'Tarded Thunder

I've been surrounded by mentally challenged people my whole life.

Exhibit A)
My mom was a special education teacher from the time I was 5-9 years old. She taught everyone from the gifted kids (including ya boy) all the way to the kids who stapled their sandwiches together so they wouldn't fall apart. The greatest part about it all is, she taught at my school. So, I would have the distinct pleasure of going to her classroom after dismissal and hanging out with all the special kids. They would do lots of strange shit like laugh angrily, get into wordless arguments and (of course) bang their heads on the walls or tables. The headbanging was the worst. It scared the shit out of me because I just knew one day, Garcia's head would bust open and I would have blood and brains on my Izod before I was eight. This is where I learned to wrestle. On many an afternoon, my mother would leave the classroom for a staff meeting, or to talk to a parent, and I'd be left in the room with Dustin and Garcia, who had some kind of secret alien beef with me. Maybe because I looked like Webster. Now, I don't know how many of you have ever wrestled a kid with Down's Syndrome, but whatever they lack in mental acuity, they make up for in absurd, donkey-like strength. I got picked up and thrown into radiators, my face was drawn on in crayon, and I was stuffed into a cabinet of napkins on one occassion. Eventually, I learned their tricks and got as strong as they did. But I never got as retarded. Retarded was the professional term back then.

My mother was also a coach and chaperone for The Special Olympics. For those of you who don't know, The Special Olympics is a global non-profit that supports and organizes an Olympic-like athletic and sporting gala for the intellectually challenged.

I was usually the towel and water boy there, but on one special occassion I actually competed. I don't really want to get into it now, but if you know me, ask me about it next time you see me. In short, it was the most assholish moment of my life. Moving on..

Exhibit B)
When I was in sixth grade, the town deaf-partially-mute girl with mental disabilities had it bad for me. Her name was Monica. If you have a dishrag, or a few paper towels handy, do me a favor. Stuff the rag or towels in your mouth. Now say the words "Bar, bar, a-bar" but with a Scooby-Doo voice. You have successfully imitated the first female to ever have a crush on me. That was the only sound she could make due to her partial muteness. But she made it loud, and with all the attitude of one of my grown, sassy aunties. She was clever though, don't get it twisted. I'd even go so far as to say she was an intellectual. She just couldn't VOICE it. EVERYTHING she said came out as "Bar, bar, a-bar".

Man, I hated that girl. She used to wrap her lips around the water fountain spout, stand up and let the water drip down her chin. She'd wait by my locker after school and curse me out in her secret language.

But now I'm thankful for Monica. Every woman since her has seemed relatively sane with manageable issues. And words I can understand. Call me an asshole, but she looked a lil bit like

Exhibit C)
My cousin Courtney was born intellectually challenged. He was exceptionally strong and the only thing he would eat was pork n' beans. There's not too much more I can add to that.

Exhibit D)
You might remember in a previous post my mention about a friend named Richard who is responsible for my blindness. Richard had some weird mental illness that made him a little bit slow, but a natural comedian. I never really noticed he was slow until my mom would refer to him as "the slow boy". He had weird cracks in his tongue that made his mouth look like the surface of Mars. I'd hang out at Richard's crib, and we'd have competitions to see who could look at the Sun the longest. He always won through some retarded stroke of luck. If I see him, I will challenge him to a final showdown...I think I have become significantly more retarded over the years of drinking and smoking and various drug uses, so I might have a chance to win now.

That is, IF I can see him.

So I know by now, you're asking where I'm going with all this. It's very simple. Since my youth, I've kept very tight company with the retarded, the mentally disabled, the intellectually challenged, and the handicapped, and as a grown man, aint shit changed. I DJ next to a 'tard three days out of every week.

So I'm sort of an expert in the area of making fun of retarded people without hurting anybody's feelings.

And that's why I will be party to the roasting of my mentally challenged friend Malkovich on Thursday, March 12th. And if you've always wanted to make fun of retarded people, but never had a chance to do it on a microphone, I invite you to join us.

We might never get this chance again.



This blog site doesn't allow you to enlarge pictures without a bunch of stupid side-effects, so pardon this flyer's shite appearance here, and click on it to view in its full splendor.

IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING - 30 years, actually. So I figured I should do something big for it. Humans have some kind of obsession with multiples of ten, which makes this birthday much more meaningful than the last nine. So rather than be all stoic and boring and ring in my fourth decade on Earth with a fucking dinner party or something stupid like that, I have instead elected to do it big, because I am big. I am a fucking rock star. That's just how I feel. I think I will be cursing a lot in this post. Fair warning.

I am a rapper, as many of you probably do not know, because, for some reason, that is the only aspect of my infinite talents that I choose not to shamelessly self-promote to the Palms Weekend crowd. Well, those days are over. I've been in Burnie Nowax DJ mode for the last two years, but I feel a rap attack coming on. 2009 is the year Malkovich returns to burn. (see? I couldn't control it if I wanted to.) As such, I have a new mixtape out which I have named Bankruptcy, because I like to live the message in my music. It features a song or two from all my upcoming projects which will drop in the next year: Jim Kong Ill, where I impersonate the North Korean dictator for a whole record; Flighty, where I impersonate myself for a whole record; and The Palms Weekend, the album Sum and I are creating as a homage to this big wonderful mess of music, alcohol and exciting mustaches that we are all living together (see And So The Palms Weekend Album Begins). I'm throwing in a bunch of unreleased songs and radio freestyles to round out the package.

This party will serve as, among many other things, a release party for Bankruptcy. So I would have thrown a party around mid-March of this year even if it wasn't my birthday (which is a stupid thing to say: it's always my birthday in mid-March). I'm gonna shut up for now, because I could go on for roughly 1% of the Internet's total available memory about all the wonderful surprises I have lined up for you jerks, but I don't want to blow my wad too soon. Nobody likes it when that happens.

All you need to remember is THURSDAY MARCH 12, at The Mint. I will be performing. Sum & Taurus and their band The Milky Way will be performing. Nick the bartender will be crooning his heart out. There will be standup comedy from Freddy Harris, a.k.a. the 2009 Eddie Murphy. Everyone gets a free copy of Bankruptcy. My long-awaited video for "Iran So Far Away", where I impersonate a Persian pop star to the tune of the '80s classic (see THE COIF DEBATE), will be on the big screen. And yes... there will be a line around the block to roast me. God knows I've dished out the jabs. And God knows I'm gonna take some on the 12th.

malkovichmusic.com * myspace.com/malkovichmusic


Arsenal, Fin

IT ONLY TOOK ONE NO-SHOW from us on Thursdays for the Arsenal's management to wipe, zip up and give us the royal flush. But it's not like we didn't see it coming. Burnie Nowax and Sum Nocrates do not make sense at the Arsenal. We knew that as we were squinting into the house mixer's RCA jacks on our first night. One thing I'll give the Arsenal is that there are always some saucy bims up in there. Sure, by and large it's your average Westside duckpond, but I could always count on seeing at least two or three stunners, like this one piece of art who cornered me in the DJ booth and attempted to eat me with her ass for thirty minutes straight, before walking off and throwing up all over herself. The last I saw of my Thursday night love was her sitting on the sidewalk, head in hand, surrounded by a gaggle of her friends stroking her back and holding her hair. Another romance crushed. Fate, you do me so wrong.

Alas, it's not our scene. Everyone involved was hoping the Arsenal's crowd would enjoy one night per week when they wouldn't have to hear the same songs they hear every other night of the week in every other bar in the city. Apparently that was idealistic. But ultimately it's a blessing. Sure, we need the money, but we also need our livers, and at four DJ gigs a week I might as well have a kid with the first sexy binge-drinker who's willing, just so I can have a reliable backup on ice. Besides, the Arsenal gig was cutting into my drinking schedule at Saints on Thursday nights, which Truck refers to as my "double-fist" nights. Something about that phrase is a bit raunchy. Regardless, I treasure my post-Happy-Hour-set staggering time there, and I'll be glad to have it back without having to figure out how to get my drunk ass across town to a bar full of people who are hoping I don't come. Besides, the DJ booth there is way too small for two men.

I did like the flyer I made for the night though. That there is a bummer.



HERE'S HOW I KNOW GOD IS HANDING US THE CAR KEYS TO 2009: Valentine's Day falls on Saturday. Rumor has it he knows everything, or sees quite a few things, or has friends who have friends, or something along those lines. I overheard someone say something to that effect at the falafel spot the other day. So he must have known that his decision to schedule this year's celebration of lurve and happyness on a Saturday would put myself and Flowbama squarely in charge of mood calibration at Stinkers, the Palms Weekend's outpost on the frontier of gentrification. He only knows what kind of music the good people of Hipsterlake would have had to stomach if it was business as usual. I shudder to think.

These are tough times. So I heard. I mean, there's no World War on. The bubonic plague was 1920. People are living past the age of 33. Painkillers are a given factor in every medical operation. I don't see any babies being thrown in lakes, and there are plenty of BMWs in the streets. So yeah. Tough times? I don't know. Nevertheless, that's what you all keep telling each other, so I'll humor you for this post. These are tough times, folks. People need to feel the love this VeeDay, and electro ain't gonna cut it. People wanna sing. They wanna sang. They want the Marvin and the Otis and the Aretha. And when their vocal cords are weary and their mouths are only good for pouring more Silverlake Lemonade down, they want the One Way and the Gap Band and the O'Jays so their crotches can battle the rest out until it's time to get kicked out and go home and hump it off. And by Criminy, we're gonna give it to 'em.

This one's for you, God.

Salma Hayek Shares Tittie with African Baby

Man, remember when being an African baby was the last thing anybody wanted to be? Back in the 80s and 90s? Now, if you have the fortunate fate of being born in a ravaged African village, you might run very good chances of being swooped away in a golden chariot by Hollywood's elite.

Or at least getting a chance to suckle star milk from the sweet bosoms of Salma Hayek.

Let us rejoice. Being African is the hot shit again.

Sum Goes Flowbama

I've done lots of stupid things in my time.

I used to eat ants, construction paper and glue.

I used to vandalize cop cars.

One time, I kicked a mailbox so hard, two of my toenails fell off.

I had a mentally challenged friend named Richard who used to challenge me to see who could stare at the sun the longest. For this reason, I am legally blind.
He was retarded and adventurous, and I was competetive, so we made a reckless pair.

On Saturday, I ate a candle.

I've slept in an air shaft to skip work, jumped from a three-story building onto concrete, and lit my leg hair on fire because I enjoyed the smell.

And now I've done Flowbama.


Sum's Birthday is Thursday, Friday & Saturday, Pt II.

Come fuuuugwiddit.

Sum's Birthday is Thursday, Friday and Saturday

Man, I made this cool ass video to post up about it, but web congestion has thrown a bone in my gumbo.

So I'mma post it up tomorrow.

In the meantime, check it out.... tomorrow's my birthday, and this is a special one, because I've not had a drop of any poison in over 2 weeks since I was away on Dagoba at Jedi bootcamp learning how to use the Force. Some things I learned while I was away was how to fight like this:

That will be a fighting method that will come in handy for repelling dumb ass chicks and chili-head 'tards from the DJ booth when words will serve no use.
And as my technique became more advanced, I learned this deceptively slower but far more powerful style:

I'll use that technique to handle Greg Leonard after hours on Friday.

So anyway, I figured since I haven't drank in a while and I'm going to be DJing my whole birthday weekend, I need to work myself back into this shit. So I'm celebrating all three days, and I will progressively increase my intake at each Palms Weekend event. If all goes as planned, I will not be able to order drinks for myself on Saturday and will have to resort to communicating with all bar staff and patrons in a method similar to this majestic beast:

Is that goat screamin' "More?". Oh, I think so.

More Sum.

Well guess what baby, I'm back, and I'm 32, so there's more to love and to go around...so come on through and celebrate with ya boys. I'll play whatchya like.



This is not a joke.

Porn Broadcast During Superbowl - Watch more NSFW


US sports fans in Arizona got a surprise when their TV coverage of American football's Super Bowl was interrupted by a pornographic film. Tucson-based KVOA-TV said it was "dismayed and disappointed" after some cable viewers had their match coverage disrupted towards the end of the game. The company said the material was only seen by viewers of one cable network. "KVOA will investigate what happened and make sure our viewers get answers," company president Gary Nielsen said. "When the NBC feed of the Super Bowl was transmitted from KVOA to local cable providers and through over-the-air antennas, there was no pornographic material," he added. Comcast, the cable company whose viewers saw the material, said it was investigating.

Local media outlets reported that they received calls from furious viewers. The clip showed a woman unzipping a man's trousers, followed by a graphic act between the two. "I just figured it was another commercial until I looked up," viewer Cora King told the Arizona Daily Star. "Then he did his little dance with everything hanging out." The interruption happened just after the last touchdown by the Arizona Cardinals, who lost the match to the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Related Posts with Thumbnails