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Search Results for: davepye

Revel In My Photoshop Prowess: Illegal Elians


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Shortly after refugee Elian Gonzales was all over the news, Bobby and Monster tried to get a bunch of us to go to some shitty Cuban-theme party at a downtown Boston dance club. The backlash was immediate. Some poked fun, some refused, some balked and I contributed a Cuban/Elian-themed Photoshop:

I used the same photo of Bobby as I did here, and the original photo of Bryan’s head is from the Tiernan’s candid gallery. I’m sure you all remember seeing the source photo at every Liberal news outlet known to man. Which is basically every news outlet known to man. Baby Monster was eventually returned to the custody of his father in Cuba, while INS agent Bobby retired and opened up his own private poontang detection agency.

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DougAndDoug.com – Intense Comedy.


in Heartwarming

I built DougAndDoug.com for my friend Doug Triconi and his comedy partner Doug Krintzman a year or so ago, and it’s about to have a bunch of new content added to it. The duo has been trying to break into the bigtime for years now – producing their own videos and performing live stand up routines in Los Angeles on a regular basis.

Have a look at the hilarious short films The Search For 5 (the boys set out on an action filled quest for a missing porno tape) and Small Town Antics (Triconi is torn between robbing a house or making a sandwich) in Quicktime on their site right now, and stay tuned for their latest odyssey in the coming weeks. You can say you “saw them here first”. Alternately, you may wish to say “What is this awful hack shit?” You be the judge. I think it’s brilliant stuff.

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The Iceman Cometh.


in Movies

Remember that movie from 1984 where Timothy Hutton discovers the Neanderthal frozen in the arctic and then brings him back to life? Basically he thaws the smelly bugger out, hides him from some dissection-happy fellow scientists and then teaches him to sing Heart of Gold by Neil Young. While I think Neil Young is a God, I probably would have started with Bill Russell’s A Little Bit of Soap.

As you may know it’s been an unusually warm winter here in Boston so far, with this past week bordering on humid. And I thought I saw an Iceman on the way to work this morning. As he approached me, I tried to identify the sort of animal hide he was wearing, checked his hands for wooly mammoth flesh scraping tools and wondered if I’d be able to get him back to my laboratory for some guitar lessons without a net and a tranquilizer dart.

Then he asked me for a quarter. Previously driven inside by the bitter cold, Boston’s homeless have returned to the streets in force. My great contributions to science and guitar-driven rock will have to wait a bit longer.

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We’re Sorry Everybody. And Virgins.


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I’ve already given this truly awful website some begrudging lip service here on Pye In The Face, but I’ve been forced to revisit it due to an article I just read in my friend’s newspaper. One of the guys who writes for him, Norton Tierra, runs down a refreshing list of reasons Americans have absolutely nothing to be apologizing about.

I could have used any number of photos from the eyesore in question, but I chose these two heartbreakers for the absolute plethora of Dungeons and Dragons jokes I’ll be able to mine. Is the sign pertaining to their disappointment at Bush’s re-election? Or the disappointment they feel because the rohypnol they bought from a fraternity brother before the kegger turned out to be Similac? Regardless, It’s still convenient that whatever EverQuest server they were using last Saturday night crashed long enough for them to contribute this photo.

In summation – Will you people please stop whining? Don’t apologize for Bush. Don’t apologize on my behalf. But since you already have, allow me to return the favor: I’m sorry you weren’t born a Kurd and gassed along with your entire family and then buried in a mass grave because that may have actually been preferable to screwing produce in your dorm room.

But someone eventually created a welcome alternative, the aptly entitled SorryEverybodyMyAss, at which the less snivelly members of our population are encouraged to submit antidotes to the disgraceful whinges on the original site. I decided to join the fray.

I’ve never liked the way in which household pets, particularly cats, are employed to relay the stomach-turning apologetic messages on SorryEverybody. This does little to help their already less-than-macho image. I found a photo of a fairly distressed looking cat on a shelter’s website, added the scroll and decided to give our feline friends a chance to pick their own party. If cats are indeed as smart as I’ve grown to believe throughout 30+ years of having them around, they’re certainly not Liberals by default. Even though they most certainly sound like them from time to time.

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Christmastime in Torontooooo.


in Heartwarming

Actually, I never really set foot in Toronto over the holidays. I just like the song. OK – I did pee on the side of a KFC off Dundas St. while my sister asked for directions inside. So technically, I set foot and also set a little urine if we’re splitting pubic hairs. But I did hang in Burlington, Guelph, Grimsby and Hamilton for extended periods of time, and took a few photos along the way.

Janet and I coughed our way up to Kingston on the Wednesday making the trip in about 7 hours which isn’t bad. But it turns out we didn’t need to pick up my mother’s car as we’d originally thought, so we could have gone Northwest through New York State – straight to Toronto – and saved ourselves a lot of time. So that kinda blew. Coupled with the blizzard that descended for the final 4 hours of the eventual 12 hour trip, it definitely blew. Goats.

The photo of Gooch and Art on the left was taken at the Albion in downtown Guelph. I recognized a guy I lived in residence with ten years ago, and also a T.A. that I’d had for a short-lived psychology course. It was very cool to return to the Royal City after such a long hiatus and recognize people I knew – but that was just the tip of the iceberg. On the right we see Jim, Art, Gooch, Myself and Lynn. This photo was taken at Frank & Stein’s where I eventually ran into another Mills boy and Tonizzo who used to work for me at the Bullring. I hadn’t seen him since the final night of exams in 1998 so that was a tsunami from the past. Don’t cringe – I’m topical.

Christmas day I posed proudly in my new jumper with Beatrix the cat. ‘The Bix’ is Janet’s roomate’s and we had to bring her with us because she’s still young and not very well behaved. Kinda like Janet’s roomate. Bix was fun to have in the car though – her fur improved windsheild visibility much faster than the defrost button. From there it was on to Uncle Richard’s for the annual Pye gathering – and as usual it did not disappoint. Most kids are bummed when they get clothes for XMas, but Seth found his robe a whole lot more interesting when I told him it made him look like Muhammad Ali and then taught him a few pugilistic poses. Then I slap-boxed the shit out of him because he’s only 8 and I knew I stood a good chance.

Kathy’s father, my father and Thomas’ father are brothers. Kathy’s father spent Christmas in Cuba with his new woman, Thomas’ father spent Christmas with us in Grimsby and my father spent Christmas alone in a Trailer in Florida. Well, he wasn’t completely alone. He had a cat and a deep-fried turkey there with him. Gordo, if you read this, you’re coming up next year. Stop being a… turkey. And finally Beatrix meets Gooseberry for the first of many violent, fur-flying encounters. Which was healthy because it kept Goose from attacking my Grandmother for 5 days. Pet/owner Love-hate relationship there. Basically, the cat loves to scratch the Christ out of her at every given opportunity. It’s adorable.

Right. So happy 2005, everyone. My New Years Eve was nothing special so I’ll spare you the details. Thank God the holidays are over for another year. I think I’d find medieval torture less stressful.

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What The Fuck Are Robster Craws?


in Movies

A few weeks back my friend Brukkake asked me to help him out with an article he was writing. He’s a news writer for SearchCIO.com and wanted to put together a fun, year-end piece about what some of his readers thought about current and upcoming movies. Sounds innocent enough, right?

Take a gander at the finished product, Geeks Weigh In On The Best Movies of 2004. Look for a witty jab from yours truly, Mr. ” It’s Looking More And More Like They’ll Find Me Dead Beside A Trunk Full of DVD Porn”, in the very last paragraph.

Am I like Booger? A huge dork who doesn’t realize he’s a huge dork? A giant dweeb who’s dweebiness is apparent to everyone except him? A pathetic los… Wait. Don’t answer that. Don’t answer any of those. Goodnight.

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E-Mail Bonding.


in Pye in the Face

In a few days, my old email address (david@pye.com) will no longer function. I’ve been trying to wean most of you on to the new one, but some folks just don’t want to get with the times. So, if you want to stay in touch, update your records. One more time for the cheap seats:

My e-mail address is dave (at) davepye.com!

While we’re on the subject, some of you have probably noticed that people have stopped listing their email address properly, and have taken to substituting the @ symbol with something else. For example: bob@smith.com becomes bob (at) smith.com. In case you were wondering, this is because there are untold numbers of automated scripts out there, incessantly surfing the web just to harvest email addresses. These addresses are then sold to companies who will spam the bejaysus out of you. So, if you have a website, and you want your email to remain spam-free, disguise it somehow.

So once again – david.pye.com and david@pye.com are ancient history. There will be a time-capsule-esque link to my old website from this one. Update your address books and your browsers, or risk losing me forever.

There are a lot of exchanging hosting for your small business including computer servers that provide a storage for your email hosting and other information. Exchange outsourcing services are dedicated exchange hosting that is monitored by professionals.

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Downtime For SO Many Reasons.


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Just a quick note to let everyone know what to expect from Pye In The Face over the next week or so. First of all, I am currently sick as a dog. I’ve left my apartment once in the last 3 days to go to CVS for Theraflu and Nyquil. I don’t know what prompted this malady, but the timing couldn’t be worse. So y’all are going to have to do Wing Night without me.

Wednesday my sister and I are driving 9 hours to Toronto for Christmas. The highlight of which will be placing an elderly relative into a nursing home. Happy Holidays. Then Monday night it’s off to L.A. to meet with a client.

The next week is going to be awfully quiet. Far more awful than quiet. Bear with me – I shall return.

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I Think My Cat Is IRA.


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Boss lost his small, grey mouse – which chirps loudly when he swats it – about a month ago, and nothing I’ve bought him since has seemed to fill the void. He’s been despondent and inconsolable, mewing incessantly about the evils of British imperialism. And then something most unexpected happened.

I awoke one morning last week to see Boss gloating proudly over… is that… could it be… squeaky mouse?! Was he sent off on some secret mission for the Irish Republican Army (it’s no secret that Boss has had past affiliations)? Did Boss stage a clandestine raid while I slept to free Squeaky from Al Queda captors?

Obviously not. Cats have short memory spans, and like some kind of feline alzheimer patient, I’m sure he just carried the toy off behind a piece of furniture and forgot all about it. Still, it’s fun to imagine that your pet is a secret agent. And to only leave the house during full moons on odd numbered months.

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Revel In My PS Prowess: Return Of The Wing.


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A group of friends and I used to make time every week for ‘Wing Night’ which was held at the SideBar, usually on Tuesdays. Wing Night would consist of a few pitchers of Pabst and enough chicken wings to be declared a partial poultry genocide. Once Monster and I ate 50 each in one sitting. And, let’s just say, we were sitting down again shortly afterwards in more secluded locations. The night eventually grew to include a rotating group of faces, but then died off sharply around 6 months ago. We’ve recently been discussing its resurrection, and I thought this would be a perfect time to roll out another one of my silly related Photoshops…

What do you get when you marry geeky Tolkienesque fandom with weekly gastonomical hammerings of biblical proportions? Why, Frodo with a Buffalo biscuit, of course. And like a Hobbit to the Cracks of Doom – starting in January I’m bringing Wing Night home again. So prepare yourselves for the very imminent Return of the Wing.

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A Righteous Roomate Reckoning.


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One of my roomates is parting amicably for reasons of finance. It may also have something to do with all the dead hookers. Regardless, Mardi and I will be needing another… Roomate, that is. I have the hookers covered – With lime in shallow cellar graves for the most part.

If you’re interested, know someone who is interested or just have some sort of sick fascination with what the insides of other people’s apartments look like, click the linky: 20 Cleveland Place #1

I don’t really party like a rock star or kill women of the night, anymore. I think that’s important to point out when recruiting a potential occupant. Just don’t send that link to your crazy cousin ‘OCD Skip’, or some girl you know from middle-school who smelt like pee. I’ve had good luck with roomates thus far, and I’m due for a real disaster. Don’t tempt it.

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The Pixies Play Letterman, December 14th, 2004.


in Musical

So those monkeys that had gone to heaven? Well they finally flew out of my butt.

It wasn’t the first time – they performed ‘Tame’ in 1989 and ‘Trompe Le Monde’ in 1991 – but it was uniquely magnificent in it’s sheer unlikeliness. This time last year, they weren’t even speaking. They play the final show of the reunion tour, or The Pixies Sellout as they themselves call it this week. Letterman was a nice capper.

Joey, Charles, Kim and Dave – thanks for a great year. I feel like such a fanboy freak saying that, but I really mean it. Anyone who knows me will contest to the fact that I can die now. Albeit alone.

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Back In Effect Like EPMD.


in Musical

My technical issues of the last few days have been remedied, and I apologize for the lull. When you don’t post for a day or two, and you get emails from your faithful readers asking where you’ve been, it’s a nice feeling. But I’ll have to let you know because as of right now I’m just guessing.

But why liken my heralded return to the comeback of a pioneering hip-hop group, you ask? Because a four-day blog absence is similar in many ways to dropping out of favor in the rap world. Gold chains are in short supply. You develop a startling dependency on malt liquor. Your clothing ceases to be “fresh”. You can no longer claim to have “drama, hoes”. I could go on – and I might. After some more malt liquor.

If I were prone to lying, I’d tell you that I spent my downtime pining for the ability to vent publicly online. I’d tell you that my inability to let off steam and share my insights with the world nearly led to an anyeurism of fatal proportions. And if I were a truthful soul, I’d tell you just how much fun you can have playing San Andreas for 8 hours while inadvertantly covering your couch with half-eaten honey roasted peanuts that you can get for $2 a can at the CVS on Hanover Street. And that I will likely die alone having just sort of admitted that is indeed how I spent the majority of my weekend. I suppose the next step is to grow a ponyatil and get a tarantula?

Regardless of my penchant for arachnids and dying alone, I’m back in full effect. And I’ll play a little catch up this week, too. So keep watching/looking away uncomfortably. And best rap group ever, while we’re sorta on the subject.

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I’m Spent. I’m Out. I’m Done.


in

I am looking forward to this week, simply because I have absolutely nothing planned. No concerts, no birthdays, no nights out, no Christmas parties – nada. I am going to work, sleep, then work again… and it will be lovely in it’s lethargy.

My wick is whacked. My midnight oil is burnt. My liver could probably be sold to medical science as a freakishly resilient oddity. I’m thankful for all my friends and the accompanying healthy social life – but I honestly want to move to a cabin in the woods Kazinsky-style, write a rambling manifesto about cheese and speak only to squirrels.

Don’t cry for me. There are worse problems to have. But do go and go see Ocean’s Twelve. It was surprisingly excellent.

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Revel In My PS Prowess: The Lawn Boy.


in

Busy day at work today, but I want to put something up for my loyal minions. I have a collection of silly Photoshops that I’ve done over the last year and a half, and I thought I’d share a few. Most of them make fun of Monster and/or Bobby – so this should be good for a cruel laugh.

About a year ago, Bobby shared a story with us about how he woke up on his front lawn with his pants off. But who hasn’t? I quickly whipped this up and sent it to 100 of our closest friends. The picture of Bobby was taken from a photo of him spinning some woman on a dance floor. I simply took the cha-cha and fashioned it into an incapacitating outdoor hangover.

Then I got a little more creative…

And then it just got downright disturbing…

I have many more silly creations and will do this again the next time I’m strapped for material. Off to the Pixies tonight, then I’m going into hiding to recover from this zany week. Stay real.

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