Pat Freestone

Pat Freestone : Off the Top of His Head



November 11, 2004

More excerpts from

Pat Freestone's Tales from the Chat Room

Grab a handle and hang on!

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giggle477(F): hiya Vulcan!

VULCANbob(M): hi 2 u 2

draQla(M): damn this load is slow

SallySinner(F): hey Vulcan how r u

VULCANbob(M): cant complain cept mayB about this slow load. plz fix it yahoo

draQla(M): what up giggle. what u up 2?

KILLERBUD(M): its been slow since this morning. u should have seen how slow it was yesterday

VULCANbob(M):hi Sally LTNS!

SallySinner(F): wheres cheech 2 day?

giggle477(F): Vulcan did u get msg from me yesterday?

PATFREESTEIN(M): Hello, everyone. I hate to interrupt, but do any of you realize that you are not having any sort of conversation whatsoever? I mean, just listen to yourselves! Is this what technology has reduced us to? Saying absolutely nothing in some sort of 6th grader's shorthand, with a vague possibility of anonymous sex that will eventually leave us disappointed when we finally meet and realize that we aren't nearly as attractive as we had pictured each other? Honestly, why are we all here connecting ourselves by a few pieces of wire while we fumble our way through our lives, completely cut off from any sort of real interaction?

KILLERBUD(M): what up w/u giggle?

giggle477(F): this reload is so F**ing SLOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Pat Freestone


November 10, 2004

You have just entered

Pat Freestone's Tales from the Chat Room

Beware! It's pretty hot in here!

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PEECHES(F): so bored 2day

COCK_ROCK(M): hey peechs u have pix?

BIG_DADDY405(M): whaup peeches lets go out

KINGPIMP(M): peeches I wanna eat u

COCK_ROCK(M): 2way me ok peeches

BIG_DADDY405(M): cock rock is gay

STUD_KEGGER(M): hey where da ladeez at

COCK_ROCK(M):Peeches im at john@brownshomefurnishings.com

KINGPIMP(M): i like pussy

PEECHES(F):gross. L8R

PEECHES HAS LEFT THE ROOM

PATFREESTEIN(M): Say, fellows! Has anyone seen The Incredibles yet? It's gotten nothing but solid reviews, except, oddly enough, from Martin Ness at FilmFest Magazine, who called it, "...uninspired and overrated." Your thoughts?

BIG_DADDY405 HAS LEFT THE ROOM

COCK_ROCK HAS LEFT THE ROOM

KINGPIMP HAS LEFT THE ROOM

STUD_KEGGER HAS LEFT THE ROOM

PATFREESTEIN(M): Hello?

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February 2, 2004

Groundhog Day is upon us again. Already! Can you believe it?

It seems like every year I promise myself, "this year, Iím going to get a head start on Groundhog Day." But then every year, it just seems like itís here before you know it.

When I was a child, it seemed like Groundhog Day never came soon enough. Being young is funny that way.

Of course, you always hear people talking about how commercial Groundhog Day has become, and that people have lost sight of the true meaning of Groundhog Day. Well, I suppose theyíre right, but I still canít help but feeling that this time of the year brings out something special in us all.

I guess Iím just old fashioned that way.

So to all of you from all of me, have a very merry, healthy, and happy Groundhog Day. And please remember this Groundhog Day season: if you drink, please donít drive.

Pat Freestone


August, 23,2002

Hello.

I've noticed that these days, there's a lot of talk on the internet about this Ozzy Osbourne character. Well, let me tell you, I've known about him for quite some time. I first heard Ozzy Osbourne when he was a part of Black Sabbath. And when I say "Black Sabbath," I'm not talking about a Hasidic family spending a Saturday in Harlem. I'm talking about the greatest heavy metal band of all time! And I'm about as huge a fan as you'll find. Although I can't say I care much for the song "Planet Caravan." Sounds like someone dropped the PA in the bathtub on that one!

To me, heavy metal music is about the only good thing going. And I enjoy Black Sabbath because Black Sabbath is what heavy metal is all about. They're dark. They're heavy. And they're mysterious. Mystery. Within that lies the key. Because Black Sabbath lyrics are mysterious. Even their most well-known songs are completely shrouded in mystery.

bsabbath"

Take the song "Iron Man," for example. Think about what it means to say, "I am Iron Man!" In case you aren't familiar with this particular composition, it tells the tale of a man made out of iron who was designed to protect the world, but instead goes crazy and kills everybody. Here's a lyrical sample:

He was turned to steel
In the Great Magnetic Field
When he traveled time
For the future of mankind.

Now, don't you see the mystery in that?! Because they're telling you that The Great Magnetic Field turned him to steel. But then why is he called "iron" man?!

Okay, let's say he starts out made of iron, but then becomes steel, which is what makes him go crazy and kill everybody. But then, the mystery becomes, if he's made of steel, how did he escape The Great Magnetic Field?

Wouldn't he tend to just stay stuck in the Great Magnetic Field like a giant refrigerator magnet? Would he not then sing, I am Steel Man! Get me down from here!

And yet, even on the same album, another mystery. The song entitled "Paranoid." Please consider this lyrical offering:

Make a joke and I will sigh
And you will laugh, and I will cry.
Happiness I cannot feel
And love to me is so unreal.

Do you see how mysterious this is? Because the song is entitled "Paranoid," but the lyrics are clearly describing depression! Happiness I cannot feel! That's garden-variety, Zoloft-treatable depression! If the song were really about paranoia, the lyrics would go something along these lines:

Make a joke and I will sigh
Because the CIA has implanted radio transmitters
In my dental work
And the wolf keeps yelling, yelling...

And finally, have you seen the album cover for Technical Ecstasy? What in God's name is that supposed to be?!!

I'll have more to say about Black Sabbath next time, you can count on that.

All right now!

Pat Freestone


August, 26 2002

Hello, Rock & Rollers!

As promised, I plan on continuing on with the topic I touched on last timeóBlack Sabbath. But before I get caught up in a discussion of the name Black Sabbath itself, or the origins of the song title "N.I.B," or the alleged fretboard-hand finger deformity of guitarist Tony Iommi, or the incident involving Ozzy Osbourne and a public urination directed at the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas, or the little-known Greatest His album cover artwork featuring the macabre painting entitled Triumpho de los Muertos, or even the less-than-stellar rhyming choice of "generals gathered in their masses" with "just like witches at black masses," please allow me to direct my comments once again to the song entitled "Iron Man."

Due perhaps to the song's long-lasting popularity, and perhaps due as well to its rather simplistic rhyme structure and melody, the song "Iron Man" has proven over time to be a classic for lyrical parody. I myself, as a young high school student in Washington State was often greeted on the school bus by the following chant, sung coarsely to the tune of the aforementioned Black Sabbath standard:

Is he gay or straight?
Does he go home and mas-tur-bate?
Does he give guys head?
Or keep vas-e-line beside his bed?

Pat Free-stone is here
Why does he look so god-damn queer?
He has goo-gley eyes
He likes to spy on na-ked guys!


Now recently, in the process of familiarizing myself with the world of Japanese television, I stumbled upon a rather frenetic cooking show entitled The Iron Chef. I thought, after several days of constant viewing, that there could indeed be a way to blend the culinary mayhem of the Iron Chef with the unfurled vengeance of the Iron Man. Here then, is my lyrical parody, with apologies to Ozzy Osbourne, Geezer Butler, Bill Ward, Tommy Iommi, and Iron Chef Marimoto:

"IRON CHEF" (sung to the tune of "Iron Man")
lyrics by Pat Freestone
music by Black Sabbath

I.......AM......IRON........CHEF!

HAS HE GONE INSANE?
ICE CREAM MADE WITH LOBSTER BRAIN?
CAN HE COOK REAL FAST?
WILL HE PUREE THE LEMON GRASS?

HIS WOK'S MADE OF STEEL
HE HEATS IT UP TO FRY THE EEL
FOR HIS ENTR…E DISH
LOOKS LIKE SNAKE BUT TASTES LIKE FISH!

NOBODY'S HUNGRY
THEY JUST STARE AT THEIR FORKS

NOBODY WANTS TOÖ
TRY HIS SPECIAL RAW PORK

NOW IT'S TIME TO TASTE
DEER MILK SOUP WITH SEAWEED PASTE
VENGEANCE FROM THE GRILL
HIS BLOWFISH CREPES ARE KNOWN TO KILL

NOBODY WONDERS
DID HE WASH HIS HANDS?

THE OVERDUBBED ENGLISH
IS FOR NON-JAPANESE FANS

HEAVY POTS OF CREAM
WATCH HIM SAUTEE, WATCH HIM STEAM
WHEN HE BAKES A CLAM
HIS SECRET SAUCE IS LIQUID SPAM

NOW THE FOOD IS HERE
COLD CHOW FUN WITH POSSUM EAR
COOKING AS FAST AS HE CAN
IRON CHEF WINS AGAIN!



Bon appetit, everybody, and Hail Satan (just kidding, God!)!

Your friend,


Pat Freestone


August 27,2002

Dear Visitors,

Due to an unspecified influenza afflicting my co-worker Ruth, the news of which greatly contradicts the details I was given this morning from one particularly woozy Assistant Day Manager regarding Ruth, the previous night, a venue known as The Cock & Bull, some story about offering Prozac to some half-wit rock star, and upwards of ten jiggers of bourbon whiskey, I will be working alone for tonight's entire shift. Thus, I will be unable to fulfill my duties to this web site. The kind people at Lost & Frowned, themselves no strangers to the hard distillates, have excused me for the time being. I look forward to a return to my regular routine at the front desk.

Regards,

Pat Freestone


September 12, 2002

Hello, good people!

Last night I had one of my most common reoccurring dreams--the old "going-to-school-in-my-underwear" dream. It's almost always the same: I'm back in junior high, I look down, I'm inexplicably dressed only in my underpants, and all the other students begin to ridicule me as I run frantically into the boy's locker room.

The other most common reoccurring dream for me is my fabulous "flying" dream. These tend to vary a little. First, I'll be somewhere outdoors, like summer camp in Spokane, Washington, or the fountain area of my step mother's bordello in Reno. Then, I'll be running in a field or descending some stairs when suddenly, I begin to fly! I feel lighter than air! It's the greatest sense of freedom I've ever known. Below me I can see the treetops, the winding streets, the tiny pedestrians...I'm on top of the world!

I've also found that some nights, after a particularly late snack of cheese and crackers or perhaps a quart of tequila and a family-pack of Jeno's Pizza Rolls, my dreams tend to follow a more sinister pattern: I'm being chased by a terrible monster, and no matter how hard I try, I can't run away or scream. My feet seem to be made of lead as the creature closes in. I often awaken frightened, even though I'm aware it was all just a dream.

Then there's the one I have every six months where I dream I'm at Dr. Nenkatesalu's--my dentist's--office. I'm sitting in the chair and I can't move. Dr. Nenkatesalu is mumbling something, but I can't hear what he's saying because his face is pressed down into my groin. And then I drive home and get into my bed. It all seems so real!

Occasionally, I've had a recurring dream I call my "deceased father" dream. It seems to come out during stressful times in my life. That's the one where my teeth are tiny steam irons and the president of Nicaragua has ordered me to chew all the wrinkles out of the national tablecloth. Dad is right there, with his same old cigar and that same old disappointed look on his face!

During adolescence, I used to have the dream that almost all school boys have had at one time on another. You know, the one where you dream you are polishing a golden Sphinx with Tony Dorsett and Doc from the Love Boat and then you wake up in jail with a sore chin and sheep's blood all over your face.

And finally, there's the one my therapist calls a "telling wake-up call." It starts off with me and Toto driving a giant fiberglass penis car through the Lincoln tunnel. Then, my father's poker buddy Bruce appears and joins me in an improvisational performance of the "Wax-On-Wax-Off" scene from The Karate Kid.. Then, every woman I have ever known takes a turn pulling on my giant, pink triangular beard, which suddenly turns into a pint of Haagen-Dazs and flies away on a rainbow-striped, Birkenstock hang-glider. I ask my therapist why she thinks this dream is so "telling." She says that any dream you have 4,500 times a night must have some kind of serious significance.

Oh well. In the words of Color Me Badd,

Dream on--dream away!

Pat Freestone


Septmeber 26, 2002

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE YONKERS
PIGEON-FEEDING COMMUNITY

Dear Yonkers Pigeon Feeding Community,

FUCKING STOP IT!!!

Sincerely,

Pat Freestone

September 27, 2002

Good day friends and bird-lovers!

After re-reading yesterday's rather hastily composed open letter to the mostly good-intentioned, and by-and-large elderly Pigeon Feeding Community of Yonkers, New York, I have decided to reopen the discussion on a more productive note. Rather than curtly demand that the good people of Yonkers cease to donate life-giving bread crumbs to these filthy flying menaces, I would instead like to suggest alternate pastimes that will hopefully benefit us all.

THINGS FOR THE ELDERLY TO DO INSTEAD OF FEEDING PIGEONS

1. Toast your stale or leftover bread products to create croutons for your local soup kitchen's salad dressing needs.

2. Instead of sitting silently on a bench doling out crumbs to useless trash-mongers, sit on a bench and dole out useless advice to passers-by, like how to adjust the transom turnbuckle on a Ford Model T, or what kind of drawknife to use when fashioning a cedar high-boy.

3. Feed and nurture the city's more pleasant wild creatures, such as rats, silverfish, or public school children.

4. Encourage pigeons to use their gift of flight rather than strut around willy-nilly in the garbage like squadrons of armless, feathered morons.

5. Satisfy your need to connect with mother nature by grabbing a shovel and planting a tree, a shrub, or yourself.

Thank you.

Pat Freestone