Leo Straub's Admonishments of Doom

Thursday, April 27, 2006

What Children Should Fear.

Is it just me or does Ronald McDonald kind of give you that creepy child molester feel. Yes, he's a clown and that's creepy by itself but just hear me out. Every commercial, promotion, or picture of the clown not only has an erie resemblance to Bob Sagat, but someone else as well. Think about it. Who else in the world would gear their business toward the family and hope to acheive the trust and sanctity of every family across the world while become a multinational household name? Who else is known just by humming a tune? Who else has a plethera of wierd friends dressed in funky clothes? Who else is whiter than caucasian? The Answer my friends is Micheal Jackson!

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Internet Dating Is a Sham

Among the things I once presumed I'd never do -- a list which includes skinny-dipping, water-skiing and cliff diving, which might lead you to believe I can't swim, but which would in fact be an incorrect assumption on your part; I just don't want to die a watery death -- was internet dating.

Sure, the scantily-clad women in ads for True.com make logging out of MySpace a daily temptation, and sure, I've been known to peruse the personals on Nerve.com now and again -- usually while waiting for some anime to download on BitTorrent -- but I never thought I'd actually get involved in internet dating.

And I didn't. Technically. Unless you count dating someone you meet online "internet dating."

To make a long story short, I was approached online earlier this summer by a girl. We'll call her "Tina." Tina seemed very interested in Leo Straub, the writer. I quickly learned that Tina was also very interested in Leo Straub, the man. Who could blame her?

Flattered, I allowed her entry into my personal thoughts, and then my personal space, eventually culminating in a relationship of sorts. I say "of sorts" because I consider it necessary for certain events to transpire in order to, for lack of a better word, consummate a relationship. Exchanging phone numbers, IMing for hours on end and even attending one another's work or family functions in the same car could be construed as a relationship, but by that rationale, I had a relationship with my high school debate club captain, and I think we'll all agree that Jim Schweitzer is categorically not my type.

Suffice it to say that Tina developed cold feet precisely at the juncture where heat was called for. While I wouldn't go so far as to say she was "a prude," I could definitely detect a set of training wheels were still in place where a pair of rollerblades with the brakes sawed off would have been preferred. What was the disconnect?

The answer, I believe, lies in Jesus.

I could tell she wanted me, but something from her strict Catholic past was preventing her from acting upon the animalistic urges behind her eyes. I did the best I could to coax her into tomfoolery, but her libido would have none of it. Thus denied, I realized this relationship would need to be abolished henceforth, to save us both the awkward displeasure of fumbling through an excuse as to why we were no longer "on the same wavelength," if indeed we ever were. I emailed her several times to indicate that we were probably through, unless she was willing to slide out from her shell, so to speak, but shame, shyness or patchy internet service prevented her from responding.

I decided it was best to leave bygones as bygones AND allow sleeping dogs to lie, and resumed my business of not dating people with numerals in their names.

O! Tina, Tina, Tina. Ye hardly knew me.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005


OK So! I went to see the musical "Cats" for the first time (don't ask about the circumstances) and I must admit, it was very good. Granted, it still reeks of the '80s, but besides the music it's ahead of its time. It clearly depicted the life of a cat to the fullest. Cats crawling around in the alleyways just looking for a scrap to eat. Cats singing in the night to find a mate. Huge bulging crotch areas for the public to see at will. Awkward touching and purring. They have finally nailed the inner workings of a cat. Not like the shit Looney Tunes did with Sylvester.

I know what you’re thinking: "Leo Straub, how the hell would you know what a cat feels like inside?" Well I actually had a cat once. Not to say I bought one nor did I choose to have a cat in the first place. But one day I heard a scratching at my screen door. So I did what any other single person would do. I grabbed a knife and slowly opened the door to peer out tepidly. There was no one there, but when I opened the door I could have sworn I heard a thud. I looked down and this cat was laying on its back with its paws in the air looking for help. It looked up at me as if to say "Pwease hewp me Mithter Thtwaub". And so I did. I put the knife down, picked the cat up, and rushed it to the kitchen. I gave it a warm bath in my sink and then dried it off with my roommate’s towel. While I was drying it I could see a bruise on its head.

Once I cleaned it and fed it as much cheese as I possibly could, I laid it down next to me on the couch and turned on some Looney Tunes. The cat kept clawing and hissing at me to turn that damn Sylvester the Cat off. And so I did. That night, I locked it in my closet with all the pillows I could find (except mine, of course). It was so happy just to have a place to sleep. I could here it scratching and clawing with glee. But I had to get some sleep, so I fed it a sleeping pill in a hunk of cream cheese. That cat and I where inseparable that night. Thank you so much for being a friend, Mr. Cat. And thank you, Andrew Lloyd Webber, for making such a believable musical.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

It Has To Be Explained.

Most people know me as Leo Straub of "Shout Magazine". HOWEVER, no one really remembers me as Leo Straub of W.A.N.T Pittburgh. Yes, I was once a D.J. on the only free speech radio in Pittsburgh. You want to know why no one remembers me? It's because I left W.A.N.T and frankly they are still bitter about it. Sure they play reruns of Jimmy Fisher's "Show", Greg Farrell's "Show", and Jack Boyds "Show" every now and again. But do they remember the days of Straub? NO! I left for the good of the company and did I get thanked for it? NO!

I recently went to the station to have a chat with Dean (My Roomate), who IS a D.J. at W.A.N.T. I wanted to have a word with him about getting an intercom system put in the place. Now that we live in an apartment building, I just think it would be nice if we could press a button and get ahold of one another wherever we are in the house. ANYWAY, I saw a bunch of my old coworkers there. I was greeted with ether ignorance or annoyance. I can only imagine the kind of stories of me they spread around the office to cover the shame they have for themselves. I'm sure many of the new people there don't know what really happened due to the stories so I figured I'd tell what happened.

Ray, the production manager, sent us (Myself, Dean, and some guy named Gulesspi? Joseppi? Drudespi?) to a promo trip to some sort of "Animal Awareness" expo. Apparently less people are "aware" of animals anymore so we need an expo to remind them. What is an Expo anyway? Short for Exposition? I've looked the word up. It's a show to show off art and sell it. Are animals really art? I've seen some animals that very well could be described as anti-art. Plus, Why are we selling animals like an auction? Are they slaves to us? Someone should abolish petdom. When you have a pet it's a member of the family. Think about it. When was the last time you paid for your Grandma to be apart of the family? Do you need a grandma license? NO!

Anyway, we go to this promo op. NO ONE is coming over to our booth. So, like the team player I am, I go over to the animal boothes and start playing with the animals and while doing so, pitch W.A.N.T. Dean comes over to see how I'm doing. Suddenly as I'm kneeling to pet a Yorkshire Terrier. Some guy "places" a ferret on my shoulder. It's cute for two seconds until the ferret digs it's claws into my neck. Suddenly the pain becomes so unbareable that I stand up and my head moves backwards and knocks the farret in the nose. This causes him to spiral down to the floor. The ferret lays there motionless but still breathing. I hear a kid crying in the background as a mother comforts him telling him that they will get a new ferret. This makes the kid cry harder. How the mother could think a replacement ferret would be sufficient, I'll never know. If I were her I wouldn't tel him anything and let him grieve for at least a day. Then I would get him a badger or something. I had a hamster once and I found out he was dead while listening to Guns and Roses' "November Rain".

SO! Knowing that I can't let this kid down I scoop the ferret into my arms and rush him to the veterinarian hospital. The whole time Dean is with me, not helping the situation by talking nonsense about me getting the station cited with cruelty to animals. And that Guiseppi guy is left at the W.A.N.T table not knowing what the hell happened.

I get to the vet and sign the ferret in as it's being taken away to an emergency room. I realize I'm signing the ferret in with a pen that advertises a human drug. Have you noticed this? Lately, every third pen I see is pushing some sort of drug and it's always for a drug NO ONE but a doctor would know. It was just in hospitals and pharmacy type places at first, but then they started booming in places I wouldn't expect like coffee shops when I sign a credit card bill, clothing stores when I'm making a list of the things I want, or the grocery store when I'm making a list of the stuff I don't want. What exactly are we supposed to do with this information given to us by this pen? "OMINTREAX? Sounds like it can help me... But How? I must call a doctor and get a complete education about this drug! I, too, want to throw footballs through tire swings!"

When the whole fiasco was over, I returned to W.A.N.T. to find that I was being charged with kidnapping a ferret. Little did I know I had to get the family's permission to save its life. Sure, it's paralyzed now but that's not the point. It's alive. The little child can read it all the stories it wants. They can still feed and love it almost like they did before. And I told the family where I took it over the phone. They knew where to get it.

But now the station was in a real shit fest for how the situation looked to other people. To everyone who wasn't paying too much attention they saw a madman hurt and kidnap a ferret. What I saw was heroics. And it's always the unsung heroes that get the true reward: A child's happiness. So, I would like to say "you're welcome" to that little child and crippled ferret. For I know that without me that ferret would have led a lesser life.

For the stations sake, I was the better man and I left so the station could keep its dignity.

So there! There it is. For those that didn't know the story, now you do. The TRUE story.

Sunday, April 24, 2005


Is it just me, or do "Predators" look like Jamaicans. I’m sure I’m not the first person to think this. Now, I’m not saying that Jamaicans are blood-thirsty, knife-up-their-sleeve, aliens. Well... Not all of them. But, with the dreadlocks, rough face, and demonic yet musical like tone when they scream it becomes almost uncanny. Come to think of it... Doesn’t the aliens from "Aliens" give you that Japanese monster feeling. Kind of makes you wonder just how long Hollywood has been influenced by foreign powers.

OK granted when my grandfather was in the civil war he was probably wondering to himself if those "Gooks" were aliens themselves. But, doubt it’s very fair to compare an entire race with an alien one. Come on Hollywood, get back to the days when monsters were things like Freddy, Jason, and Tootsie. Stop trying to shove your politics down our throat through scary movies and action films. Don’t think I didn’t catch the political tie-ins with "Last Action Hero". Just entertain us. If you want to be in politics, join Michael Moore crying next to some actress pretending to care.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

An Ode to Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh! The Iron City. I refer to it as home. But, some people refer to it as the armpit of America. A certain rich man’s magazine rated this city the lowest on their charts. Their main reasoning was that we were a city filled with mullet heads and that our night life sucked. Though I agree that Pittsburgh could be a better city. They obviously did not take a good look at the place. What we lack in quantity we make up for in quality. This city is small but it’s vibrant.

OK granted, we have yokels who use words like "Yinz", "Gum Band", and "Dahntahn". Granted, Downtown Pittsburgh closes at six o’clock besides the "Smithfield News" and Porn Shops. and yes, there is construction beyond necessary requirements.

However, during the day the place is crawling with all sorts of happy go lucky stuff such as music at Market Square, Art Festivals, Shopping frenzies at the strip district, and boat rides on one of our three rivers. But, if it’s night life you really want, don’t focus on Downtown Pittsburgh. On the outskirts of the city we’ve got posh nightclubs, a good theater community, comedy clubs, and a dinner & movie themed waterfront. And if none of that tickles your fancy you can always bar-hop in southside where you can drink and drink and drink and drink and drink until you forget you're even IN Pittsburgh!

Monday, November 08, 2004

Dipping My Toe in the Cesspool

So, this is a 'blog,' the last bastion of free speech on this godforesaken planet. Well, so be it...

In an equilibrium where MTV is has been replaced by -- what, MySpace? Purevolume? Ani DiFuckingFranco? -- and a music video is now just a commercial (often followed by an actual commercial containing THE EXACT SAME SONG), "Music Television" has relegated itself to the chore [no, the MISSION] of taking reality TV to the next level. And, frankly...... whatever level that is..... it's there already. (*see: "Pimp My Ride," et al.)

But I digress. If this is the last underground expression of thought in a world lit by magpies with Lance Armstrong day-glo bracelets around their necks, then you fuckers better get ready for some hot, steaming truth, served up Leo style. After all, life is short, and we free thinkers have to stick together...

"I guess this is what it sounds like..... When Doves Cry" - Phil Collins