Friday, February 3

Lost Friday - Fake Edition.

Image hosting by Photobucket

Another Lost Friday is upon us-

You know what? Not really. In the spirit of reruns, laziness and prior engagements, Lost Friday is taking the week off. It already took the day off of work and has a house to clean; it has guests coming over tonight. Besides, who wants to talk about a Season One episode at length again?

Okay, I would, but that's beside the point.

Next week's NEW episode is entitled 'The Long Con,' it will be Sawyer-centric and WILL be accompanied by an all-new Lost Friday. Scout's honor. Until then, there's plenty of good stuff on this page to keep you warm in the meantime. Everything I wrote in January was gold; I suggest you catch up.

The CDP will return on Monday with everything you need to know about the upcoming TWO-HOUR ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT SERIES(?) FINALE.

As always, here are links to every last Lost Friday in existence. E-mail me at with any questions or death threats. Enjoy the Superbowl; go Pittsburgh.


Thursday, February 2

Post Loaf.

Today's post is more of a 'Post Loaf,' consisting of real post parts, but not necessarily considered an actual post. Enjoy.

Upcoming Southern Wisconsin Concerts.

02/11 - Nine Inch Nails - The Rave - Milwaukee
02/14 - Less Than Jake - The Rave Milwaukee
02/16 - Motion City Soundtrack - The Rave - Milwaukee
02/17 - Andrew Bird - High Noon Saloon - Madison
02/22 - New Pornographers/Matt Pond PA - Barrymore Theater - Madison
03/02 - The Fray - The Rave - Milwaukee
03/03 - Opeth - The Rave - Milwaukee
03/04 - Nada Surf - The Annex - Madison
03/09 - Smoking Popes (REUNION!) - Miramar Theater - Milwaukee
03/11 - No Use For A Name - The Rave - Milwaukee
03/28 - Reliant K - Barrymore Theater - Madison
04/14 - Low - High Noon Saloon - Madison
04/21 - Minus The Bear - Miramar Theater - Milwaukee
05/04 - Pretty Girls Make Graves - Mad Planet - Milwaukee


Here'e something that's been bothering me lately. I got an e-mail the other day entitled ‘School Girl Fantasies Gone Bad.’ That sentence makes no sense whatsoever. Think about it, break it down. ‘School Girl Fantasies.’ What do school girls fantisize about? Getting good grades? Ty Pennington? Hair care products? Now throw in ‘gone bad,’ and things make even less sense. What would describe a school girl fantasy gone bad? In my mind, I picture a school girl getting an ‘F,’ and finding out that Extreme Makeover: Home Edition got cancelled. This is the only logical conclusion.

The e-mail would have made slightly more sense if it was titled ‘Your School Girl Fantasies Gone Bad,’ but it’s still all wrong. Why would I want my school girl fantasies to go bad? If I wanted them to go bad, that’s what I’d fantisize about. Besides, most of my fantasies involve me and a bunch of school girls playing Boggle, so I guess it could ‘go bad’ if instead of Boggle, they berated me and told me I needed to stop watching so much TV. In my opinion, this is way too much thought for a porn spam e-mail (or SPORN!, as I like to call it).

Fire Bad! Burns Hurt!

Another thing on my mind. I was leafing through the law library at my place of employment, and I saw a book entitled ‘Fire Protection Handbook.’ This book was hardcover and about 1000 pages thick. Honestly, how long can you talk about water? Do we really need 1000 pages on how to put out a fire? The only way this makes sense to me is if the book were actually made of water, or the book could be used to beat the flames into submission. Maybe the font is really huge; I didn't bother to check.

This reminds me of when I was watching the training video for my Theater Usher job. They were talking about how you needed to be careful when tending to the popcorn machine, and their mantra was 'Burns hurt!' over and over again. I later went on to make thousands of bags of popcorn at the Hardware Store, and only burned myself about a dozen times. I'm no fool.

Tax & Spend.

The Missus did our taxes this week, and we sort of got shafted. We were planning on getting enough money to take care of almost all of our standing debt, but instead got just enough to zero out our credit card balance. This is great news, and will save me hundreds a month, but was essentially half of what we expected.

The culprit? We made just enough money this year to be thrown into the rock-bottom of a higher tax bracket, slamming us with with same sorts of rates that those who make six-figures get. Hooray for having a nice job! Thanks to Uncle Sam, we have to hold off on the new car until Christmas. This truly angers me.


I watched the State of the Union speech on Tuesday. Like many of you, I was screaming at the television with a beer in my hand for the better part of an hour, cringing and cursing the majority of the 2004 voting public. Of course, since then, George's approval rating had dropped down to a dismal 42% (which is an F, if you happen to be keeping score at home, much like a school girl fantasy gone bad), so I feel a little vindicated, if not completely terrified.

Since Tuesday, I've read over the transcripts a time or two, and besides the usual lies and outright stupidity of the cut-n-paste speech, two things really stuck out in my head. They are probably the same two things that stuck in your head, as well.

#1 - "It is said that prior to the attacks of September the 11th, our government failed to connect the dots of the conspiracy. We now know that two of the hijackers in the United States placed telephone calls to al Qaeda operatives overseas. But we did not know about their plans until it was too late. So to prevent another attack-based on authority given to me by the Constitution and by statute- I have authorized a terrorist surveillance program to aggressively pursue the international communications of suspected al Qaeda operatives and affiliates to and from America. Previous Presidents have used the same constitutional authority I have, and federal courts have approved the use of that authority. Appropriate members of Congress have been kept informed. The terrorist surveillance program has helped prevent terrorist attacks. It remains essential to the security of America. If there are people inside our country who are talking* with al Qaeda, we want to know about it, because we will not sit back and wait to be hit again."

This is fear-mongering, plain and simple. He just got through talking about how the 'enemy' uses these very same tactics to get what they want in the Middle East. It upsets me that they thought I wouldn't know when I was being completely manipulated, especially when they laid it on so thick.

*Pronounced "talkin'" by W.

#2 - "A hopeful society has institutions of science and medicine that do not cut ethical corners, and that recognize the matchless value of every life. Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research: human cloning in all its forms, creating or implanting embryos for experiments, creating human-animal hybrids, and buying, selling, or patenting human embryos. Human life is a gift from our Creator- and that gift should never be discarded, devalued or put up for sale."

Wait, what did he just say? Did he just say something about human-animal hybrids? Was he supposed to say that? I didn't even think about that until now, and it sounds exceedingly rad. Something tells me that the public could have lived a long and healthy live without ever hearing that statement.

What a weirdo.


Steelers win! Steelers win! Steelers win!

Tomorrow, Lost Friday takes you for a ride in his Trans Am, and gets a little grabby. Come on back.

(EDIT: No Lost Friday tomorrow. Sorry, kids.)

Wednesday, February 1


Image hosting by Photobucket
(Nice speech last night; you really looked in control, the way you were begging for people to take you seriously and all. I feel safer already.)

Today is my 24th birthday.

On the first day of February in 1982, I was born in Neenah, Wisconsin, to a mother of an undetermined age and ethnicity. I was raised by this mother, along with an equally mysterious father, for the remainder of the 80's. The 90's were marked by classes and schooling of an educational nature, along with general guidance, trend-setting haircuts and drum lessons. The rest is cloudy history, I've been told.

Most birthday historians and scholars refer to the 24th birthday as the most important birthday that one will ever celebrate, should he or she be fortunate enough to live this long. Remember, most of these studies were done in the 1700's, when living to the age of 24 was a luxury reserved for only slave owners and pirates. I truly feel honored to rub elbows with such royalty.

Most people will tell you that turning 24 years of age offers you nothing extra in the game of life. Of course, we all know that turning 16 gives you the privileges of driving a vehicle, the age of 17 offers you the joys of R-rated films, and the 18th birthday introduces you to the wonderful world of cigarettes, strip clubs, voting, and the legal acquiring of legal pornography (some states may vary). Many cultures look to the age of 18 as the turning point into adulthood; weather that be becoming an upstanding citizen in the community, or an alcoholic with embarrassing social skills, reeking of stale Pall Malls and scotch. That's up to the specific individual.

By the time you turn 21, your senses have been so overloaded with stimuli that you hardly remember you still have more freedom to be handed. From your 21st year until your departure from this earth, you are free to drive, drink, smoke, vote and watch pornography with a stripper, all at the same time. While I have not experienced all of these joys in one fell swoop, most of my friends will tell you that it's far more interesting in theory. These are trusted individuals, and I will take their word for it.

Image hosting by Photobucket
("When in Wisconsin, be sure to visit beautiful Las Vegas!")

However, there is a long-forgotten right of passage for those turning 24 years of age. This goes back to those previously mentioned slave owner days, and has been pushed down into the depths of American law for centuries. Politicians and religious leaders want it to be banished, but it is protected by the Constitution. Hardly anyone knows about it, but I am going to share it with you today, for most of my readers are under 24 years of age, and will be able to relish in the fruits of my discovery someday. I will quote directly from the amendment:

At any point during your 24th year of existence (expiring exactly 365 days after the 24th anniversary of your birth), you are legally allowed to murder one person of your choosing.

That's all it says, but it's there, deep in the fine print. I've taken the liberty of changing all the f's back to s's, to accompany modern English practices.

After doing some brief homework over a bottle of Jameson whiskey and Mr. Pibb on the rocks, I saw that this practice was frequently used and respected for most of the 18th century. It was considered a right of passage for such long-standing royalty. Eventually, the law was ignored for wartime purposes, and never re-introduced into regular American functionality. It's like the legal version of the NFL dropkick.

That being said, it's still very legal, and it's still waiting for me to use. Never one to shy away from a chance to become a flavor-of-the-month phenomenon, I fully intend on cashing in.

After some additional legwork, I found out that the murder had to be committed by the person who was 24 years of age, or else it would be considered just an everyday murder, and therefore null and void (and prosecutable by imprisonment or death, if necessary). The method of murder wasn't explicitly drawn out, but a gun, noose or guillotine was the considered the most favorable execution style. Always a sucker for the classics, I'm going with the traditional Decapitation Machine when I decide to blow out the candles on my centuries-old gift from the colonials.

Image hosting by Photobucket
(Just take an already cool picture, paste the CDP logo over it, and presto! An even cooler picture!)

Quite honestly, the only decision I have left is the subject in question. This inquiry has been putting me at a moral crossroads for a few days now. Should I choose to kill someone who is hated and despised the world over? Someone who's death would make the world a better place for my children? (names withheld under fear of the Patriot Act) Or should I kill someone who's specifically making my life miserable, like that weiner bag boy at the Pick-N-Save, or one of those neighbors that keep me up with their loud sexual activities. This was a true noggin-scratcher; a decision I would have never been able to comprehend at the age of 18.

After many long nights of deliberation and consulting with trusted friends and neighbors, I still can't decide who I want to kill. Luckily for me, I have all year to make this decision.

Perhaps I will choose you, the very reader of this post. I ask you, what have you done to upset me so? Don't you appreciate all the things that I do for you? Countless hours of free entertainment, up to 6 days a week, with limited filler? I ask for nothing in return but a kind word and harmless comment section banter, and yet you betray me. I will not forget this.

So, who would you kill? Sound off in the comments section, or it just might be you.

Oh, and wish me a happy birthday, too.

Image hosting by PhotobucketAdditional note from the CDP:

The correct guesser in the 'CDP-Fact or Crap?' contest was Paste, who correctly predicted that all 10 facts were true. Of course, there were only like, 2 people that played, but it's a mighty feat nonetheless.

Tuesday, January 31


Image hosting by Photobucket

This is my sister. Her name is Alissa, and she probably looks much better than you. Don't let that bother you, though; I've had to deal with this harsh reality for most of my life. I can, however, usually defeat her in Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit, so at least that's something.

Image hosting by Photobucket

I only bring this all up because she turns 19 years old today. That's a pretty good age to turn, if I remember correctly. It's the last year of being a teenager, which is both depressing and exciting. For me, it was 365 straight days of Hardware Store customer service. 19 is really an awful age.

Image hosting by Photobucket

Upon seeing Alissa for the first time, you may wonder why I didn't acquire any similar good looks from my mother or father. This is still a baffling mystery to me, and I've consulted many adoption agencies over the years. As it turns out, I'm adopted, but only a little bit.

Image hosting by Photobucket

I mean, why can't I be a model? Why can't she be a struggling writer? Being a man of small victories and leverage, I've decided to put all these pictures of her up as some sort of jealous retribution. I feel better already, but it only drives the point home that I'm small and ugly, inside and out.

Image hosting by Photobucket

She checks out the CDP frequently but never posts, apparently because Chuck Norris jokes and the word 'oot' don't really attract that '14-19 female' demographic that MySpace seems to have cornered. Fair enough, though, it only adds to her mystique. We both strive to be ultimately ignored and forgotten, so it's viewed by many as a poor career choice for us to become a model and internet phenomenon. I bet Salinger never had a blog.

Here's a small bit of trivia for you. Our birthdays are 1 day short of 5 years apart. For those keeping score at home, this means that I turn 24 tomorrow. Don't tell anyone, it's a secret.

Happy birthday, Alissa. Our family is pretty lucky to have us, because we freaking rule.

(The answers to 'Fact or Crap?' will arrive tomorrow, I think.)

Monday, January 30

Fact Or Crap? - CDP Edition.

Image hosting by Photobucket

Gather 'round, now. Here's how you play 'Fact Or Crap? - CDP Edition.'

I'm going to tell you 10 interesting or odd facts about myself. You are going to decide which one or many of them is a lie, and let me know in the comments section. After a day or two, I'll reveal the answer(s) and give mad props and respek to the winner (I don't have any CDP merch to hand out...yet). Simple as that.

Put on your thinking caps, it's time to spot the lie:

1. In my early teens, I was a nationally-recognized Foosball player. In 1997, the National Championships were held in Oshkosh, WI, and I placed 5th in the 17 & Under tournament. During that tournament, I lost a match to Billy Pappas and won a match against Tony Spredeman. They are now recognized as the #1 and #5 ranked players in the world.

2. In the 5th grade, I was known and respected in my class for a weekly essay entitled, ‘The Stupid Dork.’ Each week, students would wait to feverishly pass around the latest exploits in the the life of ‘Re T. Ard,’ the title character in question. I wrote 15 of these volumes before they were discovered by my teacher and instantly destroyed.

3. I once went 52 straight hours without sleep as a teenager. I woke up at 6am on a Friday, and didn’t sleep until 10am on Sunday morning. It should be noted that somewhere around hour 28 of my insomnia, I played a grueling 3 hour tennis match, with me emerging victorious in the final set. I eventually passed out, sleeping well into Monday.

4. When I was 8 years old, I wrote a horror story entitled ‘Rampage in the Tower,’ about a group of guests at a party getting horribly dispatched, one at a time, by the sadistic host. Some of the highlights include three women getting mauled by dogs, a man getting decapitated by an axe, and in the head-scratching climax, the host being released from jail after serving for one month. Many years later, the movie ‘Saw’ was released, proving that an 8-year-old can indeed write a Hollywood blockbuster. As an addition, I submitted the story to Disney Adventures magazine for their annual Halloween story contest. I was never contacted, although I can’t imagine why Child Protective Services was never notified.

5. One summer day as a child, I tripped over a decorative rock at my Grandparents’ house and landed nose-first on the pavement. This happened in mid-sprint, mind you, so most of my nose looked like it had been sandpapered off. For the next few weeks, I looked like the Crypt Keeper, as my crimson stump of a nose naturally healed. It broke, but never bled. To this day, if you look at my nose close enough, you can tell it had been broken.

6. I’m left-handed, and I don’t believe in case-sensitivity. For example, if you were to receive a handwritten letter from me, it would either be in all upper-case or lower-case. No letter deserves treatment over the other when my pen is involved. Almost everyone on my mom’s side of the family is left-handed and has the exact same writing style. It’s crazy; you can’t tell any of them apart.

7. When working on the farm as a child, if a calf or cow were to die in our care, we would truck it to the ‘Cow Cemetery.’ This was essentially a huge mass grave, deep into the marshy area behind the farm, generally upwind. We would load the dead cow into the back of a truck and drive it out there, throwing it onto a 50 year pile of skeletons and rotting flesh. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since; it simply has to be what hell looks like. Growing up in a farming and hunting family, I’ve seen tons of animals in all states of torture and mutilation, but the Cow Cemetery made my stomach turn the most.

8. Speaking of the worst thing I’ve ever smelled in my life: My Dad was an avid hunter, fisherman and trapper, and liked to tinker with experimental baits and lures in his shed. He succeeded in creating what is generally known in these parts as the most foul and wreched scent ever bottled. ‘Gutbuster’ was the name of a trapping lure he concocted, consisting of a special blend of God-only knows what. When you opened a bottle of this stuff, a puff of smoke would escape from the top. Many of these lure brainstorming sessions ended with my Dad running from his shed and throwing up. This was a lot funnier than I can really explain.

9. During study hall in my senior year of High School, I sat directly behind the Missus’ ex-boyfriend. Every day, I would positively channel my rage and write a song or two about how much I couldn’t stand him. By the time I gradutated, I had a binder with over 100 awful songs in it. We’ve never spoke.

10. The very first hand of the very first game of poker I ever played was a true Royal Flush. 13 years later, and it hasn’t happened since.

There you go. Think it over, and share with us what you think is a load of bull rip.

Man, I seriously need to consider writing an autobiography. Not like that silly 'unofficial fan' one that Tiger Beat ran in 2002. Much of what they said was taken entirely out of context. Same with the front-page article I did for Beardin' magazine this month:

Image hosting by Photobucket

Sheesh, advertising. What won't these people do for a buck?

Hey! Before I go, I have a Commie Award to hand 'oot!

Image hosting by Photobucket

Speaking of fictional autobiographies, this week's award goes to James Frey and his book, A Million Little Pieces, basically because it's the last award he will ever win. Ever. Again; For the rest of his meager life, before he gets back on the sauce and does himself in for good. Nobody likes a liar, James, and when you lie to Oprah freaking Winfrey, your career is as good as cashed and spent. You've made a powerful enemy, dude.

For the life of me, I can't understand why people turn into selfish monsters and liars over something as superficial and trival as a few bucks. I guess that's what separates me from the losers. Talk to you later.