Overrated: Happiness
Underrated: Bemusement

Overrated: Intellectual Rigor
Underrated: Slapfights

Overrated: Tom Hanks
Underrated: Peter Scolari

Overrated: Empowerment
Underrated: Vassalage

Overrated: Dracula
Underrated: Gelflings

Overrated: Honor
Underrated: Pragmatism

Overrated: Hall
Underrated: Oates

Overrated: Masturbation
Underrated: Nervous Energy

Overrated: Children
Underrated: Bastards

Overrated: Diamonds
Underrated: Hospital ID Bracelets

Overrated: Unity
Underrated: Cheese Doodles

Overrated: Life After Death
Underrated: Death

IT'S COME TO THIS: Dirty limiricks


(I apologize for these in advance. Seriously.)



There once was a girl at The Strand*
Who�d only fuck a guy in a band
She�d dole out a hummer
For any bassist or drummer
But a guitar player was even more grand

__________


There once was a dude from Hell�s Kitchen
Whose sex life was what you�d call bitchin�
One night at Brownies**
He brought home two townies
Now his privates are constantly itchin�

__________


There once was a fat girl from Queens
Who was quite fond of wearing tight jeans
Sitting across from me on the train
I tried to look away in vain
But I now know what Camel Toe means

__________


There once was a man from Manhattan
Who enjoyed lots of internet chattin�
Sweet-talking a floozy
He rubbed out a doozy
Rendering his keyboard au gratin

__________

(Yep. I know. Sorry.)


* A hipster bookstore in NYC for people who don't want to be seen in line at Barnes & Noble

** A dingy NYC rock club. Often full of young skanks from surrounding areas.

Worst Wedding Songs:


"You Fucked Up" by Ween

"The End" by The Doors

"Full On Kevin's Mom" by Soundgarden

"Tom Sawyer" by Rush

"Just a Gigolo" by Louie Prima

"War" by Edwin Starr

"Angelfuck" by The Misfits

"Darling Nikki" by Prince

"What Do You Do for Money Honey" by AC/DC

"Idioteque" by Radiohead

"Run Like Hell" by Pink Floyd

"My Pal Foot Foot" by The Shaggs

"In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly

"Bitch Betta Have My Money" by AMG

"Love the One You're With" by CSN&Y

Turn on your speakers and enjoy this.

Warning: Rated PG13 (for adult themes and a scene of sensuality)

Being something of a music obsessive, I always have a song stuck in my head. Always. Unfortunately, I have very little control over what that song is on any particular day, despite my attempts to the contrary. For the most part, songs simply drift into my brain around lunchtime (mornings are usually spent in an exhausted haze) and stay put until sleepytime. The song is always different from day to day, but I have noticed that my brain has certain 'go to' ditties, tunes that revisit my subconscious once every couple of months or so. Among these are:

"Too Much Heaven" by The Bee Gees
"Pop Song '89" by REM
"Gonna Get Close to You" by Queensryche
"The Clampdown" by The Clash

and, the grandaddy of all songs to get suck in my cranium,

"Miss Me Blind" by Culture Club

Now, let me state for the record: I fucking hate the song "Miss Me Blind" by Culture Club. Loathe it. Destest it. And yet, at least once a month I'll find myself quietly singing " I know you miss me, I know you miss me-ee, I know you miss me bull-eye-hi-ind". It's a fucking curse, I tell you. If my brain was a late night talk show, "Miss Me Blind" would be Al Roker. If my head was TRL, "Miss Me Blind" would be Mandy Moore.

(Note to self: Do you really want everyone to know that you've seen TRL often enough to know that Mandy Moore is a frequent guest? After already referencing both Culture Club and the Bee Gees? You're embarassing yourself, dude. Well, don't go back and try to fix things--it's too late to backtrack. Just move on and pretend like you never mentioned this sordid TRL nonsense. Just play it cool, Finnegan. Cool as a cucumber...)

Um...so anyway, just like every other day, I've had a song stuck in my head for the last eight hours or so. But it's not one of the regulars. In fact, it's barely even a song. Don't ask me why, but I can't stop humming the old jingle for "Nestle's $100,000 Bar". For those of you too young to remember (I don't think the commercial has aired in the last fifteen or so years), the tune went:

"Nestle's hundred thousand dollar ba-a-ar,
what a crunchy chewy bar you are"

What the holy fuck is my psyche trying to tell me? I'm not even sure "$100,00 Bars" are still on the market (I'm a "Reese's Peanut Butter Cup" man, myself). I hate feeling like I'm beholden to advertisers--it's even worse than being beholden to Boy George.

But there's something so gentle and soothing about this little chanson, I can't help but let it nestle (pun intended) in my soul. Whereas most jingles merely describe the products they're peddling (i.e. "Malboro tastes good...like a cigarette should"), the Nestle's tune is a love ballad sung to the product itself--not "what a crunchy chewy bar it is, but "what a cruncy chewy bar you are. Fer chrissake, it's an affirmation!

Maybe this is why the song has been stuck in my head all day--to assure me that, although times are tough (I had to re-establish ties with my old temp agency today, a humiliating experience if ever there was one), I am still a "crunchy chewy bar", whatever that means. I'm not sure I like the implications, but I'll take my praise where I can get it. So I'll galdly hold onto this little 1980s advertising relic until tomorrow, at which time I'll probably have Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue"* stuck in my head.

* Hopefully, it will be Van Morrisson's version, which is much prettier.

Here's that fireworks rant I posted a couple of days ago. If you've already read it, feel free to ignore. It had been temporarily lost due to my idiocy, but some kind soul was able to retrieve it for me--thanks, whoever you are.


Can we all just admit that fireworks suck? Every 4th of July, it amazes me how many of my cynical (read: sensible) friends pretend to be impressed by some cheesedick fireworks display. Honestly, when's the last time you found yourself saying "I've never seen that before"? Let's see: there are the ones that explode into a circle, the ones that that look like a pin cushion, and the ones that cascade down like a spider plant. In the words of former New Jersey Net Derrick Coleman, whoop de damn do. Still, everyone stands around with their necks craned skyward, occasionally ooooooo-ing like halfwits. Eventually, the reverent moaning dies out (save a moron or two) and the bitter smell of disappointment begins to waft through the crowd--people start looking at their watches and trying to remember where they parked. Then comes the most annoying part, the four minute period where everyone debates as to whether the show is or isn't over. "Is that the end? Yeah, I think that big one was the last--no, wait. Ok, now it's over...I think...coming up...this looks like it. No. Wait. Was that it? I think that's...nope, still going." Afterwards, everyone claims to have been awed by the fireworks, but that last year's were a little better.

Here's the ugly truth, people: last year's fireworks sucked. And next year's? Totally going to suck.


Please, don't be upset--you'll thank me later.

Tower of Hubris, the online resource for insane street people everywhere!

Last night, I saw a wacko homeless guy sitting in front of a laundramat, shouting "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT" to no one in particular. Here's what's so bizarre about this: a couple of years, in a completely different part of the city, I saw another guy shouting the exact same thing. It makes me wonder if maybe New York's clinically insane have begun to run out of catchphrases. As much as I'm for recycling, I find this dearth of suitable rants a damned shame, so I've taken it upon myself to come up with a few of my own. I'd like to invite my mentally ill readers to adopt any of the following slogans--feel free to tweek them as much as you like, in order to make them feel more 'you'. Once you've found one you like, head on down to your local Town Hall, Kmart, or anywhere else you enjoy 'getting your crazy on' and let that puppy fly!

Choose from these future favorites:

"TAKE TWO AND CALL ME IN THE MORNING!"

"HAPPY SOLSTICE, PRESIDENT KENNEDY!"

"WRAP IT UP, I'LL TAKE IT!"

"WHAT THE HELL DOES A GUY HAVE TO DO TO GET A BOBBLE-HEAD DOLL?!"

"HEY, I CAN'T STOP CONJUGATING!"

"I AIN'T HEARING THAT, BITCHFACE McGEE!"

"TRUTH IN ADVERTISING! TRUTH IN ADVERTISING!"

"WHAT ABOUT VALHALLA?!"

"PITCHFORK EUGENICS MAKE MY KELPIE REPENT ON SOUR APPLE DOOMSDAY!"

"LET'S GO METS!"

A day in the life of Christian Finnegan, a man without air conditioning:

4:45 - 10:09am: Toss, turn

10:10am: Peel self from sheets

10:11am: Mop brow with nearby t-shirt

10:15am: Grumble angrily

10:20am: Shower

11:05am: Get out of shower, dry off

11:10am Check email

11:25am: Get back into shower, stand open-mouthed beneath stream of water

12:10pm: Dry off

12:12pm: Wash face, which is already covered with sweat

12:15 - 12:50pm: Lay in bed, hate life

1:00pm: Leave house wearing flip-flops, shorts and unflattering wifebeater t-shirt

1:10pm: Pound 64oz bottle of "Arctic Cooler" Gatorade

1:30pm: Go to pizza place, order two slices

1:36pm: Wonder why the fuck you're eating pizza in ninety-fucking-eight degree weather

1:50pm: Consider suicide

1:54pm: Consider homocide

2:14 - 3:10pm: Stand motionless in D'Agostino frozen food section

3:30pm: Go back to apartment, sit down in chair

3:31pm: Get back into shower, sob quietly to self

4:05pm: Dry off, put on 2nd unflattering wifebeater t-shirt

4:20pm: Wander listlessly to movie theatre

4:40 - 6:35pm: See whatever movie happens to be starting when you get there (Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood)

6:40pm: Stumble home, think of all the ways you could have spent that $10

7:10pm: Sit down at desk and 'get to work'

7:11 - 10:04pm: Stare blankly at computer screen, drip

10:05 - 11:53pm: Flip channels, hallucinate while watching Toni Braxton video, question meaning of life

11:57pm: Get back into shower

Look, teacher's hungover today. So just sit quietly and study this.

I expect 75 words on my desk by Friday, kids.

Small Victories:


* Discovering that the new bodega on your block has a Slush Puppee machine.

* Finding enough quarters in your apartment to do your laundry without cashing in any dollars--it's almost like it's free!

* Watching a bike messenger wipe out. (Viva schadenfreude!)

* Getting a boner at work.

* Having someone incorrectly correct your grammar, and then re-correcting him.

* Seeing a close friend succeed.

* Seeing a casual acquaintance fail.

* Drawing nipples on a subway movie poster.

* Leaning over to the couple making out at the table next to you and whispering "Three weeks, tops".

* Getting to 3rd base without leaving Bennigan's.

* Bringing peace to the Middle East

* Punching a child.

I don't know why, but I'm genuinely excited to see Reign of Fire, that movie about dragons flying around and eating people in the war-ravaged future. It's nice to know that, even at 29 years old and with a college degree, the thought of watching people get eaten by monsters can still give me a boner. Of course, the movie will probably suck ass. It seems like the kind of thing that was wholly created in some Hollywood board room. "Well, research tells us that our target demographic loves movies about the post-apocalyptic future," says Marketing Executive Douchebag #412. "And you know what they also love? DRAGONS!"

And while I'm on the topic, Ronnie James Dio's new album is called Killing the Dragon. I think it's great that there's still one completely out-of-touch dude out there making what I'd call "Wizard Rock". It's been twenty years since the heyday of Iron Maiden and other heavy metal medievalists (Manowar, Savatage, Saxon, etc.) and I'll admit, I'm a teensy bit nostalgiac. It all seems so quaint--the idea that these guys would sit down to write a song and say "Ok, so should we write another tune about a powerful warlock laying waste to a village, or should we make it about getting impregnated by a demon? Hmmm... Heads: vengeful warlock, tails: demonspawn."

Hell, it's preferable to the bullshit hard rock that's popular these days. Now, every metal singer claims to be some sort of emotionally damaged 'outsider' on the verge of suicide--think Linkin Park, Puddle of Mudd and every other blight on the current musical landscape. Here's a typical bit of contemporary lyrical horseshit, taken from the song "Self-Destruct" by Staind:

My light has slowly faded
Broken and degredated
Suffocate in my sorrow
Maybe I'll die tomorrow

Oh, go fuck yourself. Have you seen these guys? They look like the meatheads who used to play for my high school football team, just with mood lighting and eyebrow piercings. If only they would die tomorrow. The sad truth is, today's angst-rockers are about as close to actually being suicidal as Ronnie James Dio is to actually being a wizard. In other words, not at all. But it's 2002--if you're going to write a hard rock song, you'd better manufacture some existential pain. Tell me, Staind, did the 'slow fading' of your 'light' happen before or after last night's tour bus gangbang? And does 'suffocating in your sorrow' get in the way of all those inter-band Playstation tournaments?

Personally, I'll take songs about dragons.

Worst Songs to Play as a Professional Wrestler Makes His Way to the Ring:

"I Don't Want to Wait" by Paula Cole

"Axel F" by Harold Faltermeyer

"Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham! (The exclamation point is part of the name, by the way)

"Precious and Few" by Climax

"Music Box Dancer" as performed by Richard Clayderman

"Wet Dream" by Kip Adotta

"Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce

"Gypsy Woman (She's Homeless)" by Crystal Waters

"Corner of the Sky" by Steven Schwartz (from the musical, Pippen)

"Luka" by Suzanne Vega

"Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something

"Mandy" by Barry Manilow

Is it just me, or is the Heineken "Keg Can" just...a can? What possible research could Heineken have done to convince themselves that anyone would give a shit? I mean, its tough to tap a regular keg--how the hell and I supposed to connect my pump and hose to a tiny little can?

A little known fact about the "keg can": immedtiately after drinking one, you feel compelled to attend a Barenaked Ladies concert and/or date rape someone.

(NOTE: While looking for a picture of the "keg can" via Google, I stumbled upon this article. The next time you're feeling shitty about your life, just think: you could be a writer for Packaging Digest.)

You should all go and check this out. It's a short film/wedding announcement by two of my friends. You will be impressed.

Low Rent Superhero of the Day: Platonic Sleepover Girl!

Mild-mannered college student by day, superhuman cocktease by night�Platonic Sleepover Girl is fighting crime one baffled frat boy at a time! Armed with a fantastic ass and a complete unwillingness to acknowledge a situation for what it is, our heroine incapacitates scoundrels by locking them in a temporary state of horny paralysis.

Her technique is flawless: First, she befriends him during freshman orientation. Although she claims to have a boyfriend back in Tucson, she spends the next two weeks flirting with him, mentioning on three separate occasions how she thinks thongs are much more comfortable than regular panties. Then, at a Delta Upsilon rush party at which she has greeted the villain by drunkenly sticking her tongue down his throat, Platonic Sleepover Girl casually mentions that her roommate is away for the weekend. Could he possibly walk her back to her dorm? It�s so late�he might as well just stay over.

Back in the dorm room, Platonic Girl is now wearing only her thong and an oversized t-shirt so sheer that the dark of her nipples can be seen clearly underneath. Then, just as the evildoer is about to move in for the kill, Platonic Sleepover Girl calls her boyfriend in Tucson to see how his night was. After exchanging I-love-you�s, she hangs up and turns off the light, leaving only a single burning candle on the windowsill. Confused and not wanting to presume anything, the scoundrel lays back and closes his eyes, as if to go to sleep. Why doesn�t he get under the covers, she wants to know. And why is he still wearing his jeans? He complies, taking off his pants and getting into bed.

�It�s so nice to have someone to �spoon� with,� she says. She�s now backing her rear end back into his crotch, seeminbgly oblivious to his raging hard-on. Or maybe she's trying to encourage him�I mean, this has got to be a hint, right? The hooligan simply has no idea. Finally, after maybe 20 minutes of internal debate, he leans over and kisses her on the neck. She twitches slightly and mumbles something unintelligible. Is she�is she�asleep? How the fuck could she be asleep? Is this girl for fucking real?? WHAT THE FUCK??!!!

What follows is three to five hours of exhausted torture. The evildoer�s arm, trapped under Platonic Sleepover Girl�s head, has long since fallen sleep. The rest of him drifts in and out of delirium, jerking awake every time her body shifts--is she trying to initiate something? What about that time? Finally, as daylight comes spilling into the dorm room, the tired villain drags himself out of bed and angrily puts his pants and shoes on. Platonic Sleepover Girl wakes up long enough to suggest they meet later for brunch. She appears to have no idea why the villain desperately wants to punch her in the face. �Thanks for keeping me company,� she says, cheerfully. �See you at the dining hall!� She then rolls over and goes back to sleep.

The vanquished boy slumps his shoulders and ambles off across the quad, far too weary to pursue anything villainous for the time being�another victory for Platonic Sleepover Girl!

Writing that last list reminded me of a now-defunct hardcore band known as Anal Cunt. Delightful, eh? The music was pure shite, but they had a certain flair for coming up with song titles. I thought you all might enjoy reading the track listing for their album I Like it When U Die. My favorite titles are numbers 7, 22, 24, 35 and 45, but I'm sure you'll have favorites of your own. Track 41's title is infinitely more funny if you know who they're referring to.

Oh, you're quite welcome.

Worst songs to play at a wake:


"Panama" by Van Halen

"O Superman" by Laurie Anderson

"The Last in Line" by Dio

"Let's Hear it for the Boy" by Deniece Williams

"Girlfriend in a Coma" by The Smiths

"Rockit" by Herbie Hancock

"Do That to Me One More Time" by Captain and Teneille

"This is How We Do it" by Montell Jordan

"Feels So Good" by Chuck Mangione

"Aqualung" by Jethro Tull

"Solid" by Ashford and Simpson

"(I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight" by Cutting Crew

Hey, check out the URL of the site you get bumped to when you try going to JesusSucks.com.

I don't know about you, but I'm convinced.

Low Rent Superhero of the Day: Captain Tries-Too-Hard!

He's bringing villains to their knees by the sheer force of his shitty personality! Wielding an ever-present nervous giggle and a complete immunity to subtext, Captain Tries-Too-Hard wanders from party to party, thwarting the friendly and well-liked. That's right, evildoer--you're trying to enjoy a conversation with friends when in swoops our hero to bust things up! You are helpless as he launches into an exhaustive re-telling of a Saturday Night Live sketch he saw this one time. He has you locked into a conversational tractor beam, staring at you intensely and speaking much louder than necessary. Every time you take a small step backwards, he comes in closer--his breath is very, very bad. You try to bring the rest of your friends into the conversation, if only to dillute the staggering awkwardness, but they've mysteriously vanished. They're no idiots--they know the forces of social interaction are powerless in the face of such a brutal adversary. Eventually, you make the crucial mistake of pretending to find something he says amusing. Show's over, pal! He'll now reference this conversation every time he sees you for the next three years! He's bold, he's persistant, he forces you to prematurely 'call it a night'. He's Captain Tries-Too-Hard!

Turn on your computer's speakers and go here. You will not regret it.

(This may be a tad slow to load, for those of you on dialup modems. Give it a try anyway.)