I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Dreaming With Ancient Enemies, A PC Nightmare.

This last weekend my family and I toured Bandelier National Monument (somewhat by accident - blog to follow). We toured the ruins of some ancient Native Americans. And then last night I had the strangest dream. It started out with me walking along the ruins with the crying Indian guy from the classic 70's littering commercial. He looks at me and says,
"I need you to get a message out to the world for me."
"Oh, is this about all those cigarette butts I threw out the window? 'Cause, I'm sorry"
"Nah, I understand, ashtrays stink, I throw mine out too."
"Then is it about my carbon footprint?"
"Not really, I drive a Hummer and eat at McDonalds every day. Love me a Big Mac."
"What is it then?"
"The name they have given our people"
"Indians? Well it's like this, Columbus thought..."
"No moron, my people. From here, the ruins here at Bandelier."
"Oh that. Anasazi, let's see. That means "Ancient Enemy" in Navajo right? That does suck."
"Yeah those A-Hole Navajos; you shoulda' heard what we called them."
"The A-Holes."
"Oh, and what did you guys call yourselves?"
"The Fabulous Thunderbirds."
"Impressive, so you want me to tell people to call you that instead of Anasazi?"
"Nah, we like that name too. It's cool and fierce."
"I thought you said you didn't like the name."
"Not that name. Now people are calling us Frijoles. Spanish for beans. Beans. What is that?"
"Ugh. That's awful."
"I know, huh?"
"Mr Fabulous T-Bird, I am a writer and I will do my part and get the word out about your plight."
"A writer? That's a stretch. You have a droll little site, but..."
"Hey! That's not very nice. Who's writing this bit anyway? By the way, what ever happened to your people?"
"Well, after one particularly bad winter, a condo salesman came up from Mexico and convinced us to move to the beach. Sun, sand, and waves; what wasn't to love? Plus, they had chocolate and mezcal."
"I love the beach. How did it work out for you all?"
"Well they made us sit in a hot room and listen to their time share spiel all day, and then they sacrificed us to Quetzlquatl."
"And to add insult to injury, people started calling us beans. You need to at least restore our good name. Help us Obi Wan; you're our only hope."
"huh?..", and I woke up as my 4 year old smacked me in the face with a lightsaber. And now I'm appealing to all you people out there, respect the Ancient Ones, don't call them Frijoles. You see, I know and share their pain; I was also called a bean. In high school our mascot was a Pinto. They claimed it was a horse, but we all knew the truth. Oh, the humiliation.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Our Hipster Goes To Eleven.

Oh you, droll little people with your indie bands and your foreign cinema and your alternative whatnot. How pedantic. "Oooh, I found this little band out of Rhodesia that no one has ever heard of; they are the next big thing... until they record something, and then they are sell outs, and I hate them." When you have reached the Nirvana of Ultra-Coolness, as I have, you will realize how misguided you have been. The secret is to go right past indie, alternative, and counter culture and come full circle back to pop culture, just enjoy it in a much more sardonic way than the ignorant masses could ever hope to.
     Don't shop at that little hole in the wall record store for some unknown punk band; instead buy a Justin Beiber album at Wal-Mart. The subtle genius of you buying drek like that, why it's too clever to pass up. And don't go to the local farmer's market and buy organic fair market free range soy micro brew IPA. That's so trite. Go to the local Super Center (conveniently located near you) and buy a 30 pack of Budweiser cans. Nobody would expect that from you, and if being a hipster isn't about keeping people off-balance, I don't know what it is about.
     Watching a Japanese web-toon of a zombie geisha ninja schoolgirl isn't fresh or sophisticated. Buying a box set of "Friends"; now that's complex. (Season 1-4, now on sale in electronics department for $19.99. Shop Smart. Live Smart.) And do you really think that getting a tattoo of your favorite BBC science fiction show is fresh, original, incisive, novel, or flippant? (Thesaurus at Wal-Mart.com) No, it's just cliche. And sad. It is much more ironic to buy T-shirts emblazoned with the beloved icons of years gone by. Captain Crunch, Kid Twinkie, Kurt Cobain, and other fictional characters from your youth, available in a variety of sizes on a 100% cotton/polyester blend in the men's department. (Buy one, get one, while supplies last.) What I'm telling you is; buying stuff makes you subversive and cool.

     The preceding message was brought to you by the disembodied soul of that ultimate hipster, Andy Warhol, official paid spokesman of Wal-Mart brand after-life.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Really?! It Means That? Are You Sure?

Today, I learned that if you have a friend, and sometimes you go out and have beers with him, and sometimes he takes you camping with him in his camper trailer, and once he let you borrow his family cabin, and he has season tickets to the local football team and he always lets you have one of the tickets, and sometimes he takes you to lunch and he always pays, and sometimes the two of you tell naughty jokes in the bathroom of a downtown bar, and now matter what, he always makes sure you get home safe, well, today I learned it that even if your friend does all those things for you, you still can't refer to that friend, when you're talking to other people, as your "friend with benefits".

Sunday, May 22, 2011

How To Create A Lady Gaga.

1 Part - Marilyn Manson
1 Part - Madonna
1 Part - Elton John
1 Part - Epileptic Stripper

Mix in blender until icky. Bake at ridiculous until overdone.

Makes enough for the mindless masses. Serve to public until they Gag.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

An Application For GameStop.

PERSONAL INFORMATION:    Name:_________________________
Sex: _____ Male _____ Female     Age: ______     Weight: _____ lbs.

Race: _____________________     Religion: _____________________
*If you answered female, 18-40 with a weight under 170lbs. Please stop. You are hired. If you Cosplay Lara Croft at ComicCon events, will you marry me? I will give you everything I will ever earn.
**Listing Elvish or Klingon as Race, or Jedi as Religion, was funny... 30 years ago.

If a customer comes into the store and asks some questions that reveal he is not very knowledgeable; what is correct way to respond to said customer?: ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
*If you respond with anything but a patronizing cutting remark dripping with condescension, you don't belong here.

Do you live in your parents or your grandparents:  _____Basement   _____Attic   _____Converted Garage  _____Your childhood room?
*Don't lie. We know you don't live with Milla Jojovich in her penthouse suite.

What is an apt description of your skin shade?: _____Pale  _____White  _____Paper White _____Translucent  _____Transparent  _____Neon White
_____ Fresh Snow on a Bright Sunny Day White  _____ Pasty
*As long as you don't have a tan, we're OK.

What is your experience level with members of the opposite sex? No. I mean a real live person.:_______________________________________________
*There is no right answer. I just like hearing about people who have actually been with a woman.

What is your favorite food?: _________________________________
*Tostinos Microwave Party Pizza is the correct answer. Mountain Dew and Fiery Cheetos is also acceptable.

What kind of music do you listen to?:_________________________________
*Anything other than Scandinavian Death Metal will be considered a FAIL.

The only way to earn a job, is for you to defeat a current employee in a video game duel. What game will you choose?: ______Mortal Kombat.
*Duh. There are no other choices.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Man Correctly Predicts The End. Sort Of.

A man who recently, quite publicly, predicted the end of the world (again) was found dead underneath an RV that was being used as a moving billboard promoting that apocalyptic view. Police Spokesman D. Meyers, said that one of the volunteers who had given up everything and dedicated their life to letting the world know about it's impending doom, became slightly angry after the world failed to end on Saturday. The volunteer then parked the largish Winnebago on top of the erstwhile prophet and declared, "You were right. Your world did end tonight!" Police are unsure what charges to file, "The victims predictions about doomsday could be construed as an elaborate suicide plot." One thing is immediately apparent; this erroneous oracle has given his last misguided prediction.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Don't Get Your Advertising At This Place.

Complaints? OK, let me see. Well, first off, I take ultimate responsibility for this entire debacle. I should have known that leaving my marketing and advertising to a guy with a piercing through his forehead, and a tattoo of Darth Vader dueling a Care Bear on his face, was a mistake. But the price was right and I thought that at least you would be creative, and could tap into that cool downtown vibe. That being said; are you brain damaged?! The marketing ideas you brought to me are possibly the worst ideas that have ever been put to paper. Your company should be called Moronic Heart, not Neuronic Heart, (what the hell does that even mean?!) I just was looking for some ideas to get the word out about my new Tapa's Bar to the local populace and you came up with the following gems.

My kindergartner could have come up with this, but at least not it's not offensive. Sadly the best of the lot.

Are you comparing my business to a prostitute from Good Morning Vietnam?
I know this might be a difficult distinction for you but restaurant not whorehouse.

Ah, keeping with the card suit theme, clever. EXCEPT it's not! Not only do we not screw our customers,
we also don't hit them. Preemptively; spading my customers isn't funny either.

No, no, no. We never kill people. Never. Ever. Ever.

I'm no marketing genius, but I am pretty sure that listing rat poison in the tagline of your restaurant is a bad strategy. Even if we don't have rat poison in our food. And never have.

I have a family owned business. My wife and daughters work here. We are not Hooter's,
I am not going to sexually exploit our waitresses, (or our waiters, for that matter.)
In closing, give me my money back, you freaking MORON. On a related note; If I ever see you in my restaurant, I will break one of my rules and barely kill you... possibly, with a club. And I will heart it. 

Monday, May 9, 2011

A Black Eye For Mother's Day.

I never know what to give my mother or my wife for Mother's Day. My mom thinks I can do no wrong, so whatever stupid thing I get her, she thinks it's special. But my wife? That's a different story. For instance, my wife will never let me forget the year I built her a dog run as a gift. Now in my defense, that's what I thought she asked for (possibly I shouldn't ask her what she wants after I've been using acetone to clean the lovely mural the children painted on the mini-van off of the mini-van in the garage which has no ventilation).
     This year I am going BIG! I'm going to give her a second wedding. But, I don't want to give her some cheezy re-commitment ceremony. She's gonna get the whole storybook princess wedding, the Justice of the Peace, tons of family (mine mostly), cocktail weenies, cases of PBR, line dancing; she'll have it all. But, that means we have to get divorced first. I'll serve her the divorce papers early in the morning, we'll have a chuckle or two, and then I'll ask her to remarry me. She always says I don't surprise her, and this should qualify. With any luck, she'll sweat a little first; she deserves it after always complaining about my gifts.
     Well, things didn't quite go as planned. It started off good, I had a courier bring the papers shortly after I left for work. Then things went off the rails. My wife called, in tears, right after the courier left. I tried to settle her down, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise. She was sobbing and laughing(?), I think I heard "thank you" and "best gift ever" and "just what I always wanted". After she hung up I noticed her phone number came up under her maiden name. I tried to call her back but I just kept getting voice mail; which now says something about going home after many long painful years. I tried to get a hold of her on the computer, but she isn't responding. I just noticed her Facebook status page says that she is "single" now. I better get home and straighten this all out.
     By the time I get home my stuff is laying out on the front yard. Right next to the "For Sale" sign. The locks seem to have been  changed as well. The neighbors tell me that a semi-truck came and loaded up everything in the house, and that my wife left shortly after the movers did, after telling all the neighbors good-bye. I don't think she is taking this very well, she is obviously having a panic attack, acting irrationally. If I can just find her, I can fix everything; tell her it was all just a misunderstanding, a little joke. And once this is over we will sit and laugh and laugh. If I can just find her.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

When Is A Party Not A Party?

Yesterday morning my wife told me we had "Spring Fest" that night. Woohoo! Party! It's been years since we went to an honest to goodness hootenanny, a good old fashioned pub crawl. I tried to remember when the last time I saw my beer helmet or my toga. The kids had used the beer helmet to catch and store tadpoles, and I'm sure my toga just cleaned the toilet last week. It's time to innovate. I will use duct tape and attach a couple of beers to my hard hat and press the kids unused Spongebob sheets into service as my new party toga.
   I show up at "Spring Fest" at the appointed time and it appears that I am the only one drinking so far. That's not unusual, I often start drinking before any one else; what is unusual, is the number of children present. It's really tacky to allow children to an event where people are partying. I say as much to a severe looking woman standing next to me, as I hand her a beer.
   She tells me, "This isn't a pubcrawl. This is the school fundraiser. YOU are the only one drinking. And I suppose this explains a thing or two. I am your oldest child's teacher, Mrs. Lyodda"
   "Hmmh. My bad. And just because I made a mistake and showed up to a school event in a toga, you can't make a snap judgement about what kind of father I am."
   "It's true, every one makes mistakes. But, this is the third year in a row."
   "So does that mean you aren't going to have that beer with me, 'cause I want it back if you don't want it."
   "I'm going to call the cops."
   "Don't do that. I'm sure they have more important things to do than to drink with me."
   "Tell you what, get rid of the beers and the toga, and we won't have to kick you out."
   So, I got rid of my beers and my toga, just like she asked. And was she happy?! No. She started screaming about how I couldn't walk around drunk in my underwear. Man you just can't please some people.