But people, we’ve got a serious problem here and the people of the world must unite to help these poor people. There has been a large-scale tragedy, the victims of which are primarily Indian. Yes, Indians are finally being represented..we’ve come a long way but we’ve finally made it. The bombings in Mumbai-formerly-Bombay (MFB) were done by evildoers and justice must be taken; we’ve got to smoke them out of their holes. We must protect democracy (India is the largest democracy in the world). We’ve got to defend freedom, justice, and the American way. Luckily, India recently became a nuclear power which will help ensure a swift, well-planned vengeance on the people who may or may not have carried out these horrific attacks.

Why is this tragedy receiving such low coverage in the American media? I am scared to answer, but I know that the good-doers around the world will come together to help the poor (this is India we’re talking about) in overcoming this: the first real tragedy of the millenium.

For an easy, cheap, and non-commital way to help these victims without the discomfort of leaving your padded chairs, click here. For every “e-candle” that is lit, CNN-IBN will give 1 rupee to each victim…and for those of you not familiar with Indian currency, 1 rupee is the equivalent of an American fingernail clipping. We shall overcome.

From The Onion

Suddenly, lightning exploded, blowing through the linoleum and leaving a pockmarked area on the concrete. Brown wound up on the floor, dazed and disoriented by the blast but otherwise uninjured.

“I said, ‘Amen,’ and the room was engulfed in a huge ball of fire,” she said. “I’m blessed to be alive.” (Link)

Lioness in zoo kills man who invoked God – KIEV (Reuters) – A man shouting that God would keep him safe was mauled to death by a lioness in Kiev zoo after he crept into the animal’s enclosure, a zoo official said on Monday.

“The man shouted ‘God will save me, if he exists’, lowered himself by a rope into the enclosure, took his shoes off and went up to the lions,” the official said.

“A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed his carotid artery.”

The incident, Sunday evening when the zoo was packed with visitors, was the first of its kind at the attraction. Lions and tigers are kept in an “animal island” protected by thick concrete blocks. (Link)

There’s safety in numbers.

Guy: …Newborn babies are pretty small, yo.
Girl: Not small enough to fit in your pocket!
Guy: What if you were wearing cargo pants?

–A train

Guy #1: Shouldn’t you guys be out looking for jobs instead of practicing four part harmonies?
Songbo: Shouldn’t you be sucking his dick?
Guy #2: He does have a point.

–R train

Woman #1: Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Amy Fisher?
Woman #2: No.
Woman #1: Well, you do. I mean what she did was wrong and all, but she was a beautiful woman, so are you.

–6 train

Woman #1: I’ve been thinking lately that I want to be a gynecologist.
Woman #2: That’d be so cute! You could deliver babies and everything!
Woman #1: Oh. Well. Actually, I don’t really like children. I mean, I’d be willing to kill them, but I wouldn’t really want to deliver them…

–Nevada Smith’s, 3rd Avenue

Man: Ay, Mami, looking good today…
Woman: Can’t you see I am with my son?
Little boy: You’re his mommy too?

–14th & 3rd

Girl #1: Wow. Akiva Goldsmith’s really made something for himself…for a Jew.
Girl #2: God you’re a racist.
Girl #1: What makes me a racist? I’m part Jewish.
Girl #2: An hour ago you asked me why all Asians look the same.

–Loews Lincoln Square, West 68th Street

Conductor: The man in the yellow hat, please get off the train. We
don’t take passengers at Fordham.
Woman: Isn’t that Curious George’s owner?

–Metro-North

Girl: How do you like NYU so far?
Guy: I like it a lot.
Girl: So, are you at least bi-curious yet?

–8th & Broadway

Guy: Hey, I haven’t seen you in, like, two years.
Girl #1: Yeah, not since that time we made out at Cristina’s party…then you went to Paris.
Guy: …I’m gay now.
Girl #1: Oh.
Girl #2: NYU boys should really come with warning labels.

–Waverly Building elevator, Waverly Place

Girl: Why don’t you just make a list of things I need to change about myself so I can be more like you?
Guy: Okay, let’s start with your tooth brushing. How about rinsing off the toothbrush before you put it back into the cabinet so there is not old toothpaste and spit dripping off of it? And how about rinsing after you brush?
Girl: Anything else?
Guy: No, I think that’s the only thing you need to change about yourself.

–88th & Amsterdam

Girl #1: You should see this guy. He’s like the reincarnation of Gerard Way.
Girl #2: Gerard Way’s not dead.
Girl #1: He’s emo. He’s dead inside.

–E train

God Squad lady: Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming!
Girl: Well, is he going to be getting off the S train? ‘Cause I’ll just meet him there.

–Port Authority

Hobo #1: Penny for the homeless?
Hobo #2: You’ve got to be universal, you can’t just ask the pretty women.

–14th & Broadway

Girl #1: …but I mean, it would have been so cute if we had gotten pregnant at the same time…
Girl #2: Yeah, i’m kinda bummed…
Girl #1: We would totally get our abortions together!
Girl #2: Oh my god, we would!

–Columbia University

more at Overheard in New York

Saturday, February 11, 2006

The Raid…
We were collected at my aunts house for my cousins birthday party a few days ago. J. just turned 16 and my aunt invited us for a late lunch and some cake. It was a very small gathering- three cousins- including myself- my parents, and J.’s best friend, who also happened to be a neighbor.

The lunch was quite good- my aunt is possibly one of the best cooks in Baghdad. She makes traditional Iraqi food and for J.’s birthday she had prepared all our favorites- dolma (rice and meat wrapped in grape leaves, onions, peppers, etc.), beryani rice, stuffed chicken, and some salads. The cake was ready-made and it was in the shape of a friendly-looking fish, J.’s father having forgotten she was an Aquarius and not a Pisces when he selected it, “I thought everyone born in February was a Pisces…” He explained when we pointed out his mistake.

When it was time to blow out the candles, the electricity was out and we stood around her in the dark and sang “Happy Birthday” in two different languages. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to make a wish and then, with a single breath, she blew out the candles. She proceeded to open gifts- bear pajamas, boy band CDs, a sweater with some sparkly things on it, a red and beige book bag… Your typical gifts for a teenager.

The gift that made her happiest, however, was given by her father. After she’d opened up everything, he handed her a small, rather heavy, silvery package. She unwrapped it hastily and gasped with delight, “Baba- it’s lovely!” She smiled as she held it up to the light of the gas lamp to show it off. It was a Swiss Army knife- complete with corkscrew, nail clippers, and a bottle opener.

“You can carry it around in your bag for protection when you go places!” He explained. She smiled and gingerly pulled out the blade, “And look- when the blade is clean, it works as a mirror!” We all oohed and aahed our admiration and T., another cousin, commented she’d get one when the Swiss Army began making them in pink.

I tried to remember what I got on my 16th birthday and I was sure it wasn’t a knife of any sort.

By 8 pm, my parents and J.’s neighbor were gone. They had left me and T., our 24-year-old female cousin, to spend a night. It was 2 am and we had just gotten J.’s little brother into bed. He had eaten more than his share of cake and the sugar had made him wild for a couple of hours.

We were gathered in the living room and my aunt and her husband, Ammoo S. [Ammoo = uncle] were asleep. T., J. and I were speaking softly and looking for songs on the radio, having sworn not to sleep before the cake was all gone. T. was playing idly with her mobile phone, trying to send a message to a friend. “Hey- there’s no coverage here… is it just my phone?” She asked. J. and I both took out our phones and checked, “Mine isn’t working either…” J. answered, shaking her head. They both turned to me and I told them that I couldn’t get a signal either. J. suddenly looked alert and made a sort of “Uh-oh” sound as she remembered something. “R.- will you check the telephone next to you?” I picked up the ordinary telephone next to me and held my breath, waiting for a dial tone. Nothing.

“There’s no dial tone… but there was one earlier today- I was online…”

J. frowned and turned down the radio. “The last time this happened,” she said, “the area was raided.” The room was suddenly silent and we strained our ears. Nothing. I could hear a generator a couple of streets away, and I also heard the distant barking of a dog- but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

T. suddenly sat up straight, “Do you hear that?” She asked, wide-eyed. At first I couldn’t hear anything and then I caught it- it was the sound of cars or vehicles- moving slowly. “I can hear it!” I called back to T., standing up and moving towards the window. I looked out into the darkness and couldn’t see anything beyond the dim glow of lamps behind windows here and there.

“You won’t see anything from here- it’s probably on the main road!” J. jumped up and went to shake her father awake, “Baba, baba- get up- I think the area is being raided.” I heard J. call out as she approached her parents room. Ammoo S. was awake in moments and we heard him wandering around for his slippers and robe asking what time it was.

Meanwhile, the sound of cars had gotten louder and I remembered that one could see some of the neighborhood from a window on the second floor. T. and I crept upstairs quietly. We heard Ammoo S. unlocking 5 different locks on the kitchen door. “What’s he doing?” T. asked, “Shouldn’t he keep the doors locked?” We were looking out the window and there was the glow of lights a few streets away. I couldn’t see exactly where they came from, as several houses were blocking our view, but we could tell something extraordinary was going on in the neighborhood. The sound of vehicles was getting louder, and it was accompanied by the sound of clanging doors and lights that would flash every once in a while.

We clattered downstairs and found J. and the aunt bustling around in the dark. “What should we do?” T. asked, wringing her hands nervously. The only time I’d ever experienced a raid was back in 2003 at an uncle’s house- and it was Americans. This was the first time I was to witness what we assumed would be an Iraqi raid.

My aunt was seething quietly, “This is the third time the bastards raid the area in 2 months… We’ll never get any peace or quiet…” I stood at their bedroom door and watched as she made the bed. They lived in a mixed neighborhood- Sunnis, Shia and Christians. It was a relatively new neighborhood that began growing in the late eighties. Most of the neighbors have known each other for years. “We don’t know what they’re looking for… La Ilaha Ila Allah…”

I stood awkwardly, watching them make preparations. J. was already in her room changing- she called out for us to do the same, “They’ll come in the house- you don’t want to be wearing pajamas…”

“Why, will they have camera crews with them?” T. smiled wanly, attempting some humor. No, J. replied, her voice muffled as she put on a sweater, “Last time they made us wait outside in the cold.” I listened for Ammoo S. and heard him outside, taking the big padlock off of the gate in the driveway. “Why are you unlocking everything J.?” I called out in the dark.

“The animals will break down the doors if they aren’t open in three seconds and then they’ll be all over the garden and house… last time they pushed the door open on poor Abu H. three houses down and broke his shoulder…” J. was fully changed, and over her jeans and sweater she was wearing her robe. It was cold.

My aunt had dressed too and she was making her way upstairs to carry down my three-year-old cousin B. “I don’t want him waking up with all the noise and finding those bastards around him in the dark.”

Twenty minutes later, we were all assembled in the living room. The house was dark except for the warm glow of the kerosene heater and a small lamp in the corner. We were all dressed and waiting nervously, wrapped in blankets. T. and I sat on the ground while my aunt and her husband sat on the couch, B. wrapped in a blanket between them. J. was sitting in an armchair across from them. It was nearly 4 am.

Meanwhile, the noises outside had gotten louder as the raid got closer. Every once in a while, you could hear voices calling out for people to open a door or the sharp banging of a rifle against a door.

Last time they had raided my aunts area, they took away four men on their street alone. Two of them were students in their early twenties- one a law student, and the other an engineering student, and the third man was a grandfather in his early sixties. There was no accusation, no problem- they were simply ordered outside, loaded up into a white pickup truck and driven away with a group of other men from the area. Their families haven’t heard from them since and they visit the morgue almost daily in anticipation of finding them dead.

“There will be no problem,” My aunt said sternly, looking at each of us, thin-lipped. “You will not say anything improper and they will come in, look around and go.” Her eyes lingered on Ammoo S. He was silent. He had lit a cigarette and was inhaling deeply. J. said he’d begun smoking again a couple of months ago after having quit for ten years. “Are your papers ready?” She asked him, referring to his identification papers which would be requested. He didn’t answer, but nodded his head silently.

We waited. And waited… I began nodding off and my dreams were interspersed with troops and cars and hooded men. I woke to the sound of T. saying, “They’re almost here…” And lifted my head, groggy with what I thought was at least three hours of sleep. I squinted down at my watch and noted it was not yet 5 am. “Haven’t they gotten to us yet?” I asked.

Ammoo S. was pacing in the kitchen. I could hear him coming and going in his slippers, pausing every now and then in front of the window. My aunt was still on the couch- she sat with B. in her arms, rocking him gently and murmuring prayers. J. was doing a last-minute check, hiding valuables and gathering our handbags into the living room, “They took baba’s mobile phone during the last raid- make sure your mobile phones are with you.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my ears and I got closer to the kerosene heater in an attempt to dispel the cold that seemed to have permanently taken over my fingers and toes. T. was trembling, wrapped in her blanket. I waved her over to the heater but she shook her head and answered, “I…. mmmm… n-n-not… c-c-cold…”

It came ten minutes later. A big clanging sound on the garden gate and voices yelling “Ifta7u [OPEN UP]”. I heard my uncle outside, calling out, “We’re opening the gate, we’re opening…” It was moments and they were inside the house. Suddenly, the house was filled with strange men, yelling out orders and stomping into rooms. It was chaotic. We could see flashing lights in the garden and lights coming from the hallways. I could hear Ammoo S. talking loudly outside, telling them his wife and the ‘children’ were the only ones in the house. What were they looking for? Was there something wrong? He asked.

Suddenly, two of them were in the living room. We were all sitting on the sofa, near my aunt. My cousin B. was by then awake, eyes wide with fear. They were holding large lights or ‘torches’ and one of them pointed a Klashnikov at us. “Is there anyone here but you and them?” One of them barked at my aunt. “No- it’s only us and my husband outside with you- you can check the house.” T.’s hands went up to block the glaring light of the torch and one of the men yelled at her to put her hands down, they fell limply in her lap. I squinted in the strong light and as my sight adjusted, I noticed they were wearing masks, only their eyes and mouths showing. I glanced at my cousins and noted that T. was barely breathing. J. was sitting perfectly still, eyes focused on nothing in particular, I vaguely noted that her sweater was on backwards.

One of them stood with the Klashnikov pointed at us, and the other one began opening cabinets and checking behind doors. We were silent. The only sounds came from my aunt, who was praying in a tremulous whisper and little B., who was sucking away at his thumb, eyes wide with fear. I could hear the rest of the troops walking around the house, opening closets, doors and cabinets.

I listened for Ammoo S., hoping to hear him outside but I could only distinguish the harsh voices of the troops. The minutes we sat in the living room seemed to last forever. I didn’t know where to look exactly. My eyes kept wandering to the man with the weapon and yet I knew staring at him wasn’t a good idea. I stared down at a newspaper at my feet and tried to read the upside-down headlines. I glanced at J. again- her heart was beating so hard, the small silver pendant that my mother had given her just that day was throbbing on her chest in time to her heartbeat.

Suddenly, someone called out something from outside and it was over. They began rushing to leave the house, almost as fast as they’d invaded it. Doors slamming, lights dimming. We were left in the dark once more, not daring to move from the sofa we were sitting on, listening as the men disappeared, leaving only a couple to stand at our gate.

“Where’s baba?” J. asked, panicking for a moment before we heard his slippered feet in the driveway. “Did they take him?” Her voice was getting higher. Ammoo S. finally walked into the house, looking weary and drained. I could tell his face was pale even in the relative dark of the house. My aunt sat sobbing quietly in the living room, T. comforting her. “Houses are no longer sacred… We can’t sleep… We can’t live… If you can’t be safe in your own house, where can you be safe? The animals… the bastards…”

We found out a few hours later that one of our neighbors, two houses down, had died. Abu Salih was a man in his seventies and as the Iraqi mercenaries raided his house, he had a heart-attack. His grandson couldn’t get him to the hospital on time because the troops wouldn’t let him leave the house until they’d finished with it. His grandson told us later that day that the Iraqis were checking the houses, but the American troops had the area surrounded and secured. It was a coordinated raid.

They took at least a dozen men from my aunts area alone- their ages between 19 and 40. The street behind us doesn’t have a single house with a male under the age of 50- lawyers, engineers, students, ordinary laborers- all hauled away by the ‘security forces’ of the New Iraq. The only thing they share in common is the fact that they come from Sunni families (with the exception of two who I’m not sure about).

We spent the day putting clothes back into closets, taking stock of anything missing (a watch, a brass letter opener, and a walkman), and cleaning dirt and mud off of carpets. My aunt was fanatic about cleansing and disinfecting everything saying it was all “Dirty, dirty, dirty…” J. has sworn never to celebrate her birthday again.

It’s almost funny- only a month ago, we were watching a commercial on some Arabic satellite channel- Arabiya perhaps. They were showing a commercial for Iraqi security forces and giving a list of numbers Iraqis were supposed to dial in the case of a terrorist attack… You call THIS number if you need the police to protect you from burglars or abductors… You call THAT number if you need the National Guard or special forces to protect you from terrorists… But…

Who do you call to protect you from the New Iraq’s security forces?

courtesy of Riverbend

I could just leave you with this last paragraph as a “post” but i know it wouldnt answer the nagging question everyone reading this is asking: Who the hell is this guy?? Why, I’m El Moreno, of course. I don’t know how to use Flickr like Oso and I’m not currently selling my soul at $30,000 a year like Abogado, but I can do one thing: boogie.

Well its been a long long time since my last post and most of your have probably forgotten how funny I am…unfortunately this post will not remind you. I’m dead serious now, people. Dead. DEAD.

okay so lets see, whats in the news? Well apparently WWIII is now being planned over a very serious diplomatic issue: a cartoon. Thats right, Muslims in Muslimland care about what Danes in Danishland print in their newspapers. Ok so the Muhammad cartoons were offensive, but come on, is it really worth rioting and burning down embassies for? maybe. Hey, you gotta burn down something, right? And what have been the official reaction from governments?? why , theyre (gasp) using it as a political tool! weird. Now theyre going to start printing Holocaust cartoons because theyve finally realized what most of us have known all along: the Holocaust is hilarious. Seriously tho, can a Holocaust cartoon be any less funny than the other political cartoons we have? what about regular cartoons, I mean Garfield hasn’t been funny since 1991. And Dagwood?? forget about it. But despite all this you dont see me burning down my local Barnes and Noble…yet.

So the best way to retaliate against a Danish paper printing a highly offensive cartoon about Muhammed is by printing a highly offensive cartoon about the Holocaust. I get it. Man those Jewish Danes must be furious! That’ll learn ‘em…that’ll learn ‘em indeed. Keep in mind that the first global war was triggered by the assasination of a man named Franz Ferdinand…I suppose if the world was eager to go to war over the death of the man who wrote such profound lyrics as “do ya do ya do ya want to, well do ya do ya do ya want to go?” I shouldnt be surprised that its happening again over an unfunny cartoon. Seriously tho, isnt this just another reason for Iran to direct its missiles at Israel?? Poor Israel. I mean, come on, what has Israel ever done to the Muslim world??….oh right…that.

Whats the matter, dear reader? can’t handle the new and improved Moreno? Thats right, i’m commenting on Israel and Islam. Too real for you? well then youd better turn your computers off cause thats just the kind of guy I am this week.

Well enough of the trifling matters, lets get to the real news today: Sly Stone made an appearance at the Grammys! The guy is 60 years old and hes sporting a mohawk that would make Tim Armstrong jealous! (look it up, its funny).

Not that I watched the Grammys myself, why its far too lowbrow for me. However, I do read the gossip columns. I find myself unable to watch these awards shows these days. Im not sure, theres just something about watching a bunch of guys in suits jacking each other off that rubs me the wrong way. Call me crazy.

So to summarize: Israel and Islam need to read more Dostoevsky, Sly Stone needs to make more public appearances and remind people that Prince and Funkadelic really aren’t that original, and watching industry execs jack each other off should not be labeled as entertainment…yet. And most importantly: Sly Stone and El Moreno are back!

So to close with one of my favorite passages from Brothers Karamazov:

Two Roads diverge in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way led onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverge in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Fyodor you’ve done it again!

” ROYAL FOUNDATION INC.
INTERNATIONAL PROMOTION/PRIZE AWARD DEPT

Congratulations for being a part of our promotions program.
Sincerely,
Mrs. mikekerry
For lottery promoters

Thats right, Dear Reader, yours truly has just won the Lottery, to the tune of 32.5 Million Dollars!!! Its been a long time coming, but I knew a change would come. The funny thing is I don’t even remember purchasing a lottery ticket; in fact since turning 18 I have made it a point to never purchase lottery tickets because they were a waste of time and money. Isn’t that ironic? Here I was the biggest critic of the lottery system, and now I am sailing into early retirement after winning a random lottery via email! God Bless the Internet!

Naturally, I will most likely not be posting on this blog as often as I will be busy resting on sunny beaches with cocktails in both hands. I have appreciated all of your participation in my entries here on this blog, and I wish you well. Who knows, maybe some day you too will receive that lucky email in your “Bulk Email” folder, incorrectly filtered by your Spam Guard, and you can join me in the Bahamas. I wish you luck in continuing your rat race lives and hopefully when you are reflecting on your servitude to the time-clock you will fondly remember your Moreno, and how I too was once a cog in the machine going nowhere.
I have already informed my work, I didn’t give them 2 weeks notice…why would I?? For a Reference for my next job??? HA!! My next job will consist of me paying poor locals to mow my 30 acre lawn! I told my boss and coworkers what I really think of them…boy did I give it to them. I burned that bridge to the ground! And why shouldn’t I?! I JUST WON THE LOTTERY!! THEY CAN ALL GO TO HELL!!

So like I said, I wish you all well. Please don’t email me asking me to share my winnings with you. I earned this money fair and square. Please don’t ask me to give you money for an operation for your dear dying mother…I got a mother too and her servants aren’t going to pay themselves! I got responsibilities now, I make the calls. Who knows, maybe after years of growing bored with my millions I might try to run for political office, just so i can continue pulling the strings! Man I can’t wait to get started. Sayonara, suckers!!

Well, someone had to post something here, all i can hear is crickets. I love ripping off Banksy.

You know the funny thing about these guys, they dont have the best live show. Their songs are played a lot faster than on the album, i try nodding my pretty-little-head along to the music and next thing i know i’m headbanging like a 14-year-old Pantera fan just to keep up with the tempo. The drummer seems to aspire to John Bonham. But not the youthful John Bonham of yore, we’re talking the 300 pound bearded cannonball who would play with a 4 foot tall bottle of champagne next to his drumset that he would finish by the end of the set (and if you’ve seen The Song Remains the Same, you know that Zeppelin sets were pretty long and painful…yess Robert Plant, you’ve read The Hobbit, we get it).

Wolf Parade (TMPLWEE) recruited dante decarlo (i think thats his name)…he quit Hot Hot Heat because the singer was spending all the bands profits on his perm. Dante played guitar, sang backup, and beatup windchimes. you gotta love what you do. Theres the other guitarist, Dan i think his name is. He has a last name too, Wolf Parade is one of those bands. Dan’s got a scratching rocky voice that i really dig (for fans of the album, “Modern World”, “Shine a Light”, “Its a Curse”. then theres Spencer on keyboards and also vocals.. its funny because this guy reminds me of a high school buddy of mine named Spencer who looks exactly like this guy. is anyone still reading this? Wolf Parade Spencer does bass duties on one keyboard, lead lines on another keyboard, and he sings. If you’ve heard the album and the songs he sings (“I am my fathers son” , “Dinner Bells” ) then you’re as surprised as I am that a voice like that comes out of a guy who looks like this. god bless ‘em.

The band was pretty excited to be off the road soon. The power went out to half of the equipment and Spencer cut the song “Dinner Bells” in the middle, apologizing and asking for the power to be fixed so they could turn on their guitar amps and keyboards. You can see the hype is already starting to go to these guys’ heads…the demands of a primadonna. While waiting for the power to be fixed the band erupted into an impromptu cover of Paul Simon’s “Graceland” which was started by Dante (whose amplifier mysteriously continued to work with no problems…hmmm). It was great to see a band like this sing a song like that and know most of the words. I was grinning from ear to ear, but thats from a botched facelift. I digress…

There was a guy in the audience who felt he had a personal forum with Dan. He kept yelling from the floor up to the band:

Fan – “WHAT ARE YOU DOING AFTER THE SHOW ?!”
Dan – “Uh…I’m going to the airport. ”
(awkward silence)
Dan – “What are you doing after the show”
Fan – “I’M HANGING OUT WITH YOU GUYS!!”
Dan – “Oh….”

Fan – “I JUST WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND!!”
Dan – “uh…I just want to be your friend too..”
Fan – “WOOHOOOO”

I’m pretty sure he was by himself. Mild success is creepy.

For some reason everyone seems to love the third song on the album”Grounds for Divorce” and for some reason this is my least favorite song on the album. The Pitchfork review said something along the lines of “the album really doesnt get started until the third track ‘Grounds for Divorce’”. Are you kidding? the first two songs are the best in the whole wide world! Then everyone at the show starts yelling for that song…no other songs, just “Grounds for Divorce”…this happened at BOTH shows I went to. Was I On the outside here? can i not even relate to my fellow Wolf Parade fans? Luckily, I was not alone. The band hates that song too and refuses to play it. “Look, man, that song is gone. We don’t even remember how to play it anymore,” Dan told the audience last night. I was thrilled to hear that. I should be in Wolf Parade because I hate the same songs of theirs as they do.

Listen to “Its a Curse” and tell me if your booty doesnt start shaking and your nostrils widening. Oh, Wolf Parade, all i want is to hear the songs played exactly the way they are on the album. At the same speed so I can get down. Entertain me!

In conclusion, Wolf Parade is a band. They are from Montreal, which is abbreviated French for “Royal Mountain”. Thank you.