The aural death of John Mayer and DMB...don't want quoted, don't talk...monster to tackle

Welcome again.

I'm a college student, for those of you unaware of my subversive activities. I frequent such areas on campus as a bookstore, a food court and convenient store.

And every goddamn time, it seems, the cliche of college is playing over the blasted Muzak in those places.

John Mayer and the Dave Matthews Band.

Please, give me an icepick to slam violently through my eardrums so I don't have to listen to this crap anymore.

Cliches abound in college. It will never fail that frat boys will have navy blue shirts with "College" written across them, aping John Belushi in "Animal House."

It is guaranteed that there will be one white guy that lost his caucasian identity and became the trendy, cracker rastafarian doppelganger of Bob Marley.

"Old School" is regarded as a classic of modern American cinema...

It never changes. It truly doesn't. I've had the (unfortunate?) opportunity to be a college student in two eras - the late 1990's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings were really hitting primetime - and the 2010's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings are STILL being used as some sort of swan song for college youth.

The lamb-like college youth, that is. The ones that think "Crash" makes them enlightened and earthy while they throw on Abercrumbie and Fitch made in some third-world sweatshop.

You know, the places where folks still shit in their rice paddies to fertilize them?

I'm tired of the Dave Matthews Band being the house performers for college stereo systems throughout the United States. If you want to be earthy, toss on the Dead's "Truckin'" and don't bathe for eight days.

That's earthy...and fucking disgusting. But that is an aside.

John Mayer, meanwhile, was just a tiny tot when Dave Matthews was paving the way for warbling voiced, pro-hemp charlatans. Like most kids, he probably figured the easiest way into that sorority girls vaporlocked panties was acoustic whining and quoting Will Ferrell from his SNL days.

Mayer has done well, it must be said. He convoluted DMB's style, sprinkled in some "wonderland" bullshit and before you know it?

BANG! Jessica Simpson.

BANG! Cameron Diaz.

BANG! Jennifer Aniston.

'Nuff said. The man found the perfect elixir of crotch-dampening lyrics, guitar work that couldn't even hold Jack Black's jock - yes, Mayer is that bad - and pointless tattoos for street cred. He has elevated himself past the now-vanilla Matthews.

But still sounds exactly like him. Which means he sounds like absolute shit.

Yet college kiddos love 'em. Sigh.

One of my other subversive activities is being the news editor of the student newspaper at the prestigious university I attend. It makes for very interesting conversations and stories...

It also makes for pissing folks off, too - one of the perks I really enjoy.

I did a story last week, where I quoted a media representative from a company owned by a prominent sports figure. Guy was a PR douche, in other words.

Asked a few questions of him regarding the story, he answered cordially, end of discussion.

Bridge just built.

So, forward to running the story. I used quotes from the email correspondence with PR douche. I end up the next day with PR douche emailing me, "horrified" that his comments were printed.

He wailed that I should have asked permission to use his quotes and that I "may have thought I was juicing up my story, but all that I really did was burn a bridge."

Oh, and the threat that word gets around about such - gasp -devious things that I do.

Shut....the.....fuck....up.

PR douche claimed he had been in journalism for 50 years. Yeah? Well, if that is the case then you know, dumb bastard, that if you don't tell me "don't quote me on that" or "it's off the record" that -GUESS WHAT? - I can use it.

Much less to say, he did none of those things. So I used his comments that were not favorably towards the sports figure he represents. The situation reeks of PR douche getting his ass ripped by said sports figure, getting pissed off and wanting to take it out on me.

Well I have news for you, sir.

I don't burn bridges. I nuke them with extreme prejudice.

And I will leave the pieces for YOU to rebuild, not I...especially when you are fucking wrong.

I'll close with a heartfelt thanks to those who expressed their support of my book idea about the effects of the detention camps in Guantanamo Bay, both on former guards and detainees.

I worked there for two years, so it gives me an inside view and perspective others lack. I tossed the idea out there and received more feedback on it than any other post I'd placed on Facebook...

Ever.

So, I will tackle the monster. A monster it is, and I may as well sign off on five years of my life in writing it.

Will it be worth it? Financially? Mentally?

Only time will tell, but one thing is for certain...the stories need to be told.

And the story is not about me.


-Spragoo

The curse of Mary Kay Letourneau returns...shirts or "Skins"?.....giving it 50 till the Running Man

The curse of Mary Kay Letourneau returns...

This photo is from the Cincinnati Enquirer, showing the walk of shame by soon-to-be former Mason High School teacher Stacy Schuler, who taught health and physical education to the youth of today.


And, allegedly, banged the hell out of five male students at the school...after getting them hammered, too.


Oy vey!


I'll say allegedly because she hasn't been convicted of a crime. I'll throw her that bone. But, you know what? It's my goddamn blog and I'll express my opinion about this rarity known as the female pedophile.


Look at her. She is 32 years old, a relatively attractive woman. I'm flabbergasted as to why she would stoop to bedding 15 to 18 year old boys.


Can anyone help me out here? She is too young to be considered a cougar...


I have my ideas. They may not be right, but I think they fall close to the mark.


Popularity.


Yessir, ole' Madam of the Night Schuler couldn't live without being the most popular in school...disregard the tiny fact she was essentially raping adolescents. She wanted to be wanted and talked about...mature relationships with other 30-somethings wasn't cutting the mustard. Most 30-somethings have moved past high school - popularity and being cool as shit don't feed the kids or pay the house payment.


Some, however, can't let go. Schuler seems to be one...no longer the center of attention amongst her peers, she delves into a pool of impressionable youth for her own self-gratification now.


It's fucking pitiful.


She is facing one to five years on each of the 19 felony counts of sexual battery and three counts of serving alcohol to minors she is charged with. I really hope that choosing these kids to make the beast with two backs was worth it all when she spends the rest of her prime in Marysville at the Ohio Reformatory for Women.


Rah, rah sis boom bah.


The students, meanwhile, ride out having lived the tawdry dream of getting hot for teacher...and sadly won't learn a damn thing from this mess. Sigh.


To quote the punk band the Misfits, "Children in heat, they have no conscience, no resistance."


How very true.


Speaking of teenagers, the new MTV show "Skins" just adds fuel to fires such as this. It glamorizes the lives of teenagers, putting their sexual exploits, drug use and all-around fucked-uppedness on display for a public that is more than willing to watch it.


Makes it...cool.


Why? Why do we watch it?


Seriously, I'm no prude. I'm not a proselytizing religious fanatic shouting a sermon on sin from my pulpit. But, I was a teenager once...I lived through similar shit.


What makes these fucking twits and their teenage angst so much more interesting than mine? What could they being going through that we as a society haven't experienced in our days of yore?


We've all known someone who had an eating disorder, used drugs, drank, had sex, smoked in the boys room, had uncool parents, oh bla de oh bla da.


Life goes on.


"Skins" is nothing special...just another whorish grab by the show's "stars" to make a cheap name for themselves. For MTV, it's another show to pull in the lobotomized viewers that get a fucking kick off shows that wallow in misery...hence the popularity of "16 and Pregnant" and other rubbish.


We are a society that craves disaster. We crave it like a junkie with their next injection of black tar heroin. It explains why family-oriented sitcoms have gone the way of the DeLorean and why primetime is filled with sociopathic plankton figuratively backstabbing and throatcutting the person next to them to get the recording contract, the million dollar prize or just their photo on OK! magazine and a few red-carpet invitations.


True, it has happened for almost three centuries in our country. It's just that we never televised or relished in it before.


Seeing the way this cultural phenomenon of "reality" is going, I give it no more than 50 years until we have a show similar to that of "The Running Man."


For you youngsters, it was a film starring Ah-nold Schwarzenegger and a then-hot Maria Conchita Alonso based on a Richard Bachman/Stephen King novel.


A novel that, written in 1982, tackled the idea of "reality TV" before it was even born. It's 2025 in the novel, the world's economy is utterly gutted (hmmm...) and violence is rising throughout the world (double hmmm....).


Ah-nold's character needs dough, so he enlists in a game show that forces him to run like a jackrabbit and survive the show's hunters that are trying to kill him. Ah-nold gets more money the longer he stays alive.


Right now we have a show titled "Survivor" that rewards folks for outlasting others...with money.


It's not a far leap to televise manhunt games and live death, now is it?


Grab your popcorn, kids. We used to be enlightened...but fuck that.


It's not as cool.


Keep your powder dry,
-Spragoo

In memoriam

In memoriam of my grandmother, Mary Jane Teague...

Her obituary from the Columbus Dispatch:

Mary Jane Teague

TEAGUE Mary Jane Teague, 80, passed away January 30, 2011. She was preceded in death by her parents William A. and Mary E. Johnson. She is survived by her husband, Kenneth Andrew "Andy" Teague; children, Mary Catherine (Tom) Sprague, Dianne (Bill Shutt) Borror and Rebecca (Mark) Evans; six grandchildren; seven great-grand-children; sister, Carmen Jean Mayo; and dear friend, Evelyn Sampson. Jane retired as a legal secretary from Bricker and Eckler Law Firm. Friends and family may gather at Beautiful Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church, 2213 White Rd., Grove City, OH at 10 a.m. Thursday, February 3, 2011. Funeral Service to follow at 11 a.m. with Pastor Kevin Westra officiating. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made in Mary Jane's name to the Beautiful Savior Scholarship Fund or Mount Carmel Hospice c/o Mount Carmel Foundation, 6150 E. Broad St., Columbus, OH 43213-9924. Arrangements entrusted to NEWCOMER FUNERAL HOME, SW Chapel, 3393 Broadway, Grove City, OH.

It doesn't sum up her life, by any stretch. I'm at a loss for words, however, to try to even compress that amazing life into a blog that wouldn't do her justice.

So we'll leave it at this with a Gaelic farewell...

"suaimhneas síoraí duit, a Mham."

Eternal peace to you, Mum.


Love always,
Your grandson James

They steal your roadkill in St. Elmo

Another oldie but goodie from me...hope your holidays were a delight.





-Spragoo



They steal your roadkill in St. Elmo (May 28, 2009)

Blink and you'll pass it.

The only thing you see is the road sign stamped with the same name as a "Brat Pack" flick from the '80's...

It's St. Elmo, Illinois. Lying in evil wait just off of Interstate 70 past the graffiti capital of the Midwest, Effingham, Illinois.

Don't let the simple sign nor the idyllic surroundings fool you...they steal your roadkill in St. Elmo.

Just ask my friend Luke. Ole' Luke was birthed in St. Elmo and is quite the country man. He has a truck that is lifted high enough with large enough wheels that he has contemplated running over my house a few times during fits of anger.

Luke smokes AND dips and the same time, swallows his tobacco juice instead of spitting it out - "Makes yer stomach cast-iron!" - and has a velvet painting of Waylon Jennings spotlighted on his living room wall.

He also enjoys the fine country delicacy of roadkill...

I can't really blame Luke for this...times are tough and the economy is shit nowadays. I have contemplated a continuous diet of SPAM and boxed wine myself. So I don't criticize him for living off the road instead of off the land.

I figure if dumb, beastly critters want to get in the way of his truck from the film "Maximum Overdrive" and want to play chicken, them fuck 'em. They received their just desserts.

Luke told me this ghastly tale the other night, over some jungle juice at a friend's house. Set against the backdrop of St. Elmo's dirt roads and the wafting scent of cow manure, Luke told me how he mowed down an opossum in the roadway. "Thumped it one good," he exclaimed.

In fact after running over it forward, he proceeded to back up over it in the American spirit of double-tapping your enemies.

At this point, what is a country boy to do? They are brought up by half-Cherokee and Choctaw - sometimes Chippewa - folk that teach them not to waste anything.

So Luke tossed the carcass into the bed of his truck and went home with drunken visions of opossum, eggs and grits for breakfast dancing in his head.

"It's a fine hangover food," Luke said.

Forward to the next morning...Luke stumbles outside to his beloved Dodge Ram 560000000 Cummins Turbo Diesel Rocket Fueled Double-Extended Cab truck, looking to retrieve the prize from the night before.

And it's fucking gone...

I asked Luke if it was possible that he ran over Super Opossum...one that could haul its broken body out of the bed of the truck and stumble away to have Lois Opossum mend its wounds.

Luke reassured me it was impossible.

"Man, I creamed that sumbitch," he drawled. "Its fuckin' head was popped like a balloon and it had intestines hangin' out its ass. The fucker was D-E-A-D!"

That left only one option...some scoundrel poachers had stolen Luke's breakfast.

I called the Effingham County Sheriff's department the other night. A department of three sturdy men often tasked with putting out meth lab fires, breaking up bar fights and tracking down and executing bastards that steal roadkill.

I spoke to a Deputy Sowenhoffer and asked him if the thievery of roadkill in St. Elmo was prevalent.

"You got roadkill, you better lock it in your car or throw it in your freezer overnight," Sowenhoffer huffed. He sounded fat. "We gotta cult out here dressed in pink robes, scraping the shit off da road, taking it from your truck, whatever."

He didn't stop there. I almost wish he had.

"These hoods have no regard for good, honest, clean country folk trying to eat. Hell, they even broke into old man Beener's house and stole the stuffed badger off the back of his shitter."

"Could it be those pinko liberals from PETA?" I asked.

"What the Sam Hill is PETA?"

"Never mind, sir. I hope you catch the varmints stealing the varmints."

"Who you with, son?" Sowenhoffer growled. "Why you wanna know about this?"

Shit. What do I say, I'm writing a fuckin' retarded blog about your retarded town?

"Ah, I'm with Field and Stream, deputy. I'm doing an article. I'll send a free years subscription for your cooperation."

That changed the tune. "HOT DAMN! You're a good man, son. Anything you need, just call."

That was a dead end, fo' sho'. I'm no farther along in helping Luke reclaim his beloved opossum or finding the fuckin' degenerates taking the roadkill out of babies mouths in St. Elmo.

One thing is for certain, however. I'm never stopping for gas in St. Elmo. Any town where people are stealing rotten, decomposing rodents is not somewhere I want to become acquainted with. I like to leave my kids in the car while filling up the gas tank.

The last thing I want to see is a gaggle of pink-robed Nazi's storming out of the woodline, stealing the fruits of my loins and screaming "We dun't like yer kind 'round heer!"

Some peoples children, I'll tell ya.

-Spragoo

I'm in the wrong damn business....

Holiday greetings to the stalwarts of my blog...that's Dionne Warwick to the left of us. She was a horrible musical artist before she decided to be an even worse psychic. You'll see why I included her later on down the page.

I'm in a writing slump. Ok, I won't lie; I just don't fucking feel like writing over my holiday break from the renowned University of Cincinnati.

So, I have a treat for you all. We're going back in time...to the earlier works of a burgeoning writer before he learned how to write ledes for stories, be counter-intuitive on purpose and structure a nicely written piece.

You are going to read the pre-pubescent shit I've written before becoming a man. (dipped in sarcasm)

I've cleaned up a lot of the blogs I plan on posting over the next week or so. I reminisced over them last night on Myspace, then decided to do what any artist worth their weight does when they don't feel like creating anything new...

Repackage old shit.

Hope you enjoy them. This is my gift to you during this season of giving.

That and I'm too damn lazy and poor right now to give you anything else.

-Spragoo

I'm in the wrong damn business... (July 13, 2009)

Turn on cable TV some night.

In-between watching Kendra and old World Series of Poker reruns, you'll be bombarded with a multitude of "text your name and your girlfriends' name to see if you're compatible" commercials.

Now, truly, do we think this works? A phone or computer is going to tell me whether Bertha is the right one for me?

Seriously?

Well, you know me. I had to put this shit to the test.

So, I text some names one night to one of the numbers burned into my retinas by these commercials of ill-repute.

I text my name along with the name Melba. What did I find out?

That Melba, due to her weight issues and full-faced beard was not a compatible option for me...not to mention her zealous affinity for toast.

I found this hilarious, because I don't even know a Melba.

After a couple of more beers, my "what the hell" mechanism kicked in and I decided to text a few more ridiculous names to the number, just to see the inane results.

I continued with Bocephus and discovered his fond affection for farm animals, aunts and sisters would keep us from forming an intimate bond...

Mandigo - I could not handle his physical attributes, such as an elephant trunk dangling between his legs.

Bunny - she would give me a venereal disease.

Jesse's Girl - she would cheat on me then write a one-hit wonder about it.

In other words, it was all complete horseshit.

I received the phone bill two weeks ago...for those five names alone I text, my bill totaled $534.98.

Thank (insert name of favorite deity here) I'm not promiscuous and have 20 names to text.

Thankfully I'm not a retarded, lovestruck, Spam-eating neanderthal relying on a phone to tell me what my own two eyes and skeptical brain should.

Maybe this gig is a way for the Bilderberg Group to eliminate the dumb people mating...just charge them ungodly amounts of money for them to learn that someone named Chevy or International Harvester isn't meant for them.

Yes, I speak to you, redneck trash of the world who use burlap sacks as condoms...

"Shee-at! I dun fot ole' Massey wuz da un fer mah. Nah I gotta go out ta pasture fer mah luvin'."

Why the hell have I been slaving in the United States Army for 10 years, when all I needed was a phone number, a sense of humor and advertisements on Country Music Television and We - Television for Women?

Give me a fucking commercial. I'll tell everyone they're going to die, pay taxes, meet someone, drive a car and quit a job. I'll even toss in some lucky numbers like 678, 214 and 3.

Play those on your Pick Three, dumbass. You're sure to win.

Do you want your weight too? Ok, we are all fat because we are all Americans. That is your weight. Just eat prunes and Vienna sausages for the next 10 months and shed that weight...

Hey, I've now got a new diet to sell! Will you sheep buy that too?

Pick up the phone and text me now. Your future hangs in the balance. Screw making your own future, just let some half-wit text it to you....continue the rapid decline of Western Civilization.

It seems as if I've been in the wrong damn business...I might as well cash in on the insanity that now passes for normalcy.

We can believe TV, right?

-Spragoo

Banning books in Missouri....what utter bullshit

Prepare for a tirade.

This photo is by Nathan Papes, of the Springfield (Mo.) News-Leader. It shows a crowd of parents and other community-minded citizens applauding.

Applauding the banishment of the book "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian." in the Stockton, Mo., high school.

You can read about the book more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Absolutely_True_Diary_of_a_Part-Time_Indian

And the efforts to ban it, which unfortunately were successful.
http://www.usatoday.com/news/education/2010-12-01-bookbans01_ST_N.htm

I read about it...and the idea of banning it from a high school — such as what was done in Missouri — is complete, utter bullshit.

The teen birth rate for females between the ages of 15 and 19 is 45.7 out of 1,000 females in the state of Missouri...higher than the average of 42.5 in the United States.

http://www.statehealthfacts.org/profileind.jsp?ind=37&cat=2&rgn=27

Missouri led the nation in meth lab incidents through August 2010...

http://www.mshp.dps.mo.gov/MSHPWeb/DevelopersPages/DDCC/methLabDisclaimer.html

According to the State of Missouri's Center for Family Policy and Research, as of 2007 approximately 51,000 children used illicit drugs, an increase of almost 9,000 from the previous year.

Given these stats, it looks like folks in the Show-Me state have more important things to concern themselves with, instead of a book that deals with racism and poverty.

Oh, maybe they got in an uproar because the book had the word "gay" in it...

What I see in this photo is nothing but a gaggle of — my opinion, mind you — conservative, "Christian" do-gooders that want to shield their children from reality.

The reality of just how fucked-up our world has become.

They'll ban a book, but what are they doing to prevent teen births? Or teen drug use?

I'd bet money that the parents of children at Stockton High School don't mind if the kiddos turn the boob tube to "16 and Pregnant" or "Jersey Shore," while Pops is beating off to Oriental women in "Hustler" and Momma is using the big green machine on herself...

I'd bet money quite a many high-school football star's alcohol use is swept under the rug for the sake of victories in Stockton...

In other words, they are hypocrites. We all are, without doubt. I won't dispute that even I am...

Yet it sickens me to thing that this rabble in the audience — whom I'd also bet money have never read so much as Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" — have the nerve to question a book that has won multiple awards as such...


2009 Peter Pan Award, Sweden
2009 Odyssey Award for audio version, produced by Recorded Books, LLC
2008 Washington Book Award - the Scandiuzzi Children's Book Award for middle grades and young adults
2008 Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards for Excellence in Children’s Literature in Fiction
2008 Capitol Choices Noteworthy Books for Children
2008 Book Sense Book of the Year Children's Literature Honor Book
2008 Pacific Northwest Book Award
2008 American Indian Library Association American Indian Youth Literature Award
2007 National Book Award for Young People's Literature
2007 Los Angles Times Book Prize Finalist
Publishers Weekly 2007 Best Books of the Year - Children's Fiction
The New York Times Notable Children's Books of 2007
Los Angeles Times Favorite Children's Books of 2007
National Parenting Publication Gold Winner 2007
Barnes & Noble 2007 Best for Teens
School Library Journal Best Books of 2007
Kirkus Reviews Best Young Adult Books of 2007 (pdf file)
Horn Book Fanfare Best Books of 2007
The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books Blue Ribbon Winner
Kansas City Star's Top 100 Books of the Year

Need I say more?

I will. It's backwards-thinking shitheaps like these that will end up voting Sarah Palin — that of "Obviously we gotta stand with our North Korean allies" fame — into the presidency and will turn our country into a "Christian" replica of Afghanistan and Iran...banning "dirty" books, cramming Hey-sus down our throats and turning us into something we all should dread.

A theocracy.

Say goodbye to democracy if we stand by and let this continue. Say hello to the good ol' down-home traditions of hiding reality, fucking your cousin and waging war against anyone who isn't a WASP.

Wait a second.

We already do that here in America, don't we?

-Spragoo

Mr. Self-Destruct.....Turkey Lurkey......nice comeback, Hudy

Ah, it's been an interesting few weeks since I last regaled you with my prose....

I quit my job as a 911 dispatcher. I gave absolutely no notice, no hints of warning, nothing.

Just gave 'em the word an hour before my shift was slated to start, then proceeded to stuff my fuckin' face at Golden Corral with the free veteran's meal.

Now I only have a part-time job and added about a pound of cholesterol to my bloodstream. Just call me Mr. Self-Destruct.

Guess I should begin taste testing different brands of Alpo.....figure out which one suits my palette the best. It may very well be all I can afford here soon.

Not to justify my insanity at quitting a government job, but I really couldn't pull it off anymore. Going stretches of 48 hours without sleep, watching my grades suffer and my writing decline, was just not my idea of good times.

I'm not proud enough to raise the white flag when it needs to go up....my body was the Alamo and it was being overrun, without a doubt.

So the fat is in the fire, as HST used to say. My career is my writing. Whether I'll be damned for it is yet to be seen.

Thanksgiving, or what passes for a family holiday, was Thursday. Just a few observations from the day that signals the retail world's apocalypse...

-There is always family drama. Either too many liquid spirits flow or someone is still jilted due to a perceived slight from the year prior.

-Every family has an uncle (or someone who might as well be an uncle) who still insists on wearing sweatpants and sporting a perm/mullet to dinner. Odds are they also listen to Scorpions and Accept on a MP3 player, not an IPod.

-All sorts of monstrosities are planned for the leftover turkey, from turkey a la king to turkey lurkey (fuck if I know what that is), turkey casserole, turkey mush, etc. This makes me feel so sorry for turkeys....they are the most mutated, bludgeoned poultry dish in the history of mankind.

-Everyone watches shitty football games.

-Some unbutton their pants when they shouldn't.

-You don't eat turkey again for a damnable year, once you have fought your way through eating the mutated turkey recipes.

I have to commend the Hudepohl Brewing Company outta Cincy. Purveyors of such fine bottled piss as Hudy Delight and Hudy 14-K, they have ventured from the 50's to the present with a new brew - Hudepohl Amber Lager.

I made it through a six-pack without choking my vomit back down. My tongue didn't shrivel and fall off, either.

And, truly, it was better than Killian's Irish Red.

Anyone who has an inkling of knowledge of Cincinnati beers, besides the heavenly Christian Moerlein, knows that the rest - Hudepohl, Burger, Little Kings, Schoenling - were nothing but the city's version of Steel Reserve.

Kerosene, arsenic and elephant piss.

So, it's nice to see Hudepohl steal a page from Dominoes and upgrade a little. In a town with a 2-9 football juggernaut, impending cop and firemen layoffs, a Jesus-savior streetcar and multi-million dollar stadium deficits, it's pleasing to see that something can be done fucking right.

Selah,
Spragoo