we don't actually know these people

Just a quick note: we are trying to figure out how to stop the spam- comments (spamments?) . Unless of course we have a lot of fans who like us so much they really want us to get good deals on stuff.

in which case, let it commence...

Peeking through cracks in the bunker

Hey BM fans. Pluralizing the word fan is an exaggeration, or literary slight of hand, to make it sound as though I am more popular than I really am. Well, it's that time of the month when I feel an obligation to blog, so here I am blogging.
I wish I could live without ever watching the news again. Ted Kazinski had the right idea when he built a cabin in the woods of Montana and lived off seventeen cents a day, cutting himself off from the 11 o'clock news. Off course he had the wrong idea when he mailed bombs. I guess it's one of those "right church, wrong pew" kinda' deals. Either way, if you consciously seperate yourself from the media and the news, all that shit simply doesn't exist. Of course I tune in every so often to catch my daily glimpse of the train wreck. But through it all, two images constantly creep into my mind that temporarily obstruct the wreckage.
The first is a situation that I stumbled upon and was merely a passerby. Last winter I was walking home from Giant Eagle on Centre Ave in Oakland as I approached a bus stop. Sitting and chatting were two old ladies, very stereotypical in voice and appearance. Strolling by I didn't catch a single word either spoke, but the conversation was lively and bounced back and forth. Only a few steps before leaving earshot the conversation met a natural brief pause before the only dialogue I heard clearly, "My name is Synthia, what's yours?"
The second is Sean Penn. As a tribute to Mr Penn, I suggest that Milton Bradley create an action figure in his likeness. Action figure Penn will come with various accessories including a bendable refugee that can be contorted to fit snuggly on action figure Penn's back, a bag of food rations with action rice tossing right arm, and most importantly a personal cameraman to capture all of Penn's heroic rescue attempts. Soon to be added to the collection will be action figure Bono, complete with the trash can of political irrelevance. No, those sunglasses are not an accessory; they are permenantly part of his face. Sold seperately is the starving Somolian child who attaches to action figure Bono's teet.

BM out

Ask Joe a Question

hey, all, joe here

lately during or miriad of shows this month, ( i wonder if i used the word miriad properly there)
several people in attendence of our shows have asked me questions. at the time i really didnt have a chance to give them the attention and in depth answer that they deserved, so i would like to take the time now to answer the 4 questions i remember

1 yes
2 only after a good shower, no seriously red heads.
3 no i've never seen a dog do that to a person, nor do i want to right now, maybe later.
4 wwmd what would machavelli do.

so now that that's all clear up. i would like to invite any one anywhere to go a head and ask me a question aobut our shows, how we do what we do, or about anything at all, whether or not we all get along, who is the funniest and so forth , and i will be happy to answer all the questions .

instructions: to ask joe a question go to our guestbook and type in a question your answer will be posted within 2 working days, (i work on odd days and times so it could be like right after you post or later then that so keep checking back,



disclaimer: joe's answers do not neccessarily reflect that of the group but only his personal interpretation of said group.

warning: answers may enrage or disapoint you and will be filled with spelling errors and lack of capitalization

so with that said, i look forward to answering all your questions and hearing from all of our fans
thanks alot ,

joe eoj

Where'd You Go Steelers; Where'd You Go?

Damn!

Dr. Nooooooooo!!!!

having been in love and thwarted like an evil supervilian, i've come to the conclusion, that love is a moniacal plot one exacts upon the innocent, a plot which seems to be on the verge of fruition, but is snuffed out by an onslot of jumpsuit wearing militants with big guns. this is not to say that love doesnt have its high points, but in my past attempts it has left me to narrowly escape like some scar faced, golden gun weilding, white suit wearing, volcano layered, bond villian, and frankly my dear scarlet, i give a damn. i dont understand how such well layed plans of mice and men end up going to the dogs. and my tiereny has run its' course only to leave me empty inside, and not quite willing to live to fight another day, but i digress.

i guess i should learn from my mistakes and in the future plan for the obsticles that come along, next time im not jonting through space looking for the perfect life, next time i'm letting the perfect life find me right here.

my appologies for the james bond driven monolouge, but it's been on t.v for a month of sundays, no joke, every sunday a different one is on, and like any guy with asperations of world domination , i watch , and take notes.

joe eoj

Folly golly rig-a-ma-rolly, Rasberry flaunt toot-toot; Kitten-ka-bottles and oodles-of-noodles, Titter-me bleau ma-goot; a week 'til Victory Rose

What the hell is that title all about?

Well, innocence is lost in this blog. No, innocence is more than lost; she's been chopped into pet bedding for cockroaches, tossed into a burlap sack that a hobo decayed in, and buried 'neath the shattered dreams of a child (stop here). No, I'm not talking about Katrina or Iraq, or any other legit catastrophe, I'm talking about a week ago when some hooligan broke into the trunk of my 1996 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme...SUPREME. Yep, my once proud trunk just flopped around when I pulled out into Howe street. "What the Sam hell?" I muttered to myself at the time.
Anyway, I sercured 'er with a bungee. My pride was raped that night my friends. So now that makes twice that I've been violated recently. My apartment was broken into in May by a ghost, or a real burgler more than likely, so vile that it only tampered with one bag and left the brand new laptop to do whatever laptops do when they're scared, probably close-up and whimper. I'd close-up if I were a laptop.
I'm only writing because I feel like I'm overdue for a blog. With that said I just finished up food shopping. More innocence was sqaushed last weekend when I had a few friends over to the place and they pointed out that a fridge full of four bottles of hot sauce and a can of live bait represents the eating habits of someone who society cocks its head in potential distrust towards. See, someday I am going to make whoever decides to be my wife a very happy person. I won't make her, nor even want her, lean over a hot stove or strain her eyes to read a cook book. Just heat me up a can of beef raviolis and play Monopoly with me until your fingers bleed. I'm a simple guy.
Did I tell you guys about my DUI 5 years ago. I had to be evaluated to to see if I needed to attend 8 sessions with a psychologist (standard procedure for all PA DUI arrests). Anyway, the interviewer on hand to do the evaluation, a nice lady named Nancy, asked me..."Mister Bower, when drinking, do you have problems starting things, such as a relationship or project?" I was honest, I said "No, just my car." See people, honesty. And did they make me see a shrink? Nope, and look at me now, smothering worms with hot sauce and watching scarred pointer fingers push a thimble around Marvin Gardens.



BM