I’m too lazy busy to write a full update right now, but while you’re waiting with baited breath, do your pal The Shark a favor and head on over to Hidden Track at Glide Magazine, as they’ve been gracious enough (or some would say lucky enough) to feature some of my best uncensored blogs. Every click gets us a free cookie, and we’re REALLY starving here, so help us out!

Longer update to come later, but for now, here’s a

Shark Thought of the Day

You’d probably think that “rocket scientist” is the job a homeless person would be most unqualified for. Well, you’d be wrong, it’s salesclerk at The Home Depot.

I officially challenge The Shark’s indie football 2-man team of Shark/Favre with my team–Jenny/Butkus. Sure, Dick Butkus no longer has knees, pretty much. Sure, he’s a senior citizen. But he once killed a man without touching him on the field, only through fearsomeness. He will wreak havoc upon your backfield, bitch.

He also directed the XFL, the last indie football league in America, and he’s been on the Rockford Files AND MacGyver, which gives him more indie cred than a skinny jeaned boy in a summer scarf in Williamsburg. He’s the most feared man in the game. He’s basically the Chuck Norris of football. And he’s my partner. Watch out, now, Shark, you’re a New York boy getting caught in a Chicago/Green Bay rivalry!

Football and indie music aren’t that far apart. After all it was my beloved Chicago Bears who had a popular indie hit with the “Super Bowl Shuffle.”

An independently produced song that donates all the proceeds to the needy? Who can’t like that?

I know that most indie kids won’t cop to following sports, either because sports are too mainstream establishment, or simply because they got the shit kicked out of them in high school by the captain of the football team. But not me, I’ve never been shy about admitting that I like something in the mainstream. Besides, do you think the captain of the Xaverian High School football team would dare mess with Biceps like this??? There’s no shame in admitting that you enjoy watching contests of brutal physical warring, it’s totally indie. In fact, I bet you didn’t know that The Arcade Fire’s last album, Neon Bible, was actually about 4th down passing situations, and not televangelists.

If you follow football like I do (Go Big Blue!) then you’ve no doubt heard that legendary Green Bay Packers’ quarterback Brett Favre is trying to unretire only a few months after hanging up his long johns. The problem is, the Packers don’t want him back – they have a new, younger quarterback that they’re trying to groom now. So what does this mean for Brett? It’s time to go indie, pal.

Now I bet you didn’t think that a football player could actually go indie. Me neither, to be honest. But maybe it’s time someone did. Don’t let the major teams tell you how to play the game, you set your own rules, take complete control over your game, become a free agent, a hired gun, a freelancer. Can you imagine America’s first indie football player? He shows up to games wearing tight grey jeans, sportin’ a Robert Smith ‘do, carrying his gear in a Whole Foods cloth bag? That would be insane!

Now I do realize that there’s a lot that will probably prevent this. Reality, for one, as well as the 3 years remaining on Brett’s Packers contract. I’m no lawyer, but as far as I can surmise, that contract states that Brett can’t play for any other PROFESSIONAL team, but it doesn’t say anything about amateur 2-hand touch teams. That’s why I’m petitioning Brett Favre, right here and right now, to become the starting quarterback for me and my roommate’s 2-hand touch football team this Fall. I’m almost 75% certain this is totally within his legal bounds. We can promise Mr. Favre the following:

1. Start every game at QB
2. Round trip door-to-door transportation to and from Staten Island in an air-conditioned 1998 Ford Escort SE (that’s SPECIAL edition)
3. All the Gatorade and Bud Light he can drink
4. Dinner at the finest Italian restaurants that Staten Island has to offer

Now I know this sounds ridiculous at first, but Brett, come September, if you’re still sitting at home waiting for that call from the Packers that you know ain’t coming, this is going to start sounding a lot better than sitting on your ass watching ESPN2 all fall. Think about it, become the first indie NFL player, and in the process, help us win the coveted North Shore region of the Staten Island 2-Hand Touch Fun Football League.

If you could time travel anywhere you wanted, you’d probably pick a cool period like

1. The Middle Ages
2. The Roarin’ 20′s
3. The Wild West
4. The Great Depression (so you could laugh at all the people while chowing down on a giant Pizzone and a Big Gulp)

But not Jason from Heloise and The Savoir Faire. Crazy fucker wants to go into the future, not to ride cool hoverboards and have sex with slutty Scarlett Johansson look-alike robots, but to be a part of Earth’s complete annihilation:

I don’t know if you realize this or not Jason, but you can’t come back after that. And you won’t remember anything because you’ll be a pile of fucking carbon ash. So really, you’ll derive around 5 or 10 milliseconds of sick pleasure in total, before the sun or a nuclear holocaust turns you into toast. And while you’re standing around, mouth agape as the sun is about to devour the planet, everyone else will be running to their own time machines to go back to YOUR era and save themselves while wondering “Who’s that crazy fuck wearing such weird clothes just standing there waiting to die?” Think about the damage to your reputation, buddy.

Sorry for such a late update. I was urgently needed at the Uncensored Interview headquarters to perform duties that included

1. Providing the strength of 100 men
2. Fighting off bears, alligators, and griffins
3. Attending a mandatory staff meeting

And I did all (ok, MOST, there weren’t really any alligators, that’s just ridiculous) of the duties with a still-lingering head cold that makes it feel like Kirstie Alley is subletting my cranium. The same head cold, by the way, that I complained about in Friday’s post, because I can’t see a doctor because I don’t have health insurance. Mother fucker.

So all weekend, I’ve been my own pediatrician (I still consider myself a kid at heart), taking copious and often dangerous amounts of Dayquil, Benadryl, Oxycontin, and bourbon. Hey, I never said I was a good doctor. Or a moral one. But as long as Duane Reade doesn’t question the prescriptions that I write myself, who am I to judge?

The problem is, none of the shit that I took has worked. I was a leaky faucet all Saturday night at my cousin’s wedding, and I had a terrible headache and stuffy nose Sunday morning at the Nike NYC Half Marathon (which, by the way, I crushed in 1:35:00 despite being sick and on 3 hours of rest). The finger of blame would seem to point solely to myself for being a shitty fake doctor, right? WRONG. I’m blaming the pharmaceutical industry on this one. Bunch of fuck ups can’t even conjure up a decent over-the-counter cold medicine that works. Dayquil is bullshit, let me tell you. The only reason Nyquil worked in the first place was that it contained enough alcohol to knock you the fuck out so you wouldn’t notice that your nose is still running. Dayquil takes all the fun out of abusing Nyquil, and adds frustration, when, an hour after taking the two shiny orange translucent capsules, your nose is still running like a Kenyan at a marathon. I’m almost positive that Dayquil is just expired Nyquil with added food coloring. Way to go pharmaceutical industry, letting that one slip by you. I’m really glad I’m not the only one who realizes what a scam this entire bullshit industry is perpetuating on the public. Everest had quite the mouthful to say on the subject when they sat down with us earlier this summer:

Frightened Rabbit on art: “I’ve never had a wank in front of a painting. Never.”

Clinic on psychedelia: “I think everyday reality is quite psychedelic. I think when you kind of dig beneath the surface with most people, normality doesn’t really exist.”

Gemma Hayes on seduction: “That doesn’t come natural to me. I can’t even wear heels. I walk like a farmer in heels.”

Everest on L.A. life: “I have a hard time staying in bed because the sun is out every day and birds are singing. You walk out and you’re in Snow White, like birds tying ribbons around your head.”

Heloise & The Savoir Faire: “We’re sort of mixing disco with ethnic regions and homelessness, in a really tactful way.”

Wild Sweet Orange on MTV: “It’s like the Food Network on cocaine but for horny 15-year-old children.”

I don’t have much to say this morning, as I woke up feeling like utter crap, so I’ll just let Team Robespierre speak for me, as this is a sentiment I echo quite often every day. I’m not kidding – I actually find a deep canyon with thick, reverberating walls and scream at the top of my lungs “Let’s keep the hardcore in hardcore fucking porn.”

More later if I’m feeling any better. It’s time for some of my grandma’s tried and true Dayquil-and-Whiskey fixer-upper.