, we agreed he was right.

Starting Monday, we will be releasing one Here Be Dragons bit at a time, sparing you the Ropesman-esque density of our last release (you'll meet Ropesman; he's exceedingly dense). Interspersed will be our musings and infightings in the form of poetry, prose or ASCII. After all this, we sit, eagles spread, before you.

With love, and open to your hate,

-Jesse, Zack & Neil

We own up to the failures of our friends. We explore the nuances of post-urban vernacular. We rewrite ourselves in our own images. We recruit a ringer. Really, we promise, this time it’s good.

Download Episode 2.1: An Onion of Dicks

Featuring music from:

American Draft
Bible of the Devil
Coltrane Motion
Francine

Episode cover art courtesy of the lovely Denise Dietz.

This episode was composed using sound effects from the good folks at the freesound project.

Dearests,

We know it’s been a long time. We know we’ve made a lot of promises about improving the quality of this show we’ve been bullying you with over the last year or so.

Well, the time for promises is past.

Behold: Here Be Dragons: Season 2, featuring scripted material, input from you, and, best of all: sound effects!

We would also like you to welcome the presence of our new announcer, Sean Shipley. No more indeterminate English colonial accents, less drunken palaver (though still enough to keep the ship moving), and roughly the same amount of music as before.

So welcome to a new epoch in internet radio shows. We look forward to your forthcoming praises—almost as much as we look forward to your forthcoming abuses.

Sentimentally,

Neil, Jesse, Zack

Our previous voicemail number was hosted by the inept stoner-jerks at drop.io.  Apparently, they were too busy playing World of Warcraft and voicing their dismay with the changes made to the Watchmen film on various message boards to inform us that our drop was going to expire and that, if we did not renew our account, all files would be deleted.  Therefore, any messages left in the last month are just gone, disappearing into the internet graveyard.

We at Here Be Dragons didn't take too kindly to this "policy" and have decided to go with a new service provider.  Please make all future calls using our brand new toll free number!  Call us anytime for any reason.  Messages can be up to 3 minutes in length.

1-888-608-8170

See?  Simple.  No ridiculously long number.  No extension.  Toll free.  We're here for you.  Looking out for you.  Like a housewife looks out for her 4-year-old son by purchasing him a Sega Game Gear to play while she watches her stories.

Alas, we would like to implore anyone who has recently left a message within the last month to please call again and leave a new one.  An inconvenience, we know, but we love you all and have a strong desire to masturbate to each and every one of your sexy voices.

What?

Regrettably,

Jesse, Neil and Zack

A message to the Here Be Dragons Nation:

Thank you for supporting the non-legendary internet radio show Here Be Dragons.  We can only hope that you've actually taken time to listen to it as well.  If not, here is your best chance:

We have decided to reboot the podcast; in order to do this, we want to condense the best bits from the first 8 episodes (we'll call them a "season") into 1 show and archive the rest.

Always prudent, we have decided to place our one giant egg in the populist basket and ask YOU to let us know which segments from these episodes you think we should use.  If there's something that strikes you as particularly funny or informative, you're probably listening to one of the other D&D or jam-band based podcasts with a similar title.  But in the event that you've got the right show on your iTunes, we're asking you to vote on your favorite bits so we can assemble a 1980s sitcom-inspired clip show which will create the illusion that we are actually good at this.

Once you've done this, please email us at hbdpodcast@gmail.com  or leave a comment below and tell us which parts of which episodes you think should be preserved.  Feel free to trash the rest as well—we do it all the time.

Those of you who put the most time and thought into this will be rewarded with a story by us about your person, to be aired during Season 2 of the show, if you so desire.  Now that's a stimulus check you can cash.

That said, we also would like to announce the forthcoming debut of our newly conceptualized Here Be Dragons 2.0, a "metacast" in which we discuss, intimately, the process of creating an internet radio program.  Enjoy the introduction of new characters, more listener participation, and even some scripted material.  We actually put some effort into this one.

Also, we would love for you to leave a voicemail on our drop site so we can feature your comments, stories, last wishes or ethereal musings on the show.  It's not about us, it's about you (and us).

The number:  1-888-608-8170 (your message may be as long or short as you like).

The first 8 episodes can be found below or on iTunes in the podcast section.

So in the next few weeks look for an announcement heralding the upload of Here Be Dragons, Episode 0, and in the meantime try to enjoy the old ones.

Love and Lincolns,

Jesse, Neil and Zack

Download Episode 8: I Call Him Stinky

Download Episode 7: The Crack Tooth

We get basic German lessons from a white supremacist.  We're held at gunpoint by the least-threatening of firearms.  We suffer a massive headwound while drunkenly traversing the elevated train system.  We're physically fit and someone's down to be fuckin' this.

Download Episode 6: Hittin' The Books

We lament the end of the kickball season.  We discuss the hazardous effects of 14-hour Monopoly games.  We plot to supplant the mayor with a cage fighter.  Six-foot chicken, we knew you'd come for us eventually.

Download Episode 4: Establishing Dominance ]]>We lament the end of the kickball season. We discuss the hazardous effects of 14-hour Monopoly games. We plot to supplant the mayor with a cage fighter. Six-foot chicken, we knew you'd come for us eventually. Download Episode 4: Establishing...yesWe lament the end of the kickball season. We discuss the hazardous effects of 14-hour Monopoly games. We plot to supplant the mayor with a cage fighter. Six-foot chicken, we knew you'd come for us eventually. Download Episode 4: Establishing...Here Be DragonsWe lament the end of the kickball season. We discuss the hazardous effects of 14-hour Monopoly games. We plot to supplant the mayor with a cage fighter. Six-foot chicken, we knew you'd come for us eventually. Download Episode 4: Establishing...dragons,comedy,chicago,podcast,jackassery,kickballhttp://herebedragons.typepad.com/here_be_dragons_podcast/2008/08/episode-4-estab.htmlhttp://herebedragons.typepad.com/here_be_dragons_podcast/files/Ep4_073108.m4ahttp://feedproxy.google.com/~r/HereBeDragonsPodcast/~3/32ATIrdE69k/kc-haywood-memo.htmlHere Be DragonsThu, 31 Jul 2008 19:09:59 PDTtag:typepad.com,2003:post-53577248

Here is the deal for the upcoming KC Memorial Show at Quenchers....

Wednesday, August 6 at 8pm
Quenchers Saloon
2401 N. Western Ave (at Fullerton)
Chicago, IL

$10 cover...Everyone pays. All proceeds go to K.C. 's Family. There are four bands officially on the bill and one secret guest to close the show.

Here are the set times and band listings...
8:30 - Ghostrunner Assembly
9:30 - The Streeters
10:30 - The Living Blue
11:30 - Sybris
12:30 - Secret Guest Band

Two local artists have designed posters for the show. These will both be for sale and the proceeds will likewise go to K.C.'s family. The poster designed by Gina Black is being printed by Screwball Press and is a four color silk screen. This may be sold for $10's...but have to see what final printing cost total. The poster designed by local Tattoo artist Kevin Starai--due to the great number of colors--will be laser printed onto glossy poster paper. This will be sold for $5. Both posters can be viewed by clicking on the images below.





So, come on out and celebrate the life of a great man. We love you, KC!

-HBD

We use our political stature to pursue paranormal investigations. We repeatedly punch ourselves in the face. We ridicule a karaoke cult and its heathen followers. KC would've wanted it this way.

Featuring music from these Chicago artists:
KC Haywood
Tongues
The Streeters (formerly Christopher Andrew Stelloh)
Bible of the Devil

Download Episode 3: For The Better Good

In lieu of recent events, we've taken some needed down-time from bringing the nonsense that all you 23-36 subscribers (depending on the day) have learned to so passably anticipate. We vow to be back even more incompetent than ever with more celebrity* appearances and rumblings of a slightly altered lineup. Just think of us as the 90210 of podcasts – an ever-changing lineup of people not acting their age.

Look for Episode 3: For The Better Good to go online sometime in the next few days.

-HBD

*by "celebrity" we mean "friend", unless you count Jill Hopkins who is the grandest of celebrities and in no way our friend

As some of you may know, our good friend KC Haywood was involved in a fall late Saturday night, June 14th resulting in two broken ankles and a skull fracture. He is being treated at Northwestern Memorial hospital in Chicago in the Neurology ICU and is in critical condition. Although he is still unconscious, the doctors are optimistic and he has a number of family and friends giving him as much support as one could possibly imagine.

This is a special session we held on Monday in KC's honor, in a feeble attempt to capture the humor and brilliance of our friend as he recovers. Those of you who aren't fortunate enough to know the man are strongly encouraged to listen anyway. Featuring music from the bluegrass album KC just recorded.

Download KC Haywood: Fixin' To Get Fixed

We are planning to post our new podcast about our friendship with KC on Wednesday night, June 25.  He will not approve of this.  Not because he's going to be uncomfortable with the attention -- on the contrary -- but because he finds the medium to be silly and self-indulgent.  Once again, KC impresses and humbles us with how spot-on he is.

We speak in poorly rendered accents.  We have our faces rebuilt to represent the East-West divide.  We use our impending doom to get laid and ruin others.  Tim Russert, "Daily Dalliances" won't be the same without you.

Featuring music from these Chicago artists:
Bible of the Devil
Tongues
The Streeters (formerly Christopher Andrew Stelloh)

Download Episode 2: Pringles IS Dead

Our good friend KC Haywood is currently in stable condition, but unconscious, following a fall Saturday night.  KC is a wonderful guy and we were all shocked to hear of it.  He and his darling Sarah are dear to our hearts and we wish them both the best.  If you would like to see a picture of KC at his finest, and possibly donate to his recovery fund, please visit www.kchaywood.com.

Understandably, this has slowed the process of bringing Episode 2 to all 28 of our beloved subscribers. It should be mentioned that all of it was recorded before the accident; it is doubtful that any of us would have been able to bring the nonsense in the days following this news.

UPDATE: A blog has been setup by KC's stepfather Tucker that will serve to update everyone on his status. It can be found at www.kchaywood.blogspot.com.

-HBD

Thanks to all who've responded, favorably or otherwise, to our first episode.  We will enthusiastically continue to feign interest in your suggestions.