Barack Obama on the cover of one of America’s favorite hip-hop magazines?  I had no idea he had an album coming out.  I cannot wait to see John McCain on the cover of Metal Edge.  These politicians are really scraping the barrel for votes.

By the way, I am still undecided.

A few of my coworkers and I were discussing horror movies today.  I decided to post a list of the horror awesomeness I currently own.  I think I’ll do something with this list eventually, maybe go through it and rate some of them based on a variety of merits.  Maybe not.  Don’t hassle me.

I elected to keep certain movies out of this list, mainly so I could have a true horror list.  However, I do consider certain movies like the Alien series (more horror than Sci-Fi) and The Silence of the Lambs/Hannibal series (equally horror as much as thriller) to, at times, qualify for this list.  I decided against putting them here just to make sure I didn’t get any backlash.

Have at:

An American Haunting
The Amityville Horror (remake)
Army of Darkness
Basket Case
Bubba Ho-tep
Cabin Fever
Creepshow
Dawn of the Dead (remake)
Dead Alive

Read the rest of this entry »

My friend Matt sent me to this caption contest link (here)

Here’s mine:

Forgetting to take his Aricept, Mr. McCain’s Alzheimer’s kicked in.

“Hey boy! Boy! What are you doing here? This place here is for whites only!”

Knowing full well Mr. McCain was raised prior to the Emancipation Proclamation, Sen. Obama just strolled past the senile old man as he did his best to impersonate a lynched slave.

What’s yours?

NOTE: This is a real photo.  It is not Photoshopped.  It was snapped during the last debate when McCain made a goofy face as he accidentally went the wrong way.  Here’s the Reuter’s original photo and text.

Peace out, Paul Newman.  They just don’t make actors like you anymore.  In a world of Vince Vaughns and Owen Wilsons, you will be missed.  I’ll bet you can eat more hard-boiled eggs than anyone in the afterlife.

Except John Candy.  That dude can eat way more than anyone, dead or alive.

I was dragging this morning afternoon after I woke up.  My coffee and a brief commentary from one of my favorite comedians, Doug Stanhope, just perked me up. 

Doug Stanhope on Sarah Palin (and her baby):

Side note: I am not for or against Sarah Palin.

I’m back in a Rap/Hip-Hop mood.  It comes and goes.

Today, as I hip-hopped it up to some sweet West Coast Gangsta Rap, I was once again reminded of this:

I.Am.Getting.Old.

The following series of events is 180% true and is not in any way exaggerated.

I was getting into the new Ice Cube album, Raw Footage, this afternoon.  I was sitting at my desk being gangsta — throwing the West Coast gang sign, mouthing the chorus to “Gangsta Rap Made Me Do It,” and writing a report for a multi-million dollar healthcare organization — when one of our recently hired employees came into my office.  Robyn is 19 years old, and when she stepped into my office to ask if she could borrow the hardcore gangsta book, Good Omens, she noticed my street-wise fortitude and ability to represent a concise report. She was immediatey awe-struck with my gangsta…um…ness that she was too awe-struck to inquire further into the book.

“Yo! Yo! Yo!, what’s up Robyn,” I asked in a hard-edge tone — but not too intense since Robyn is practically a minor, and I didn’t feel like scaring her.  “I’m listening to the new Ice Cube album.  It fu-. It effing rules.”

“Who’s that?”  Robyn seemed confused.

Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?

“You don’t know who Ice Cube is?  You know, Ice Cube from N.W.A?”  I went ahead and pushed pause on my iPod because Cube had just called someone a “mothafucka,” and I didn’t want to be responsible for corrupting the youth.  That’s The Hills’ job.

“Nope.  I’ve never heard of them.  Wait…We learned about ice cubes and the freezing point for H2O in physics class the other day.”

“No, Robyn.  Wrong Ice Cube.”  I gave a good raspy old-man chuckle and made sure my dentures were in place before continuing.  “You see Robyn, back in my day, there was a rap group called N.W.A., which stood for ‘[African Americans] With Attitude.’  They rapped about shooting people and being awesome.”  Robyn giggled.  It was like last Christmas when she got that brand new Cabbage Patch Kid, except this was Christmas for her ears, and the gift was crude knowledge.

“Nope.  I don’t know who Mr. Cube is.  I like Miley Cyrus and still think the world is good.”  Actually, all she said was “nope,” but I’m sure she likes Miley Cyrus and believes the world isn’t a filthy mud ball of hate and idiocy.

“Huh.  Uuuum.”  It seemed my Alzheimer’s was kicking in, and I briefly forgot where I was going with this.  “Oh yeah.  Well, you little whipper-snapper, Ice Cube, Eazy-E, MC Ren and Dr. Dre…”

“Oooo-ooooH!  I know who Dr. Dre is.  He’s famous.  I can’t listen to his music though because mom and dad say he talks about pre-marital sex and marijuana cigarettes.”

“Yes, Robyn.”  As you can tell, continuity played no part in this absolutely TRUE scenario, and I was no longer acting gangsta at all.  In fact, I had aged about 50 years.  “That is what Dr. Dre does.  He makes whoopee with bad girls and smokes marijuana cigarettes.  Here’s a little secret you can tell your buddies at the roller skating rink, though.  Dr. Dre isn’t really a doctor.”

“Neato!  I can’t wait to share this with my pals.  Do you like The Jonas Brothers?”

“No, Robyn.  The Jonas Brothers are fags.”

Pleased that Robyn at least knew who Dr. Dre was, I calmed down a bit.  I went ahead and closed up the bottle of heart medication my physician gives me for my stress.  “Go run along now, Robyn.  Go play hop-scotch with your little friends.” 

Again, continuity plays no part in this absolutely factual account.  So, when Robyn left, I settled back into my rocking chair and flattened out the blanket on my lap.  I was amazed by how the years had past me.  I looked at the liver-spots on my hands and reminisced on VHS and cassette tapes.  “That little kid had just been born when N.W.A. released ‘Straight Outta Compton.’”  An old man tear of joy streamed down my cheek.

Then I died.*

———-

* At which point, Carl The Retard came and gobbled up my corpse.

Matt Murphy just brought this movie to my attention.  I MUST see it.  Aside from what the preview offers, I have no idea what this movie is about.  Nevertheless, I am giving it and A+.  I don’t know Japanese, and I don’t even need subtitles.  The movie’s visuals will be just fine:

Meggie, Brandon and I have an ongoing e-mail conversation we have aptly named AWESOME CONVERSATION.  The following was not so awesome:

From: Cochran, Megan [mailto:Megan.Cochran@*******.com]
Sent: Tuesday, August 12, 2008 5:09 PM
To: David Garcia; Brandon Carr
Subject: RE: Dinner?

So David I must confess. I am leaving you for Michael Phelps. Okay?

-

From: Brandon Carr [mailto:bcarr@********.com]
Sent: Tue 8/12/2008 5:09 PM
To: Cochran, Megan; David Garcia
Subject: RE: Dinner?

Yeah, I would do that, too.  Eff David.

b

-

From: David Garcia [mailto:dcgarcia@********.com]
Sent: Tue 8/12/2008 5:16 PM
To: Cochran, Megan; Brandon Carr
Subject: RE: Dinner?

WHO IS THIS MICHAEL PHELPS TOOL?

-

From: David Garcia [mailto:dcgarcia@********.com]
Sent: Tue 8/12/2008 5:16 PM
To: Cochran, Megan; Brandon Carr
Subject: RE: Dinner?

Oh, I see who that tooldick is.  He thinks he’s so cool.

-

So I guess Meggie is leaving me for Michael Phelps.  Whatever.  I only have one thing to say (followed by a lot of other things):

Michael Phelps, you think you are so cool.

I want to invite all of you to really think about this statement.  Michael Phelps thinks he is so cool.  Why?  I don’t know. Put on your deerstalker hat, grab your pipe and magnifying glass, and let’s investigate further.

Michael Phelps swims.  Who cares?  Humans are land-based animals and should spend their time on dry land where they belong.  You know who else swims?  Cuban refugees and Nazi U-Boats.  So are you an illegal immigrant or…a Nazi war vessel?  Or both?  I’m calling the INS, you Cuban Jew-hater.

I could swim, if I wanted.  I just don’t.  I don’t swim because I can walk.  I’ll bet you can’t even walk, Mr. Phelps.  Okay, maybe you can walk, but can you run?  Probably not.  I bet I could out-run you any time.  Let’s meet at the local track.  I want to race you.  On land.  Are you up for it?  Are you up for A LAND RACE?

Oh, you think you’re cool because you have broken like a thousand records.  So what, here are some records I hold:

In second grade, I held my breath longer than any other kid in the class.  When I was resuscitated, the teacher told me that it was “amazing” I did not incur any “brain damage.”  Amazing, Michael Phelps.  My teacher called me amazing.  I hold my second grade class record for amazingness.

Sometimes when I pee, I play this game called, “See How Far I Can Stand From the Toilet While Urinating.”  It’s a pretty sweet game.  One evening, I was able to back all the way against the wall in a Ruby Tuesday restroom.  I was like eight feet from the urinal.  I barely got any pee on the floor, toilet seat and sink.  I defy you to try and steal that record from me.

You know what, Michael Phelps?  I can’t think of any other records I have, but I am almost certain I have a few more.  Maybe if you researched me like I have exhaustively (and admiringly) researched you, you would be able to find out more records held by yours truly.

Eff you, Michael Phelps.  I’ll see you on the race track, you racist.

- David C. Garcia

I am a HUGE Rob Zombie fan.  I remember when I was 14 or 15, I got White Zombie’s La Sexorcista: Devil Music Volume 1.  If CDs could be worn thin from play, that disc would have been inaudible after the first month.  After he left White Zombie to start a solo career, I followed Rob Zombie album after album.

Then he decided to go into movies.  There was all the buzz about House of 1000 Corpses, and I kept my eyes open.  When it finally came out and was followed by The Devil’s Rejects, I decided that Rob Zombie KNEW horror.  Not only could he make music about old-school/B-movie horror, he could properly make a genuine horror flick.  If there was ever any doubt in my mind that Zombie could revive the slasher horror, those doubts were put to rest when he wrote and directed a fantastic and original remake of Halloween.

While I do intend to see his animated film, El Superbeasto, the movie that I am excited to see is Tyrannosaurus Rex.  Apparently, it is slated to come out in August 2009.  I don’t even know what this movie is about.  I don’t think anyone really does.  All I know is that Rob Zombie has yet to let me down.  Anyways, the poster rules:

It’s insane to think that some of the best hip-hop is being made by generally underground rappers like Jedi Mind Tricks and Immortal Technique.

You know what’s even more insane?  White rappers making better music than roughneck over-produced stars like 50 Cent.

I just got the free legal download of High Risk Investment Planning by the Federal Moguls.  Two white guys, DJ Q-Ball from the Bloodhound Gang and some other guy named Troy Walsh have made a great hip-hop album that makes me want to beat-box to unsuspecting coworkers writing reports at their desks.

Here’s a brief synopsis of what The Federal Moguls are all about:

It’s definitly got some Bloodhound Gang feel to it and is reminiscent of mid 1980s rap.

Want to download the album for free?  Go here.