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The 7 - Guest Columns - The Obtuse Experiment: I Go Insane
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Wolfram J. Paulovich
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#1 Posted on 4.3.03 0047.02
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0048.33

THE OBTUSE EXPERIMENT, Part V
I Am Amused by the Simplicity of This Game.
Bring Me Your Finest Meats and Cheeses.

March 4, 2003

by Jeb Tennyson Lund
OnlineOnslaught.com/CitizenScholar.net

I have a completed "normal" column sitting in a file on my hard-drive, but I guess I won't print it here, today. Apparently, most readers and OnlineOnslaught message board posters (along with Rick Scaia) assumed that trying to write five columns on five consecutive days would drive me totally insane.

Apparently, you just can't be topical and relevant too many times in quick succession. Normally, I would counter with the fact that a good glance around the Internet Wrestling Community shows that some people can take weeks off between writing 400-word columns, and all that time and reflection hasn't given them one niblet of sense, style or topicality. But who am I to argue with people?

To get to the point: rarely is anyone presented with the opportunity to do bad work for the delight of many. Many readers wrote in saying that they actually hoped I went bonkers, just because they'd like to see it. I imagine I will never get this opportunity again. So the rest of this column breaks almost all of my cardinal rules about topicality, sense and just normal acceptability. Also, it's hopelessly nuts, but at least it's deliberately hopelessly nuts. (Or not. You be the judge.) If anyone has never read The Obtuse Angle before, please ignore this and go through the archives. This is bound to be bad.

*********


When you think of famous announcers, you generally think of someone who subtracts as much as he adds to the action. For every insight that John Madden makes, he blurts out a deranged folksy comment like, "You know, the offensive line can't close the barn door in a bear market, when it's raining out and my head itches and my shoe's untied and my shins hurt." Good commentators should be heard and not pictured; and, many times, they should not be heard at all. The WWE announce team is not familiar with this.

Nor should they be. Wrestling is a different animal. The rules of addition and subtraction are sometimes very contrary in wrestling. Sometimes a breathtaking move is best highlighted by talking over it. Sometimes a dead crowd is better than analysis. And almost all viewers have taken it as read that the people calling the action should have as much of a "character" as the people acting. But for the most part, hey, J.R. isn't telling you anything that you don't already know. The question, then, is, "Why are you listening?"

The reason why is that the hyperbole, endless superlatives and polysyllabic adjectives make the action seem a whole hell of a lot more important: polysyllabic adjectives sounds more significant than "big words." Think about it: given the right terminology, wrestling sounds hopelessly stupid and/or sexual. "Folks, Sweaty Man falls in a controlled manner on Other Sweaty Man. Other Sweaty Man gets up. Now they are hugging pretty strongly.... Still hugging.... Still hugging."

There are all kinds of ways to screw up this relatively simple formula. J.R.'s signature mistake seems to be conflating two wrestler's names. In 2001, I frequently enjoyed the happy Canadian adventures of Chris Benoiicho. Michael Cole is the biggest offender when it comes to announcing, and a little bitch in general. (Really, I've come to think that there needs to be some kind of antiquated and stuffy secret society for short skinny men with compensatory facial hair and a desperate need to achieve or borrow a sliver of precious "cool" — and Michael Cole needs to be the head of them... just so I can correctly and legitimately call him Grandmaster Candyfuck.) And his major offense is something that your English teacher hated.

It's called passive voice. I call it, "talking like a German." It's where you take a sentence and suck all the life, energy, vitality or whatever out of it.

Normal Sentence: The thrown ball struck the man in the chest.
Passive Voice Sentence: The man happened to be stricken in the chest by the thrown ball.
German Sentence: In the chest, by the thrown ball, the man was stricken.

A normal sentence has action. Ball hits man. Dammit, that hurts. Man grabs a stick and beats the holy hell out of the guy who threw the ball. When you put the sentence in passive voice, you usually use the past-tense or past participle, making the action seem like "it happened to happen" or "it has happened" rather than that "it's happening." You take away the immediacy and urgency of it. You make it seem as if "it came to pass — in ancient times, hundreds of years before the dawn of history, with the druids...." The Germans at least have an excuse. They have to put their verbs at the end of their sentences because that's how their grammar works.

Grandmaster Candyfuck has no excuse. He destroys the essence of anything happening; he rips active verbs out of sentences and replaces them with passive statements, then surrounds them with so many prepositional phrases that nothing makes sense anymore. If he was commentating on the attacks on the World Trade Center, he would have said, "The building has happened to become on fire for some reason. Oh, my goodness! A plane, that was flying, has flown, into the building, and the building has been impacted by the plane that was flying, in the air, toward the building."

It amazes me that he manages to make a confrontation in the ring sound like some kind of indecipherable cosmic coincidence. According to him, Chris Benoit doesn't drill someone in the chest with a headbutt. Instead, everything happens vaguely and in the past, as if it was an accident. "Albert has been hit, in the chest 'area' of his body, by a devastating headbutt, from Chris Benoit, who flew from the top rope!" It makes it sound as if Benoit was on the top rope trying to throw headbutts into a top-hat in the middle of the ring; and, somehow, Albert didn't see the top hat, mistakenly lay down, then got hit in the "chesticular region" by a fluttering devastating headbutt. Oh, yeah, and Chris Benoit can fly. You knew that, too, didn't you?

With that in mind, I've drafted a brief letter.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MICHAEL COLE

Mitchell,

Hi. Love the goatee.

I understand that you're busy. In light of that, you fuck, I'll try not to take up too much of your time.

I would like to make an introduction: Mitchell Cole... the English Language. The English Language... Mitchell Cole.

Hmmm. It's obvious you two don't know each other and won't get along. Nevermind.

Mitchell, stop talking. Anytime soon will do. You murder the English language. You sound like a Saxon tourist who walks into The Gap — wearing black eyeglasses and a tucked-in pea-green button-down shirt that is buttoned all the way to the top — then asks if he can "to the area of beachfront please be directed."

What do you do when you have to talk dirty to a woman? (Women? They're like divas but aren't contractually obligated to talk to you.) Anyway, do you say, "Yes, you incredible specimen of physicality! I want you to devastatingly move your hand down to area of my crotch that's on my body! I'm totally stunned by your nipples that are on your breasts on your body! The sex of yours that you are going to share with the person of me is something that I am willing to bet that I will enjoy with the enjoyment of me! Look at THIS, Tazz!"

Maybe I am not getting through to you. Allow me to rephrase.

Incredibly badly on the mic do you talk to the audience at home! The words that you are devastatingly saying detract from the action that is just now happening at the same time, in the ring. Oh my God, you can't possibly believe how much you going away is something that I would like!

Sincerely,
Paul "Chaps" Levesque

*********


MTV needs to get some VJs and anchorpersons that do one of two things (preferably both): look better than MTV viewers or know more about music than MTV viewers.

I remember MTV's good old days of cute little female Chunks of Duh and the couple of guys/girls who actually could improvise a compelling, informative and persuasive argument about an album. Today we have people who not only seem far dumber than the average MTV fan, but they're just as ugly. If they must be dumber than a square foot of sod, could they at least be telegenic?

Take Iann Robinson. This bastard is quasi-hydroencephalic case with a complexion like overcooked cheese tortellini and a body that looks as if it's being systematically devoured by his neck. If you don't know who I mean (because, like me, you've all but stopped watching MTV in response to the fact that they no longer play videos), picture Matt Pinfield transported back to age 18, afflicted with some sort of tooth decay, and forced to eat a young and smallish gorilla. Then imagine him slouching into his neck and making a lot of "shucks, I don't know what's up, Dudes and Dudettes" gestures.

Yeah, this guy is a dynamo of an insider, with trenchant insights into the subdued yet pervasive malaise underlying the rhythm tracks of the new Zwan album. Fuck him. He's about one step removed from the guy who's chewing on a Slim Jim at the local Blockbuster, sweating profusely, picking his thin flannel pants out of his ass-crack and trying to work up the nerve to rent a Girls Gone Wild video and the newest release of Playboy Playmates Bathe Near Each Other.

And who is this "Sway" sonofabitch on MTV news? First off: take the goddamned boxer shorts off your head. Second, I'm white. I'm a dork. I'm such a dork that the middle name "Tennyson" is almost too hip for me. But I don't care if you're black, white, green or the fucking Road Runner: no one can get away with the name "Sway." What's next, a batch of MTV newspersons named Lateral Stress, Arc, Moral Suasion and FIAT? You're fired. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, do not clean out your desk; proceed directly to fired. Jackass. (By the way, I have a pair of boxers just like that.)

*********


• Teddy Long has shown a devotion to the Nehru jacket not seen since the 1950s.
• Brian Kendrick was simply amazing on Smackdown! Plucky, earnest, fast, spry, great energy, great moves, great selling. Phenomenal. Of course, his haircut still makes him look like a back-up guitarist for Soul Asylum or The Caulfields, but that can be forgiven if he can make his ring work as fun as this Thursday's match against Angle.
• If Nunzio really wants to be an Italian Heel, he could change his name to "Nuncio" and claim to speak for the Pope before every match.
• Everytime I see Rhyno, I think back to a Deathtöngue lyric, from a Bloom County cartoon, in which the final line is "your... love Rhino."
• I really miss Tazz telling terrible jokes on Smackdown! His best was easily:
Tazz: Hey, Cole! Why'd the monkey fall out of the tree?
Cole: I don't know, Tazz.
Tazz: 'Cause it was DEAD!
Of course, I pretty much miss him abusing Cole at every opportunity.
• You have to question the essential value of Brock Lesnar when he has a backstage skit with Chris Benoit, and Benoit comes off as the charismatic guy.
• An "Eddie Mows My Lawn" sign has about as much class as a sign that says,"Funaki's Family Was Vaporized in the Apocalyptic Shockwave Following the Atomic Bomb Detonation over Hiroshima." Of course, the first one is much pithier.
• Speaking of being pithy, does Brock Lesnar have a subtle lisp?
• Just once, I want someone in the front row, behind the announcer's table, to snatch the headset off Cole's head and yell, "Yoink!" For at least three weeks, you know Cole would sit there, desperately fighting back the terrifying sensation that a hand was slowly moving toward him.

*********


When I started writing columns at OnlineOnslaught, I lived in Sarasota. This is how I described my surroundings, then:

Most of my day is spent on my screened-in balcony, in a chair that is perfect in virtually every way. Once in it, I try not to leave it for any reason.

I read and nod off a lot. Over the fence and across a parking lot is a beautiful fountain and a gazebo tucked in a grove of trees. Both of them belong to the condominium complex over the fence. In the corner of my balcony, my aloe plants grow with a Rodan-esque radioactive vigor. (The giant Japanese pterodactyl Rodan — not the sculptor whose name sounds the same.) They are clutching, pointy and huge. I haven't watered them in eight months.

My favorite part of the afternoon is when the man comes home. He is the single inspiration for a character I created for a wrestling video game. "Corpo McFatty" is the grappler's name. The man's name is a mystery; I've never heard anyone speak to him. I named him Corpo, too.

Corpo — or "Korpo" whenever I think he may be German — is short and well over 300 pounds. He drives an abused red Ford Festiva or Geo Metro. One of those metal death nuggets that get incomprehensible mileage. Whenever he gets out of the car, it rises visibly — gasping, it seems, for air.

He moves quickly to his home and within minutes is out again — shirtless and walking his dog. This massive gelatinous flesh of man with his tiny car and his tiny poodle — a miniature curly-haired rat-like Frenchie dog. I imagine that he chose the dog because it's so unappealing that he feels certain he will never be tempted to eat it.

Sometimes the teenagers are out. I named them "Hip-Hop Hatfield and MC McCoy." They are inseparable. They own a Taurus and always park it backward. Rap spews out of it when they leave the windows down while cruising. They drive too fast in the parking lot. When they speak to each other, they have preposterous "hood" accents. When they speak to adults, they have ponderous southern drawls.

Corpo doesn't like them. Because I like Corpo, I don't like them either. He always squints and holds his head to one side when they are out: he thinks the are loud and rude. His heart is probably the size of an arcade hoop-a-shoot basketball, but I worry that it is fragile. I worry that they will antagonize him dangerously.

They are Florida. Corpo is Florida. So is the woman who parks her Town Car near him. I'm an unemployed twenty-something. I'm watching this from the chair. I, too, am Florida. When I'm done writing, I'll put my notebook down and start reading. Maybe later I will look warily at the aloe plants.

*********


A BALKAN LYRIC
(From the Slzo-Molzchakian of Smorko Kssvcss)

It was, then, you.
You!
Gschszzic!

D.B. Wyndham Lewis

*********


You'd be surprised how far you can drive a hammer through a telephone.... If you stop to think about it, Astroglide suffers the same pressures of viscosity and thermal breakdown as Castrol Syntec.... Where do all these cuts on my hands come from? If I had a million dollars, I'd give Scott Keith a nickel to teach him the value of money.... Japan is really far away from the United States to the left, but it's even farther to the right.... Sometimes, the only place to put a body is in a hole.... I once co-wrote a song that started: "I have a catheter/And I'm goin' after her...." I gotta pee real bad.... You call these lashings? The Alexa ranking is down, and thus so are my spirits. Ennui! Yelling won't always get the right kind of attention.... The difference between parking and loading is only a state of mind.... James Guttman, Derek Burgan and Uncle T are too underrated, but Uncle T uses the most words from dead people.... No one ever gives you encouragement in coach class.... You all think you're real smart, but I'm gonna fix you good.

*********


Someone who tells you that they are completely honest in their journal entries is someone who will tell you that they have never thought of cheating at solitaire.

*********


Big Nordic bastard
Drinks from a hollowed-out skull
And drinks mead, dammit!

Porcine Vocalists
Each one is so glutinous
Karaoke night

*********


The view from the porch has changed. I live in a different city.

I live next to the intersection of two of the most-beloved roads for street racing in Tampa. Nightly I am greeted by engines keening with the stress of damagingly high RPMs. This noise is usually followed by the muted squeal of brakes farther down the road. Invariably, the loudest and fastest cars are the ugliest. I'm far more likely to see an Impala than a BMW.

Occasionally, the drudgery of mere street racing is broken by someone skidding off the road onto the sidewalk or into a concrete lightpost. This brings to life the Fire Station across the street. Although the accidents are probably defining moments for those driving the cars, the Fire Station activity is blandly workaday. The fire trucks make more noise than the accidents anyway.

There are no heroes or funny characters that walk by. The only protagonist seems to be The Drunk Disciplinarian — a man who lets his fluffy white dog run around the ground below the porch while he, always, sips on Bud Light and shouts commands completely foreign to any dog: "No! Move to the left! The left!"

The dog, who is twenty feet away from him, stares in polite dogly consternation and just poops wherever he is standing. When the dog finishes, the Disciplinarian mutters something equally foolish in terms of dog-talk, and the two walk back, safe in the routine. I find it funny that the dog is incredibly puffy, and the man also appears to invest great time and care in putting mousse in his hair, then blow-drying it in a feathered kind of pompadour. He seems to worry about his receding hairline. The dog, obviously, has no say in what his fur does.

The ground below the porch is a thin stretch of dry earth that has been converted into an enriched vale of feces by the pets from the apartments here. The sheer natural fecundity is increased by an adjacent retention pond that I have dubbed "The Mosquito Coast." Why people stand and patiently wait for their dogs to do their business in an area where millions of insects wait to feast upon both of them is a matter I have yet to figure out. On only one occasion has a street racer tried to flee an accident and blindly run into the pond, but his total shock and panic was worth the price of seeing the ducks and geese go crazy. There was much honking.

I believe that the Texaco (next to the Fire Station) has been hexed. My favorite part of every night is when the couples visit it. The actors change nightly, but the drama remains the same. Without fail, some man or boy parks in the Texaco lot, goes in to buy something, yet emerges from the store in a terrible conflict with his girlfriend. Most of these men/boys are white suburbanites affecting a ghetto accent, just like Hip-Hop Hatfield and his friend. On more than one occasion, I have heard a frustrated lover yell out, "But I love you, bitch!" Two nights ago, the theme was deepened when a boy exclaimed, "But I want to marry you, Bitch! Excuses! Excuses! You all excuses!" In a display of irony that I think escaped him, he angrily threw his cell phone at a pay phone. He and his would-be fiancee then walked in circles, in the parking lot, while yelling for almost forty minutes.

Sometimes the hookers walk by, but they aren't nearly as much fun to watch as you would think they'd be. Most of them walk by because they are just going home. No matter what, a car always manages to slow down or stop beside them. For the most part, I wish that they could be around to listen to the angry suburbanite boyfriends, because they know how to deal with conflict. The cars slow, a window goes down, then the hookers yell with real authority. Sometimes they grab hunks of asphalt pebbles and pulverized shells and throw them into the idling cars. They are fiercely off-shift in this area.

The view is not nearly so pleasant as the old ugly Sarasota parking lot with the nice gazebo and fountain. What it lacks in basic prettiness is more than made up for in earnest drama. I think it would be the apex of a porch experience to see one of the hookers clash with one of the abusive boyfriends, then fall into the pond. But that is a dream that requires patience. Sitting out here, writing, night after night, I may be so lucky as to see it happen.
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Cerebus
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#2 Posted on 4.3.03 0223.39
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0224.27
(deleted by Cerebus on 4.3.03 0138)
CRZ
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#3 Posted on 4.3.03 0340.06
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0343.36
You're wrong about Sway...but then, you're only a wrestling columnist so who gives a crap what you think about Sway? YES
Ubermonkeys
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#4 Posted on 4.3.03 0415.30
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0420.39
Jeb is right about Sway. (According to IMDb, Sway is his real first name- his last being "Calloway". All I can think of now is CRZ writing The Awesome Sway Who Is Awesome.) He's also right about Iann (yeah right) Robinson.

Back to topic, Sway has possibly the most annoying voice on MTV ever and his unnecessary presence at The Roots' $2 Bill Show was... unnecessary? Sure.

Regarding the fans free speech on SD, hopefully now that the vignette has portrayed them Los Guerreros as common thugs, the signs will soon be upgraded to "Eddie Guerrero Stole My Lawn".
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#5 Posted on 4.3.03 0543.46
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0547.05

    Originally posted by Jeb Tennyson Lund
    But I don't care if you're black, white, green or the fucking Road Runner: no one can get away with the name "Sway."


    Originally posted by CRZ
    You're wrong about Sway...


    Originally posted by Ubermonkeys
    According to IMDb, Sway is his real first name- his last being "Calloway".

The defense rests.
Ruby Trax
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#6 Posted on 4.3.03 0617.37
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0620.29
Sway and Iann both work their asses off and the artists love them, which are both pretty paramount when it comes to getting access to artists and, dare I say, finding and reporting NEWS, which is their (gasp) job, and which I've seen them do 24/7, since I'd worked with both of them from the days they each first started in the department. They're two people I actually miss from the old salt mines, and that's saying something.

Of course, Sway gave me a shout-out on Direct Effect the day I went in for surgery three years ago, so maybe I'm just BIASED when I say he's always tops in my book. Or maybe I just know that he's the kind of guy who really doesn't deserve to crudely caricatured by anyone so clueless to the depth and breadth of the work he does on a daily basis -- something he's been doing for ages. Have you even heard of the Wake-Up Show? I mean, honestly. Being loudly and publicly uninformed, it's just so tragic and gauche. For shaaame.
tomvejada
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#7 Posted on 4.3.03 0811.13
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0812.05
Didn't Sway work in a radio station before his gig at MTV? I remember footage of him interviewing Biggie (1996?) on Behind The Music.

Also, speaking of MTV, those VJS that are hosting TRL now since Carson Daly has that Last Call show suck.



(edited by tomvejada on 4.3.03 0611)
OlFuzzyBastard
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#8 Posted on 4.3.03 0840.27
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0842.31
I gotta say, it's clear you don't get MTV2, because you wouldn't even *mention* Sway's name. There's a woman on there who's name is LA LA. Like the Teletubby.

And she's not quite as bright as her name would suggest.
skorpio17
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#9 Posted on 4.3.03 0947.43
Reposted on: 4.3.10 0953.09
Good column. The less it’s about wrestling, the more I liked it.
I’m with you on Sway. He trips over his own words more than Ozzy. Maybe he got hired for his street cred. Or Kurt Loder got too old to be hip.

An "Eddie Mows My Lawn" sign doesn’t work for me either. It’s freezing cold outside at 20 degrees. I could see “Eddie Shovels My Driveway” as an acceptable alternative.

Not for nothing, but I also think those 3 Torch writers are underrated.
Wolfram J. Paulovich
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#10 Posted on 4.3.03 1333.44
Reposted on: 4.3.10 1336.02
People, people, people.

Yes, I know that Sway has been doing a widely respected hip-hop radio show for ages. And I've listened to it, and he's good. Iann Robinson has a lot of respect in the metal scene. That doesn't change the fact that, on MTV news reports, they utter a string of banalities that hardly informs the already dim mind of the average MTV dullard. It only makes it more disappointing, given that they obviously know far much more and have the potential to be just as excellent commentors on television as they are on radio.

Personally, I suspect that this is an MTV producer's fault: "No! That's too fucking insightful! LOOK GOOD, keep it BRIEF. Style over substance, baby!" And hey, if those guys like the extra paycheck for doing fluff work, more power to them. But if the auditory data they give me is going to be that inane and non-probitive, I'm going to concentrate on the visual data, and that means looking at one nervously gesticulating white guy and a black guy with underwear on his head. (And sorry, Bitchfactor, for not providing a long qualifying paragraph about knowing something about the men's careers before making fun of their appearance. But cheap jokes just seem so gauche if you try to make them look well-informed.)

And as for the name: fine, someone named him that. Aneuran Bevan's parents named him "Aneuran Bevan," and — great politician that he was — he still couldn't get away with it.

Fuzzy: I don't watch MTV2 either, because there is a lot of schlock on it whenever I turn it on. I have a digital cable package, so I watch the VH1 Classic stuff for the OLD videos. If I want to hear new music, I put the channel on one of the 24-Hour digital music stations.
IPowerbombedKidman
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#11 Posted on 4.3.03 1911.29
Reposted on: 4.3.10 1914.48
I've literally been waiting days for this article to hit the boards so I can comment.

Grandmaster Candyfuck! Brilliant!

That is all.

Except not: I loved the Obtuse Experiment! Lets try it again in a few months to see how many days it would take a normal wrestling columnist to go comatose. My guess is 9.
Excalibur05
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#12 Posted on 4.3.03 1931.33
Reposted on: 4.3.10 1932.04

    Originally posted by IPowerbombedKidman
    I've literally been waiting days for this article to hit the boards so I can comment.

    Grandmaster Candyfuck! Brilliant!



What's wrong with the OO boards?

(other than the fact that they don't like me?)
IPowerbombedKidman
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#13 Posted on 6.3.03 2046.53
Reposted on: 6.3.10 2048.42

    Originally posted by Excalibur05

      Originally posted by IPowerbombedKidman
      I've literally been waiting days for this article to hit the boards so I can comment.

      Grandmaster Candyfuck! Brilliant!



    What's wrong with the OO boards?

    (other than the fact that they don't like me?)



I have problems staying at one board for an extended amount of time. Its not like I cause trouble, but I have a commitment problem, I am always too lazy to post or forgeting my password. I blame playing video games until I'm bored with them instead of until I complete the game. Truely, I have no idea why I haven't had short term memmory with this board (Despite the fact that I have had streches when I haven't posted.) I believe its the niceness and acceptance of peoples opinion. I personally enjoy OO, its focuses on the good and is more upbeat than the droning of other sites. However, ofther than the Obtuse Angle, which I can find here, and Timeline, which has ceased to be for my knowledge, nothing about it sticks out so that I remember it.
spf
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#14 Posted on 6.3.03 2144.27
Reposted on: 6.3.10 2153.59
Jeb, while I have to agree I loathe Sway and Iann on MTV, they actually do come off pretty well when on M2 and given time to talk. Same with the emo kid Gideon. Iann has a wonderfully acerbic bitterness about him when he hates something, which on M2 he is almost allowed to fully come out and say. It really is the fact that MTV could make anyone on earth sound like a banal fuckwit tool.
Ruby Trax
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#15 Posted on 7.3.03 0338.36
Reposted on: 7.3.10 0343.23
Jeb, I don't recall there being any "extra" paycheck involved for going on-air as opposed to staying behind the scenes, but I won't continue to provide you with informed facts regarding subjects that you're satisfied to keep ranting about half-cocked. Since you're so proud to make yourself look as grossly uninformed as possible (and who wouldn't?), I'll be sure to ignore you as much as possible from now on. (I'm sure you're crushed!)
mountinman44
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Y!:
#16 Posted on 7.3.03 1123.24
Reposted on: 7.3.10 1129.01
Jeb, brilliant was the writing above you posted.
sentonBOMB
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Since: 25.11.02
From: Jersey

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#17 Posted on 7.3.03 1411.12
Reposted on: 7.3.10 1417.14
iann robinson makes fun of fred durst. how can anyone who likes music possibly dislike him?!
Wolfram J. Paulovich
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From: Fat City, Baby

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#18 Posted on 9.3.03 2323.15
Reposted on: 9.3.10 2325.29
Bitchfactor: I made that comment based on the people I know in other forms of television journalism. The on-air personalities tend to make more than the copy writers (many on-air personalities write none of their own copy). I was merely hoping that they got some extra money for being on-air personalities, since they seem to come off much better in other forums.

Anyway, everyone who enjoyed the piece, thank you. For those who didn't: I'm sorry. I was sort of hoping that no one would take any of it seriously, since it was supposed to read like a bunch of crackpot opinions from someone who was losing his grip. It was really supposed to rank somewhere near or below columns of nothing but haiku on the "legitimate opinion" o-meter.
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