Tondar's Daily Rant

Prepare yourself for the writings of Tondar the Destroyer, Baron of Atlanta, Rightful Heir to the Throne of Spain, from whom all babies come. As his will be blogged, so let it be done.

Thursday, August 14, 2003


Let's see if we can keep the train on the track Saturday August 23rd. We'll start at Kelly's house at about 7:30pm and then probably hit the bizzar after that. It should be a good time since this is one of the last times we will get to see Katherine before she goes to Spain. Email me or call me if you are down.

Wednesday, August 13, 2003


From Seth...

1. My brother moved into my basement room at my parent's house. He's jobless out of college, so I was understanding, and the European Union took over his room two weeks ago (the reason I'm living on a basement couch in the first place). Within a day, he took over my bed (complaining that he was entitled to the bed rather than the couch), filled the entire room with his 40 tons of shit from school (honestly, the kid's wardrobe could rival Nancy). He snores louder than a freight train, but that doesn't matter much because the kid's watching movies at
full volume on his massive TV until 3 a.m. Remember, I have to get up for work at.... hold it, really hot chick just went by my office.....damn, she disappeared. Where was I? Okay, so after I fall asleep Ben decides to turn off my alarm because he "doesn't like the sound of it." He sets his own alarm graciously, but when it goes off at 7:30, he snoozes it three times. When I finally wake, it's 7:50 and I
have to be at work at 8:30. So what does he do? Shoves me out of the way and takes a half-hour shower. Upon exiting, he complains that I couldn't expect his boss to be any less upset than my boss. By the way, by his "boss," the little fucker is referring to my father, who pays him to sit around his office looking for jobs because he doesn't trust him to find one on his own.

2. Rip Hamilton signed a 7-year, $65 million contract. That doesn't piss me off. Rip is a great player, the Pistons' leading scorer, a team-guy, and well worth it. What pissed me off was the headline gave the story: Getting Ripped. For the life of me I can't understand why this sports news agency still thinks the Pistons suck. They list his achievements: 20 pts. a game, leading scorer in the playoffs, 17 pts/game regular season, solid defense, etc. But they still question if he's worth 9 million. On a scale of 1-10, what do you think the likelihood of the next seven championships being dominated by defensive-oriented teams with the conclusion of ESPN that the decade was one in which the underdog always won?

3. In my post I sent you, the first paragraph had the word, "suckle." However, when posted on, the term appears as such: *led. This is because their computer has a problem with the word, "suck." $hit, a$sbag, koc-sukker, and "Sergei Fedorov's agent" are all perfectly fine.

4. Leavitt to the States (someone oughtta use this snappy headline)
The conservative Utah governor is Bush's official choice for EPA
administrator and it looks like most Republican lawmakers are going to
rally behind him. I know it's tough to find a Republican with a decent
environmental record but this is probably the last guy I'd ever want in
there. His lone headlining environmental action in his entire political
career was when he tried to install a superhighway to the Great Salt
Lake right through his state's greatest wetlands area. Environmentalists
had a fit until the moronic idea was struck down by a high court that
found Leavitt hadn't even considered options to preserve the wetlands.
This isn't the guy I want to see in charge of the environment. Perhaps
Bush knew the post would be a lightning rod for criticism anyway (Bush
was known for making Whitman's life a living hell) and so set up this
sacrificial lamb from a state he wasn't worried about losing to the
Democrats. Spencer Abraham would have been a better selection than this

5. That the Hot Chick can disappear so rapidly. She's well over 6-foot and even in the brief glimpse I received, she looked shaped like a barbie doll. But she wasn't in the lunchroom, and a quick stroll around the office didn't yield any results either. The only plausible explanation for her disappearance is that the elevator door was openwhen she got to the foyer (right outside my office). This needs further investigation.


On Thursday of spring break 2002 I went Sparta, Greece. I wanted to visit the ghost town of Mystra. Along the way I stopped off to see this. From the link they make the Temple of Artemis sound like a great historical treasure like the Acropolis. In reality, it has a couple of signs pointing from mainstreet Sparta down a dirt road that would not appear out of place in Sparta, Michigan. It cuts right through an olive orchard and just off to the side of the road by itself the temple cuts into the orchard with a handfull of stone walls and a tablet written in Greek. A very lackluster site. On the other hand if you go up the hill, you can visit the ghost town of Mystra, which is VERY cool.

Seth on the redwings and why Detroit is Hockeytown...

Recently, a number of Montreal and Toronto residents on have
resumed their incessant whining about Detroit's emblazoned "HOCKEYTOWN" at center-ice of Joe Louis Arena.

To an outsider, I can understand how it could get under your skin. You, a resident of the great nation of Canada, who suckled hockey with his mother's milk, who squirmed in 6th hour chemistry class from November to March in anticipation of lacing up and gliding over the pond in Willie up the street's backyard , turn on your local all-hockey, all-the-time broadcast network to witness your top pro team skating over the words, "Hockeytown" on some American's, AMERICAN'S ice rink.

I don't begrudge Detroit the moniker, but outsiders would do well to know that the title is only provincial in nature. The reference is that unique among major metropolitan areas in the United States, Detroit has for a century considered hockey its top sport. Oh sure, it peaks in a number of other towns during times of winning, but Detroit is the only U.S. NHL city that comes remotely close to the hockey fanaticism of Montreal, Toronoto, or pretty much anywhere north of the 49th parallel.

Having the NHL team stand out in a town in incredibly rare. Of the powerhouse franchises in the United States, only Detroit can boast that their hockey squad ranks higher than competing sports. Denver still loves its Broncos. The Gateway City is a bright bastion of baseball. New Jersey would rate the Nets and Yankee exploits ahead of their champion hockey franchise, which comes up just above Kevin Smith movies. The city in which the Liberty Bell is the smallest thing with a crack is home to the Eagles, then the 76ers, and a toss-up between Flyers and Phillies. Dallas is the capital of football.

Hockey ranks so low across the U.S. that in Los Angeles, who doesn't
even have a football team, locals still watch more NFL than NHL; both
combined equal about half of their NBA fixation.

So then Detroit, which tellingly enough is the only contiguous U.S. state in which you can travel south to get to Canada, stands virtually alone in its love for its hockey team. I say virtually because that place where Mary Tyler Moore made it afterall seems to breed Canadiens. I fly through from time to time and honestly, even before there was Wild franchise, there were more people talking about Modano in Minneapolis bars than in all of Texas. But considering the Red Wings, an original six team with 10 cups, were still filling the Joe for $60-a-pop when the Stars went south, Motown gets the nod.

Even during a half-a-century cup drought, Detroiters were hurling cephalopods. Tigers, Lions, and Pistons fall out of favor when they're losing, but even during the "Dead Things" era of the 1980s, the exploits of young Steve Yzerman and grinders Probert and Kocur kept hockey at the top of our list.

Understand, then, that Detroit doesn't really believe it's the most hockey-crazed city on the continent. Just the fact that we are a hockey town in a country that thinks "icing" is something you put on cake makes the name at center-ice appropriate. Just think of it as a celebration that we're more like you.

How do senate Democrats keep President Bush's federal judicial nominees from being confirmed? Create a religious test that forbids all good Catholics from being approved. Bob Novak has a great rundown on how "religious code words" are used to discriminate against Catholics. Forget about their records or career, if they take Communion they should be disqualified from being judges for that fact alone. Now remind me which is the party of equal rights?

Presidential Candidate Bob Graham: "At the pavilion I saw Holstein cows, a breed with which I have a very special relationship."

Tuesday, August 12, 2003


One can almost hear that damn devil bird curse as somebody new moves in just down the street from the Fetus Palace.

If this movie is half as moving as everybody claims, then I'm sure Mel Gibson will have NO PROBLEM getting his $30 million back. Check out this review from that puts the agenda mongering censors in their place.
1984 WATCH

Here's some more info on the Cal Poly student who was disciplined and censored by his school for being a white republican in the "multi-cultural center." Dissent has no voice in Seth's world of equality and double-good tolerance.

The latest chapter in James' attempt to find a job...

So today i went on a day long "evaluation" with an employee at KGV advertising. now i'm no expert, but it seems like a pyramid scheme to me. basically i spent at least 6 hours walking around the street of ann arbor (thank god it wasn't near campus) going door to door selling coupons. I didn't do any sales pitches, i just stood there wondering how in god's name I have ended up in so many ridiculous situations involving "employment". but it reminded me of a song by mc pee pants (also known as mc chris, who will be appearing on drinking mix vol.2) called "I want candy":

"Gonna get your a** beat, nasty, do it to your daddy, embarrass your whole family, just cuz ya came between a kid and his candy, i want candy, any kind will do, don't care if its nutritious or FDA Approved, its gonna make me spaz like 5 cats on booze, a hyperactive juice that only I can produce, and build a giant drill, and bore it straight into hell, releasing ancient demons from their sleep-forever spell so they can walk up on the Earth, and get resituated, and hawk the diet pills MC Pee Pants have created!"

anyways, there are 4 tracks of employment. you start as peon which is level one, and work your way to level 4, which is regional manager. technically you are self employed (meaning they probably don't pay benefits), and 2 of the people above you in this hierarchy take a cut of your profit until you work your way up the pyramid to the point of having people work under you. their goal is to get you up the pyramid as fast as possible. or so they say. anyways, this was really shady. too bad, there was this cute albanian girl whose ass i could not take my eyes off. she claimed to have graduated top of her class from a small miami college in biology. the best was the assistant manager, who claimed to have 2 undergrad degrees and 1 mba. making 50-75 k a year, and trying to impress me with this figure. i'm sure barry neal makes close to that after working for 1 year with a bba. go blue.

Monday, August 11, 2003


Oh The Places You'll Puke: The Adventures of Golden Ron

So when I see Golden Ron around GR he's a normal (for him) person, the second we cross the Mac Br. he leans out of the window and yells to toll booth Willie "Let the dumening begin!". This sets the tone for the entire weekend. Most of which went with out incident with the exception of a few.

Friday at the DT during 2 for 1 he meets us after we've been there for a few rounds. As an aside, this is usually the place to be on Friday afternoons - apparently not during the summer when no one is in town in any large capacity, so the DT lounge was at this time the freakin DT family restaurant. Back to Golden Ron - he comes out to the deck where we're at and shouts out quite loud "What's up F'ers!" subsequently drops the F bomb in more than an outdoor voice every other word - normally this goes overlooked at this place which mind you is still very much a bar, but with more than a few <10 year olds this is uncouth. But we'd expect nothing less.

Friday night evolves into one gigantic train wreck with GR at the wheel. Bonfire goes well, but GR "took charge" of the situation and used an obscene amount of gas to light what would rival the Tex A&M tower of fire - however this one was constructed by GR to be the most precarious pile of pine branches and dead rotting lumber ever constructed. Match, gas and ass provided for a huge ball of fire, an idiot with no arm hair left and a fire that lasted about 10 seconds. After he was subdued and the fire rekindled most of a sorority showed up - GR, being the smooth operator that he is hugs each one as he effectively goes "fishing". One who is a smooth operator would have much more luck simply because they posses tact and clean clothes. He is at this point still wearing the same clothes he wore to work on thursday - he's a carpenter - he's filthy - he hasn't showered - he's repulsive - fishing is a losing endeavor, yet continues with an odd amount of gusto. Drinking continues for everyone including GR and the night takes it's course and everyone eventually retires. 6am rolls around and I'm awoken to the sound of the gong going off (The gong is an empty comp air cyllinder that gets beaten with RR spikes). Who's dickin around I wonder - no one, GR has puked on himself, the couch and the floor while asleep in the chapter room (Tony has been there, it's a very nice room). Everyone else in there vacates for the rest of their respective slumbers. I wake up in the morning to find GR with a carpet cleaner going over the floor and couch - no big deal one would think - sounds like something that would happen at 628 - maybe, but this is GR and he ONLY changed his shirt for that day, the tally now is Day 3 and still no shower. This guy is a bum!

(I now look to Tondar for an outsiders description of GR so all of you out there can gain an appreciation for his filth).

Some of you may be wondering at this point, why is he called "Golden Ron" - this is a name decreed by Tondar after then just Ron was paid $20 to NOT drink somebody elses urine at this same Sigma Rho function 4 years ago. I'm sad to report that the rest of the time up there was spent with out further incident from GR until...we went home yesterday. 8.5 hrs (longer than usual), 5 dumps (2 gas station, 1 side of road, 1McD's and a rest stop), 1 T-shirt (see side of road) and no showers later Grand Rapids finally came into view. Not really exciting, but should one person go that much in an 8.5 hour span. Stop the dummening! And again, what a bum!

Hobo Stew

A certain human being, lowest form of scum
A sick individual, fetal cannibalizing bum

I have a hunger, it goes to an extreme extent,
Feeding out of abortion clinic bins wasn't meant
Most homeless hobos wait in line for goodwill soup,
Nasty me scrapes clinic dumpsters for aborted goop,

Earliest stages of development,
Since conception their future was dim,
Tasting the unborn upon a whim,
Unborn, aborted, because they were unwanted
Abortions to my feasting, horrid scenes of sick chagrin,

Unborn, immature and incomplete,
Delicious miscarriage meat
A succulent fetus treat,
Expulsion of the embryo,
A dinner bizarre for this hobo

Fetus eater, no meat is sweeter,
Ultrasound shows inside the womb, not upon my plate
Served with bread and greens, oh the generations I've ate
From the uterus bloodily spewed,
Aborted child now hobo food,
Fetus ripped from womb,
Disposed to be subjected to a culinary doom

My eating habits horribly crude,
Their rubbery textures I have chewed,
Gulping down fetal slop,
Embryonic jelly on my lips and chin

Fetus eater no meat is sweeter

Since conception their future was dim,
Tasting the unborn upon a whim,
Fallopian wastes fill me to the brim,
Picking my teeth with a fetal limb.