i passed a fork in the road and took a knife.
i laid my heart on the line and got a new lease on life.

i cried from the pit of my soul and shattered the glass.
i danced in the darkness and sat first class.

i came out swinging and took it on the chin.
i took and chance on a longshot and bet it all to win.

i flew by the seat of my pants on a runaway train.
i slept with the coyotes in the canyons during the pouring rain.

i walked across the coals when they were glowing hot.
and i'm standing here today with one more shot.


good to be back,

scott

sometimes a light comes on.

it's usually early in the morning when no one else is awake.

it's all laid out clearly.

i can see it perfectly.

it finally makes sense.

a new direction starts today.


thank god,


scott

i love the yankees.

they are what sport and competition are all about.

i hope they win the world series so bad.

oh please god, let them win the series.

they deserve it so much.

they prove that it is not how much money you pay your team, but how much heart they have.

alex rodriguez will finally be rewarded for his years and years of team play and loyalty.

they only have the highest paid player in the game at 5 of the 9 positions. 7 of 12 if you count starting pitcher, closer, and designated hitter.

that is only a little more than half.

come on god.

do the right thing,

scott

"Since she's been gone"

He don't drink anymore than he needs to.
He just drowns her memories in the barrooms every night.
He don't lie anymore than he has to,
Just when he says that everything's alright.

She's gone away and he's gone back to drinkin'
Steadily sinkin' to the bottom of the whiskey well.

She's gone away and he's just gone to pieces.
Since she's been gone, he's gone straight to hell.

He don't sleep anymore beside her.
He sleeps alone whereever he may fall.
He don't care if he ever finds another.
These days he don't seem to care about much at all.

repeat chorus.

tag.

out.

i can't quit writing these goddamned breakup songs.

somebody call george jones,


scott

"Getting Over You Blues"

i can't sleep, and i can't eat.
there's mornings i can't get myself up on my feet,

and my head is always down
like a man who knows he's bound to lose.

wanderin' 'round this ol town
with the getting over you blues.


i'm losing weight and my hair is falling out.
my friends all tell me that they have their doubts

when i tell them i okay
they look at me like i must be confused.

because they see me everyday
with the getting over you blues.


getting over you something i never thought i'd have to try.
getting over you started the day you said goodbye.
since then it's been all bad news
with these getting over you blues.


it's been so long since i've seen your face.
six months of sundays since i felt your warm embrace.

i've been with other women
but they were all just something i could use.

to fight this lonesome feeling
and the getting over you blues.


repeat chorus.


tag.

out.

done,

scott

crystal was a pistol
i couldn't get her outta my head
but heather loved the leather
when we were rollin' in her bed.

christy really missed me
when i had to leave her home
but claire never cared
and loved to be left alone.

lori left some stories
that i've seldom ever told
and cassie thought she was classy
in her glitter and her gold.

trudie was a cutie
but she moved down south
and carrie was scary
and liked to punch me in the mouth.

jenny didn't have a penny
and there was nowhere we could go
but lisa had a visa
and was rollin' in the dough.

julie was unruly
when she didn't get her way
but dimples was simple
and believed everything i'd say.

brenda had an agenda
and she always kept track
but betty was always ready
to jump in the sack.


i really miss betty,

scott

my ex-girlfriend thought i was too nosy.

that's what she always emailed her friends, anyway.


huh,

scott

she was a sucker for a sad song
a little stubborn and headstrong
never liked to be wrong
but i still think she's alright.

she liked cream in her coffee
she turned this boy into a softy
i would lift the world right off me
just to hold her tight

i watched her sleeping in the morning
i watched her turn out the lights.

i was there when she loved me
i was there for every single fight.

i walked her through the good times
wanted to run her through the bad.

that woman was the best thing this country boy ever had.


she liked bubbles in her bathtub
a good book and a backrub
and two hours at the health club
three days a week.

she stayed out til last call
she loved horses and baseball
my heart skipped to watch her hair fall.
and i'd die to hear her speak.

i watched her sleeping in the morning
i watched her turn out the lights.

i was there when she loved me
and for every single fight.

i walked her through the good times
wanted to run her through the bad.

the woman was the best thing this country boy ever had.


somebody's on a roll,


scott

It'll take a lot of women under me to get over you....

it'll take a blue-eyed stewardess on the red-eye plane
and long-legged sally up on lover's lane.

it'll take a divorced single mom who's having a night on the town
and a 20 year old stripper who don't wanna come down.

it'll take a sex-starved housewife in some seedy hotel
and some hot hippy chicks with some smoke to sell.

it'll take a 100 gigs worth of groupies and sweet college girls
and a few sexy bartenders with pretty blonde curls.

it'll take a waitress, a nurse, and a few secretaries, too.
it'll take a lot of women under me to get over you.


it'll take a sophisticated lady from the south of France
and her sexy younger sister who teaches dance.

it'll take a wildcat from the country way out in the sticks
and a cougar in the city who knows all the tricks.

it'll take a busty bombshell in a big brass bed
and in the backseat of a limo with a naughty redhead.

it'll take a kinky pool hustler on the penthouse floor
and an artist in the gallery and the girl next door.

it'll take the farmer, the preacher, and the mayor's daughter, too.
yep, it'll take a lot of women under me to get over you.


he shoots
he scores,

scott
scott

i keep thinking i'll hit rock bottom
but i just keep sinking down.

i keep thinking i'll make it big
but i'm still playing in town.

i thought i might get married
and even have another kid.

i thought it might turn out
better than all the others did.

i keep wondering if it's worth
all this shit.

i keep wondering if i can take
another hit.

i know i'm punch-drunk and weary
and wobbling at the knees.

i know a stiff wind
might topple my trees.

i need just a little peace
or a break in the storm.

i need a little R and R
where the weather is warm.

i hope it happens pretty
darn quick.

i hope i'll get better
and quit feeling sick.

i stay up all night and
write everything down.

i stay at my friend's places
and sleep on the ground.

i try to be positive
but it's so fucking tough.

i try to be nice
but it's never enough.

i'm tired of clearing all these books
off the shelf.

i'm tired of it all,
but mostly of myself.


happy happy joy joy,

scott

i got a pocketful of picks.
but not a penny to my name.

a slave to the groove
in search of fortune and fame.

still living young but steadily getting older.
and long drunken nights outnumber the nights of being sober.

singing songs about love
singing songs about drink.
singing songs that try and make em think
that there's hope.
or a rope to to grab on to.

you don't have to make em up if you lead an interesting life.
you can't write about a breakup until you have an ex-wife.

you can't write about being drunk until you've had too much to drink.
and you can't write about the edge until you've been to the brink.

it takes years off your life but brings soul to your rhymes.
but sometimes a good song is worth a lifetime of hard times.



yep,

scott

it is time for another installment of the church of scott's thoughts...

(pause for standing ovation)



i don't go to church.

i used to.

i made a decision not to go to church ever again a long time ago.

it was a personal decision that i don't really care to share with you, but if you must know it was because i realized that organized religion is responsible for every idiot in the world.

sorry.

nowadays, i recognize the sabbath by listening to ray charles all afternoon and an occasional round of golf in between bloody marys.

my new god said it's okay.

amen,

scott

i'm sorry for cursing so much on that last post.

it has become a very bad habit.

i have done it all my life. as long as i can remember.

it is hard for me to refrain sometimes. i truly enjoy cursing.

if i am talking, chances are there are some choice curse words coming out of my mouth.

here might be a typical sentence i would use in normal conversation:

"fuck yeah, that motherfucker is a crazy ass cocksucker."

the problem is that i have an excellent vocabulary. i would go so far as to say my vocabulary is considerably larger than most people, and yet i use sentences like....

"fuck that shit."
"that's fucking bullshit."
"it's hotter than motherfucking shit in here."
"do i look like i got any motherfucking money motherfucker."


starting today, i'm going to try and curse less.


it's getting fucking ridiculous motherfuckers,

scott

a sports commentary by scott copeland entitled:


"Major League Baseball and the gigantic necklace"


what the fuck is going on with baseball players and gigantic fucking necklaces? they jog around the bases and out to their positions with huge necklaces bouncing in their faces.

they are fucking everywhere. watch 30 minutes of sportscenter and count the necklaces. lou gehrig is rolling over in his grave. cj wilson can't get a fucking out if his life depended on it, and yet he has the audacity to wear a giant wooden necklace.

one time, let me see a collision at home plate and an arm get caught in a necklace and someone get decapitated. that would be fucking priceless.

how fucking cool would you look then with your fucking necklace laying on fucking homeplate and your goddamned head rolling down the foulline.

fuck you, you goddamned primadonnas. leave your motherfucking necklaces in the lockerroom and play baseball like we are fucking paying you to do.

fuck you manny ramirez.
fuck you alex rodiguez.
fuck you jon papelbon.
fuck you cj wilson.

necklace wearing faggitts,

scott

i woke up after a series of dreams.

they were all related.

i had successfully robbed a bank with my brother in the first dream.
a 2.2 million dollar take.

the following dreams all involved being chased.

i would wake up every 30 minutes after each one.

we were hiding out in a shack full of snakes in one dream.

tunneling through a sewer pipe for miles in another.

being shot at by policeman in yet another.

i finally got out of bed after only 4 hours of sleep.

my stomach hurt like a motherfucker.

i took some alka seltzer and smoked a bowl.

i felt a little better, but i think the message is clear...


do not eat 20 dollars worth of ihop food at 3 in the morning.


you're welcome,

scott

there's a man at the bar selling roses.
he's sits there all night 'til it closes.

for five dollars a flower, he sells chances at love.
he's makin' money hand over fist, but it's you i'm thinkin' of.

"Don't you want a flower for a young lady?" he kindly speaks.
"The lady i want isn't here and hasn't been here for weeks."

i turn and walk back to the stage for one last set.
time for one more drink and to smoke a cigarette.

he taps me on the shoulder and hands me a rose.
"i've been where you are, son, god knows."

"There's a lot of women in this world and they can all break our hearts
Here's two red roses for free and that blonde in the corner is a good place to start.


thanks,

scott

beat me.
bash me.
bring me down.

tell me you'll
trash me
all over town.

ruin me.
rape me.
tear down my walls.

stick me.
kick me
square in the balls.

rip me.
judge me.
make me your slave.

destroy me.
demolish me.
desecrate my grave.


you know you want to,

scott

a reminder to yourself, scott...

you need one.


play what you want whenever you want.
write whatever you want whenever you want.
don't listen to anybody but the voice in your soul.
live with passion.
believe in what you are doing.
don't do hard drugs, lay off the booze sometimes.
eat right, get enough sleep.
wake up everyday and write.
write with a fury.
write with a chip your shoulder.
write like you were shot out of a cannon.
write, goddamnit, write.
sing 'em like you mean 'em every single time.
hold your head high.
look people in the straight in the eye.
be proud of who you are.
learn.
learn everyday.
remember people's names.
give of yourself.
smile.
tip well.
let your friends know who they are.
make them proud.
be loyal.
be a good listener.
read.
practice your guitar.
take care of your body.
and whatever you do...
don't ever fucking quit.


never,

scott

the wind is blowing sideways
and the world sits atilt.

and the roof is caving in
on the mansion that you built.

you keep calling out the names
of any savior that will come.

while the end is getting closer
beating on your drum.

i wish i was there watching
you wiggle and squirm.

as you breathe your last breath
and your death i confirm.


scott

i really hate when shit doesn't work out like i planned.

it almost never does.

relationship after relationship. shitty gig after shitty gig.

arrest after arrest.

i'm getting tired.

4 days from homelessness.

30 days from a month in jail.

here's my new plan...

no more plans,


scott

i recently moved into a new place.

a small two bedroom duplex.

all my neighbors are mexicans. i don't mind it, though. they seem like nice people.

their music sucks ass but they make some great mexican food.

a guy drives by on a bicycle with best fucking tamales in the world.

fuck taco bell,

scott

you should update your website.

you should put out another record.

you should have more t-shirts.

you should come to new mexico.

you should write a song about "insert random stupid shit".

you should play electric guitar.

you should have a drummer.

you should get a publicist.

you should get a radio promoter.
you should write more blogs.

you should update your myspace.

you should roll another one.


finally....


a good idea,


scott

the king of pop.
the elvis of our generation.
a genius.

michael jackson is dead.

well, let me be the first to say......

good riddance, you child fucking freak of nature that contributed absolutely nothing to society.

like a give a fuck what kenny rogers and celine dion have to say about michael jackson.

smokey robinson, jesse jackson, donna summer, diana ross, and puff daddy, pdiddy, and sean combs can all fucking kiss my ass too.

why don't you go ask the family that he paid 25 million dollars to keep quiet about fucking their kid what they think about his overdosing on pills?

no, show me another moonwalk. show me him grabbing his crotch a million fucking times.

yeah, he's a fucking genius.

let's all mourn the loss of a pedophile.

farrah fawcett is forgotten for a drug addled, twisted, talentless freak.

i can hear you now....

he was an incredible performer and dancer. he invented the moonwalk.

has anyone done the moonwalk in 20 years?

fuck the moonwalk and fuck "thriller" too.

go watch that shit again.....it is fucking ridiculous.

the man was completely insane.

and i use the word man loosely.

i never had a michael jackson record and i never will.

fuck him and his fucking moonwalk.


i'll miss you farrah,

scott

blogging.

goddamn blogging.

blogging at 3:30 in the morning like some alcoholic housewife.

nobody understands me.
my uncle died.
i hate my job.
i love this song.
i'm gonna put some new pics up.
here's a new song i added.
here's a tag.
here's a friend request.
you have 23 friends in common.

god, i fucking hope not.

i only have a few friends and you are not in common with any of them.

blogging. goddamn blogging like some high school dork looking for attention.

that is what i've become.

listen to me. i have something to say on my blog. i'm a blogger.

someone please shoot me.

i have finally realized how desperate it has become.

this blog means nothing anymore and in reality, never meant a thing.

it was just the thoughts of a broke, struggling poet trying to find an audience.

and is there anything more pathetic than that?

fuck no,


scott

i apologize for not writing much.

i've been finishing a book i've been writing.

it's called, "how to win a million dollars in myspace poker money in 9 short hours"


then i wrote song called, "i love you like pocket aces."

and another called "you're a one-outter on the river."

in between those projects, i play ping pong.

i also like to sit on the porch and stare.


but i still save times for blogs.


keep up the good work jimmy.

okay johhny.

what what,

scott

Some things i've learned about women on their period in my 38 years of life:


1. They talk more and expect you to listen more.

2. They should not be allowed to be President of the United States during this time.

3. They feel ugly.

4. Your compliments will not help.

5. They know what they want to eat even if they won't tell you.

6. it is best to keep guessing.

7. They are more likely to get drunk.

8. Under no circumstances should one get in an argument with them.

9. Do not refer to tampons as plugs.

10. And finally, it is always a good idea to give them their space.



i, admittedly, am still learning, but i hope this helps you guys.


truly,

scott

There was a time when I would kick somebody’s ass just for looking at me wrong.

There was a time when I would challenge anyone in the bar to a fight for no reason.

There was a time when I could drink everyone under the table and wake up and shoot 69 from the tips at six in the morning.

Times are different now.

Now, I walk around and mumble under my breath.

I vomit a lot.

I don’t play golf nearly as well as I used to.

My hairline is receding and both my knees are shot.

I would get my ass kicked by most everyone in the bar.

So….

I bitch.
I bitch about the band I’m opening for.
I bitch about the fucking bartender who can’t seem to make my drink.
I bitch about the 25 21 year old girls who are all here to see the lead singer of the band I’m opening for.
I bitch about all 12 of his songs about the same chick.
I bitch about having to sit through his set just to get paid a hundred fucking dollars while he makes 1500.
I bitch about my phone that has no service.
I bitch about the foursome of 65 year old men that can’t seem to notice that there’s been a twosome behind them for six holes.


I bitch and bitch and bitch to myself.


I don’t know why, but it seems to help.


Try it, but please…..


Keep it to yourself,

Scott

as i sit and eat cherry cheesecake while watching "The Biggest Loser" season finale, my mind wanders.....

it questions itself...


did i leave my guitar in the trunk?

why have i never seen a ghost and everyone else has?

do we have vodka?

why am i naked?

these questions come and go like farts.


but finally there's a baseball game....


baseball, hotdogs, cherry cheesecake, and chevrolet,


scott

i've heard times are hard.

i really can't tell except that people don't tip as much.

they still want cd's and t-shirts for free.

however, i'm still getting the majority of my drinks for free.

that has seemed to help me through the recession.

go obama,

scott

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.

Sat down and blathered away at the keys.

I forgot how good it feels. Just me and the keys. Forming sentences. Forming incomplete sentences. Using lots of periods…….in between shit….for no reason at all.

I miss it.

I miss blogging.

I had to get away from it for a while. It was causing problems. Personal life problems that I don’t intend to share. Let’s just say that my content will have a few limitations and my cursing will be reduced and only used when it is completely fucking necessary.

I came to the realization that everyone and their fucking dog twitters and blogs and has face books and myspaces and that more importantly, I was right in the middle of it. I had to run. I had to get away for a while. How the fuck was I a part of all of this nonsense? I had a period of self-loathing that I am just now recovering from.

I was watching Oprah everyday for Christ’s sakes. What the fuck came over me?

But I’m back now.

I’m back, goddamnit.


Thank god I’m back,


Scott.

i don't know if anyone reads this anymore, but i have an announcement.

some of my music is now available for downloads and purchases at cdbaby.com and itunes.

it is also available on the website.

i hope some of you buy it.


i really need the money,

scott

i have been told that i am a male chauvinist.

i have even been told that i hate women.

these statements are utterly untrue.

however, if i were to somewhat look down on women, you would have to go no further than the concept of the cheerleader to find out why.

i am on the football field risking my very life and limbs for the school, and they are over there with half of their teenage asses hanging out completely unaware of what is going on.

"what cheer should we do?" one cheerleader asks.

"let's do 'get that ball'" the head cheerleader responds.

"but we're on offense" the brainy cheerleader notices.

"what is offense?" the head cheerleader asks.


the only thing i hate more than cheerleaders are head cheerleaders.


"who wants the spirit stick?" the head cheerleader yells through the megaphone.

"i'll give you some spirit stick, you ignorant obnoxious bitch." i think to myself.


but this certainly doesn't make me a male chauvinist,


does it?

scott

Things I’ve been doing other than blogging:

1. Exploring Buddhism.
2. Eating fish sticks.
3. Jazzercising.
4. Watching 8 hours of poker a day on t.v.
5. Ping-Pong
6. Talking to my dog about politics.
7. Law and Order marathons.
8. Having dreams about sharks.
9. Plucking back hairs.
10. Beating myself in scrabble.
11. Counting blackheads.
12. Perfecting macaroni and cheese.
13. Organizing my closet according to t-shirt color.
14. Yodeling.
15. Recording the Golf Channel.
16. Texting myself.
17. Gashing my eyebrow open with a racquetball racquet.
18. Cow tipping.
19. Painting fences black.
20. Pop a shot.
21. Cursing uncontrollably.
22. Knocking holes in the wall.
23. Contemplating my career.
24. Thinking about trying yoga.
25. Thinking about trying sit-ups.
26. Not doing yoga.
27. Not doing sit-ups.
28. Burning bridges.
29. Burning joints.
30. Burning ants.
31. Playing poker on Myspace.
32. Losing all my play money playing poker on Myspace.
33. Switching to Jim Beam and water.
34. Admitting to using steroids when I was a Texas Ranger fan.
35. Coming out to my family that I am a lesbian.
36. Pacing.
37. Shopping the Family Dollar.
38. Laughing hysterically at my own jokes.
39. Not giving a fuck.
40. Writing commercial jingles.
41. Radio interviews.
42. Saving a woman from freezing to death.
43. Changing my autograph to illegible scribbling.
44. Charity work.
45. Squirrel watching.
46. Losing lighters.
47. Writing porno movies.
48. Flop shots.
49. Cartooning.
50. Writing songs and playing music professionally.


I hope that is o.k. with you people.

Thanks,

Scott

so anyways....

i won this songwriting contest on tuesday night.

it was with the radio station 95.9 the ranch.

the prizes included a big flat screen hi-def television, two pair of justin boots,
recording time in a studio, a professional photo shoot, and a big fucking belt buckle.

but i don't like to brag,

scott

watching hank williams jr on "monday night football" makes me sad.

to think that a poet of his magnitude has been reduced to such commercialism brings a tear to my eye.

he wrote poetic lines that inspired me like:

"my name is bocephus i drink whiskey by the gallon and i never back down and i love a good challenge."

not to mention..

"we put the pig in the ground and got some beer on ice and all my rowdy friends are coming over tonight."


true genius.

he was so unbelievably poetic that he managed to get the phrase "all my rowdy friends are coming over tonight" in not one, but three hit songs.

please quit doing "monday night football", hank.

it is beneath you,

scott

sometimes i write just to keep from going insane.

sometimes i talk to my dog in long rambling sentences that babble on forever.

she just stares at me. somehow, it helps me.

sometimes it takes a couple of hours to work up the nerve to go to Wal-Mart.

"come here, bimbo. i need to talk" i shout.

she comes and sits on the couch next to me.

"Wal-Mart terrifies me. i'm never going back" i explain.

she understands,

scott

i moved out to the country.

i wanted to get away from the noise.

my nearest neighbor is 3 acres away.

he plays the fucking drums.

somebody up there loves me,

scott

here i sit.

bored as shit.

luckily i can type

and don't believe the hype.

where's my beer?

bring it over here.

i want it right now.

i'll tip over a cow.

it'll be fun.

this blog is done,

scott

i live out in the country now.

out behind the house, there are a bunch of cows.

they sit under a tree most of the day.

there are 12 black ones and one brown one.

i named the brown one jesus.

i doubt he can walk on water though,

scott

when i was a kid, i used to play "hungry hippos" with my aunt.

she was a lot older than me and had down syndrome.

i always let her win.

but then she started talking shit.

the next game i would beat the holy hell out of her.

it always made her cry.

i like to think it taught her a lesson,

scott

it's raining
so hard
the pool
is
overflowing.

everybody keeps
saying that
we really
needed
the rain.

i kinda
wanted
to work
on my
tan
today.

fuck it,

scott

the clouds are drippin'
and my grip is slippin'
and my jeans are rippin'
at the knees.

the tables are turnin'
and it's gettin' concernin'
and i better start learnin'
to speak Japanese.

because i woke up in the cooler
with a guy name of Beuller
and he took out a ruler
and measured his toes.

he said when he was younger
he had a girlfriend that hung her
hat on a plunger
and froze.

i said, "wow this is crazy
in the slammer for being lazy
hey, but at least it pays me
a hundred bucks a day.

whenever they free me
you'll never see me
because there's this girl that's dreamy
and we're running away.

-- Scott Copeland

"Did you fuck that old chick?", asked the guy in the bar.

"She wasn't that old.", responded his buddy.

"She had a beehive", chimed in another friend.

"yeah, did you fuck her beehive?", asked the first friend.

"I'll bet it was tighter and less hairy", concluded the second friend.

you never know when you'll hear comedic genius,

scott

i've been watching the olympics like every good american should do.

i've decided that they should spice up the events a little.

here are a few i came up with:

1. Jousting
2. Quarters
3. Human Cannonball
4. Naked Fencing
5. Logjamming
6. Butts Up
7. Endurance Urinating
8. Masturbating (Individual and Team competitions)
9. Shark Wrangling
10. FreeFalling
11. Catupulting
12. Bubble Blowing
13. Spitting
14. Joint Rolling
15. Lap Dancing
16. Cocksucking
17. Tic Tac Toe
18. Projectile Vomiting
19. Serial Killing
20. Kickball

Go USA,

scott

the top ten list of words that i use entirely too often in everyday conversation:

1. Brutal

2. Cocksucker

3. Killer

4. Ridiculous

5. Retarded

6. Literally

7. douchebag

8. Motherfucker

9. Chillin'

10. Right on

i realize that "right on" is actually a phrase made up of two words, but fuck you.

i'm counting it as one,

scott

i watched a cat sit under a tree for about an hour today.

he just sat in the shade and stared at me.

i swear he thought he was a lion.

i chased him off with a broomstick just to show him he's not.

fucking lions,

scott

we are starting a new email list.

if you are interested in joining, please email me at bignoggan@yahoo.com with your name and email address. breast size is optional.

we will begin sending out monthly and bi-monthly email letters in august with show dates, quotes, song lyrics, and anything else you may be interested in.

we will also be giving away free shirts, koozies, and cd's to email list members.

i hope you take advantage of this.

i look forward to hearing from you,

thanks,

scott w. copeland

i would like to let everyone know that my good friend ekorts is back.

please check it out under the "read this" section on the website.

masking the stench as usual.

yesterday was my brother's birthday.

i got him a card from dollar general.

i don't think he liked it very much.

i really like lasagna.

i think i might have some.

"there's more whores to be had out there somewhere." -- drunk guy in the bar last saturday night.


comeback,

scott

my father always told me that if you don't set deadlines for your goals, then they are not goals at all.

they are just pipe dreams.

Here is a list of my goals and their deadlines.

1. to rule the world by the year 4000.

2. to find the cure for cancer by next tuesday.

3. to go to the moon by 6:00 central standard time.

4. to stay alive until i am 420 years old.

5. to be able to draw cartoons before i turn 200 years old.

6. to rid the world of mimes immediately.

7. to read at least two books per century.

8. to lead the nba in assists next season.

9. to be at least 6 foot 10 inches tall by the time i'm 75.

10. and finally, to order a pizza in the next ten minutes.

you gotta have goals,

scott

i have decided that i will win a gold medal at the 2012 Olympics Games.

i'm not sure of the event, but surely there is one in which i am the best in the world.

maybe i am the best air riflist.
maybe i am the best sychronized swimmer.
maybe i am the best curler.
maybe i am the best one man bobsledder.

i will spend the remainder of this year choosing an event to win, and the remaining three in training.

i need a ping pong table.

go USA,

scott

i met Jesus in a Family Dollar today.

he was a lot shorter than i thought he would be.

he was also Mexican.

he bought some Nutty Buddies and toilet paper. i also saw some picante sauce.

he was wearing a Tony Romo jersey.

when he left, he looked back at me and smiled and i swear both of his eyes twinkled.

i wasn't quite sure what that meant, but i took it to mean one of three things.

first, it could be that Jesus was psychopathically telling me that we should eat nutty buddies and drink picante sauce for communion instead of crackers and grape juice.

or secondly, Jesus could be telling me that i forgot to get toilet paper.

or lastly, Jesus was encouraging me to have enchiladas for lunch.

either way, i am thankful.

and bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies,

scott

for the third time in less than a week i heard someone compare kurt cobain to john lennon.

this is my written argument on the issue.

first we will compare deaths.

john lennon was assasinated.
kurt cobain shot himself in the face with a 12 gauge shotgun with three times the lethal dose of heroin in his system.

slight nod to john lennon.

second comparison...

john lennon was in the beatles.
kurt cobain was in Nirvana.

again, a sarcastically slight nod to John Lennon.

thirdly,

john lennon married yoko ono.
kurt cobain married courtney love.

we'll call this one a toss up..

fourthly,

john lennon wrote "Revolution", "Imagine", and "Give Peace a Chance"
kurt cobain wrote "Smells like Teen Spirit" and "Rape Me"

i will use the phrase obviously self-explanatory for this one.

this concludes my comparison.

i hope this helps you people.

i feel stupid and contagious,

scott

Some advice for young men everywhere:

Let your hair grow out.

Brush your teeth and floss three times a day.

Drink lots of water.

Turn the shower all the way to cold for 30 seconds before getting out.

Live by yourself for at least 3 years.

Move to another state for no reason.

Play golf as much as possible.

Do not drink and drive.

Check the oil in your car regularly.

Call your mother weekly.

Learn how to play an instrument.

Avoid drugs that do not grow naturally on the earth.

Compliment women whether you mean it or not.

Watch "Hoosiers" once a month.

Forgive easily.

Keep a journal.

Respect police officers.

Stretch every morning.

Eat lots of fruit.

Listen to John Prine.

and whatever you do, do not get married until you are at least 35 years old.


that is all,

scott

i am convinced that tiger woods is some kind of a human superbreed.

asian and african american.

a perfect mix of athletic ability and math skills.

his hair is kinda fucked up though.

nowadays i walk around bitching about the hot tub not working.

"why won't the fucking hot tub work" i shout.

"this is some bullshit." i continue to yell.

no one is ever there to help me.

so....i float in the pool and complain.

and one more beer goes down.

i can't ever get the dvd player or the ps3 to work in the media room.

so.....i have to watch the lakers and celtics on the 70 inch flatscreen and complain.

and one more beer goes down.

i'm out of papers.

so i have to smoke out of this pipe and complain.

but not near as much,

scott

ten sentences i used today....

1. a number one with cheese whatasized with a dr. pepper.

2. do you have any pot?

3. go in the hole, cocksucker.

4. how many mexicans can possibly fit in one swimming pool?

5. indiana jones can suck my dick.

6. a number 4 with cheese sonicsized with a cherry coke.

7. let me get a towel for your stomach.

8. goddamnit bimbo, shut the fuck up.

9. okay mom, i'll see about getting health insurance tomorrow.

10. does anybody have any goddamn pot?

time out,

scott

a few predictions for the remainder of this decade....

miley cyrus will be in a rehab.

billy joe cyrus will dye his hair in agony.

tom cruise will divorce katie holmes and marry oprah.

tiger woods will declare himself eligible for the n.b.a. draft.

the texas rangers will play the rest of this decade at 201 wins 201 losses.

they will be very pleased about it.

Only hummers will be allowed on the roads.

everyone will be required to get tattoos of barbed wire on their bodies.

we will all be required to own handguns.

smokers can be shot on sight.

a d.u.i. will cost $120,000.

i will not win the lottery.

and i will continue to fuck around,

scott

A Few Things about Life I Don't Understand:

1. Illegal marijuana.

2. Calculus.

3. the success of Keanu Reeves.

4. the Rascal Flatts.

5. the platypus.

6. Eskimos.

7. barbecue chicken pizza.

8. the comedy of carrot top.

9. super delegates.

10. swiss cheese.

fart sound with my armpit,

scott

i like sundays.

i usually don't do anything.

jesus told me not to in the bible.

i like to watch golf.

it makes me take naps.

so does a big bowl,

scott

i have learned a lot, but never more than this.....

sometimes a lighter is fucking hard to find.


there's a whole lot of things that say nothing.


and this is no different,

scott

there comes a time in a man's life, when he just won't go to taco bell anymore.


there also comes a time when there is nothing left to vomit.


and both of those times are now.


finally,

scott

walk by the river and sing yourself a song.

stare at the moon all night long.

tell yourself you're right when you know you're wrong.

get stoned, drunk, and naked and bang a gong.

tell me you're weak when i know you're strong.

there ain't much left to rhyme with so i'm moving on.

call the police and break the glass.

fall flat on your ass.

let the time pass.

don't cut the grass.

let it age like wine.

it'll be just fine.

i'm bored,


scott

i got bit by a dog yesterday.

it's tooth went all the way through my finger.

it has swollen twice it's original size and hurts like a son of a bitch.

it is painful as hell to play the guitar.

this is not good.

thank god for whiskey.

who needs health insurance when you have a half a bottle of crown left?

not me,

scott

dear god,

i have a few questions.

1. what is the purpose of poison ivy?

2. is there an alien jesus?

3. how did you come up with the concept of the pussy?

4. Why does the Virgin Mary only appear to Mexicans?

5. why did you make shit stink so much?

6. is it at all possible to flood the world again?

7. why didn't you ever get married?

8. do you even exist at all, and if so, why do you keep fucking with me?

9. do you like cereal?

10. i've been thinking about going back to church, do you have any suggestions?


and the choir sang....


amen,

scott

he put a gun to his head
to paint the wall red
with the demons that lurked in his brain.

they hid in the crevices and cracks
patiently waiting to attack
and drive the poor boy insane.

his friends thought he was smart
but he was consumed in his art
and never came out of his room.

they just thought he was strange
but he was completely deranged
when they heard the blast and the boom.

he laid on the floor
when they opened the door
and all they saw were the soles of his shoes.

on the wall was just paint
not the blood of a saint
and it splattered when he shattered his blues.

he put a gun to his head
to paint the wall red
with the demons that lurked in his brain.


sweet suicide poems,

scott

mike check...mike check...

is this on?

check one two...check one two...

(sung in falsetto)

the hills are alive with the sound of music.

(back to normal voice)

i had a great idea for graham crackers today.

reminder to self: call honey maid immediately.

i've been watching the mini series "John Adams" on HBO, and i've decided to bring back powdered wigs.

i will wear one at my next gig which i believe is sometime this year.

(back to falsetto)

the hills are alive with the sound of music.

(switch to bass)

ah oom papa now now ah oom papa mow mow.

(back to normal)

elvira had big titties and therefore was not scary to me, but somewhat attractive.

ooops...gotta go.

somebody's knocking.

should i let 'em in?

scott

A Few Truths about Life that I learned from parties:

1. One out of every five people lives with a ghost.

2. Almost everyone hated high school.

3. I am funnier than almost everyone.

4. Everyone knows someone who broke their legs jumping off of a house onto a trampoline then into a pool.

5. Everyone loves Willie Nelson.

6. Women who smoke are more likely to put out.

7. Someone is related to Davy Crockett.

8. Whoever drives the nicest car is an asshole.

9. A bong can be made from practically anything.

10. I am smarter than almost everyone.

"I'm sorry nobody is reading Scott's Thoughts anymore." she said.

"I think people are still reading them." i protested.

"No one ever comments anymore." she stated.

"That doesn't mean they're not reading." i argued. "And besides, i don't judge my blogs on how many people comment." i went on. "That would be ridiculous." i concluded.

"Well, i think it's kinda sad." she responded.


This was an actual conversation i had in a bar last week.

I seldom do this, but will you people please comment a lot on this post and show this bitch what's up. i encourage you to say anything you like.

i promise not to ask again for at least one full year.

thank you for reading.

i always have and always will appreciate it,

scott

for god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son.....

begotten.

jesus was begotten.

what the fuck is begotten.

scott copeland and his only begotten band.


jesus christ
jimmy carter
johnny cash
jimmy chitwood
jimmy connors
jim croce

are you starting to see a trend here?

i am.

blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the earth.

so i got that going for me.

which is nice,

scott

i had to talk to my publisher today.

he's actually my lawyer/publisher.

i have a lawyer slash publisher.

do you people fucking understand that?

i am a fucking professional writer.

and yet i still have time for blogs.

recognize,

scott

i changed fonts.

this one reminds me of a newspaper font.

i should start my own newspaper.

forget it, scott. you've got way too much going on right now to start up a newspaper.

fuck you.

fuck you and your fucking newspaper.

this font is called courier.

i don't know why, though.

drew carey is hosting "the price is right".

i don't know why, though.

he couldn't have possibly foreseen that career move.

fuck drew carey. fuck courier. and fuck my own newspaper.

i hope we have all learned something from this font.


fuck it,

scott

hear yee, hear yee...

the church of scott's thoughts is now in progress....

the offering plate is coming around.

please dig deep.

the money you give is going directly to god. i.e. my phone bill.

he told me to have a cell phone.

never argue with god.

it's in the bible somewhere.

look it up.

amen,

scott

i walked into the wake
of the break of a storm

where the waves all behave
and the weather is warm

the sun hit my face
with the grace of a swan

the beauty was bliss
like a kiss from beyond

the rainbows and rivers
delivered my soul

the peace and the passion
when the fashions unfold

i remembered the embers
when december burned

my lonely life of lessons
i never cared to learn.

--scott copeland

"welcome to whataburger, can i take your order?", she said.

"bud light.", someone in the backseat said.

"two bud lights", someone else shouted.

aaah, the joys of designated driving.

i would like to thank the academy,

scott

i want to apologize for not posting a sunday church blog.

we will pretend.

please bow your head for the prayer,

dear whatever your name is,

what the fuck?

this shit is really fucked up.

can you help me or what?

in whatever your holy name is we pray,

e i e i o,

scott

so there i am.....

walking down the highway at 4 in the morning with my guitar and my backpack.

drunk.

cold.

pissed the fuck off.

another gig,

scott

kick me.

kick me when i'm down.

spit on me.

piss on me.

make a fucking fool of me.

then tell me how much you love me.

fuck you, bitch.

fuck you forever,

scott

i believe barack obama will announce his vice presidential running mate and it will shock the world.

oprah's never-seen-before boyfriend, Steadmon.

think about it.

it could happen,

scott

the church of scott's thoughts is in progress.

please bow your head for the prayer...

dear god,

thank you so much for scott's thoughts. i feel very close to you after reading them.

also, thanks for weed.

alrighty then,

amen.

scott

goddamn.
fuck.
shit.
cocksucker.
cunt.
dickhead.
asshole.
pussy.

i have decided to quit using any and all of these words.

i don't know why though.

fuck it.

goddamnit.

shit.

i fucked it up already,

scott

just be yourself.

that's good advice.

unless of course, you are gigantic asshole.

and i am,

scott

britney went crazy.

heath ledger did drugs.

the truth about mary kate olsen.

jessica alba can't wait to be a mom.

patrick dempsey is best dressed.

justin timberlake is fucking someone else.

ashton and shia go to laker games together.

it's good to catch up on the important things in life while standing in line at wal-mart.

Scott's Rules for Moviegoing:

1. Get high if at all possible.

2. Never trust Nicolas Cage.

3. Take your own candy.

4. Always sit by the wall.

5. Watch all previews.

6. Adam Sandler equals netflix.

7. matinee prices only.

8. Check reviews. They are generally accurate.

9. Going by yourself is always better than going with an idiot.

10. Will Ferrell is under red alert.


happy moviegoing,

scott

sorry i've neglected you, scott's thoughts.

you've always been the most important thing to me.

i promise.

nobody else's thoughts mean shit to me.

your thoughts are my thoughts and my thoughts are your thoughts.

you're only blocked if you think your blocked.

can't you see that, you silly little self?

goddamn, you piss me off sometimes.

goodbye scott,

scott

i saw a kayak for 200 dollars.

i chose to keep the van.

then came a church's fried chicken.

i elected to go in.

they said it would be ten minutes for chicken tenders.

i had no time.

i had to be home for jeopardy in only 8 minutes.

what is peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

correct,

scott

fuck around.
fuck around.
fuck around.

hello diary,

this is scott again. i have absolutely no idea what i am doing or what i am going to do in the future. my outlook is dire.

i have only one clean pair of underwear and no laundry detergent.

wal-mart is so far and i'm not sure the van will make it.

there is no more kool-aid.

however, i am fully stocked on toilet paper thanks to burger king.

i am pretty sure i can make it through the week.

god willing,

scott

finally....

another edition of the church of scott's thoughts.

i love my god.

he loves me.

that's why i picked him as my god.

amen,

scott

they should put a breathalizer on my phone.

that would save me a lot of explanations.

scott

are you scott copeland?

no.

do you know him?

no.

is this his phone?

no.

this is his student loan officer.

click.

goodbye sweet phone,

scott

Lorenzo Lamas was on a show called "celebrity daredevil".

he was going to jump 100 feet on a motorcycle going 60 mph.

before his jump, he thanked all his fans and said, "Be with God."

he landed his jump safely.

damnit God, where are you?

santa claus did not come again.

fuck that fat motherfucker.

i don't need shit from him anyway.

new year's resolutions....

1. cut down on masturbation.

2. expose worldwide corruption more efficiently.

3. smoke better pot.

4. switch to scotch.

5. remove half of the friends in my life.

6. talk more shit.

7. believe in less.

8. gain 30 pounds and lose 25.

9. stare at myself in the mirror more.

10. see the virgin mary in a chocolate chip cookie.

11. jump out of an airplane while having sex.

12. study scientology and it's effect on the career of john travolta.

13. create a new religion based on text messaging.

14. eat better pizza.

15. increase wine drunks.

16. write oprah one letter a day.

17. adopt an african.

18. start talking like john wayne on the phone.

19. lose more sunglasses.

20. and last but not least, smoke better pot.

2008.....

here i come,

scott

i'm sorry to all those people who still check this page regularly.

i sincerely apologize for the lack of entries.

i have heard recently that some places of employment do not allow myspace on their computers.

that is unamerican.

i promise to do better on this page. i feel a certain loyalty to those readers who have been here from the start and aren't able to check myspace at work and don't have a computer at home.

my demographics report shows those readers make up 7 to 10 percent of the demograph in 21 to 30 year old range.

i foresee a day when all places of employment ban scott's thoughts on their computers.

what what,

scott

someone please kidnap jessica simpson until the playoffs are over.


thank you,

scott

shadow boxing today at noon.

looking forward to it.

check.

skip to the next chapter.

ham and eggs.

i do not like green eggs and ham. i do not like them scott i am.

onward christian soldiers.

pause for alliteration.......

the bottom line is below the belly button.

is this thing on......mike check.

it's saturday, but it feels like tuesday.

wednesday felt like monday and thursday felt like wednesday but friday felt like friday.

what if the guy who invented the first clock set it twenty minutes fast?

that reminds of another thing from another time and place, but i can't remember what, when, or where.

when i shave my ballsack hair, i am very careful.

phase three...

infiltrate the dairy queen.

i am only one man,


scott

this is an open letter to judson cole of judson cole and the traveling road show.

what the fuck on god's green earth do you think you are doing?

i'm going to have to ask you to stop immediately.

i will admit that i'm flattered.

but jesus christ, dude.

word for fucking word.

you're even putting my goddamned songs on there as your own.

knock the shit off, pal.

unless, that is, you want to hear from my publisher and lawyer whom i have already contacted.

a written apology on the comment section of both my website and myspace would be in order.

preferably in your own words...

jack ass,

scott

things to do today:

play guitar naked.

clip nose hairs.

dissect a burrito.

throw a ball at the wall down the hall.

watch jeopardy reruns.

crank steve miller as loud as i can.

limbo.

mirror time.

play poker with the dog.

call her bluff.

explode a weiner in the microwave.

set a crossword puzzle on fire.

write name on hand in sharpee.

get on roof.

pretend i am a windmill.

stand on head.

take i.q. test.

free throws.

check grip pressure.

kurt vonnegut lecture.

pizza buffett.

nfl stats check.

one chess move.

explore new curse word combinations.

think about sex every seven seconds.

feel guilty about christmas.

throw ball again.

say goodnight gracie.

goodnight gracie,

scott

got a gig saturday at bostock's in stephenville.

that is all,

scott

matinee movies on mondays for me.

sorry you gotta work.

later,

scott

give me a couple of minutes.

by a couple, i mean thirty seven.

it'll only take a few seconds.

by a few seconds, i mean 9765 seconds.

i'll be out in a little while.

by a little while, i mean when i'm goddamned good and ready.

damn, it feels good to be a woman,

scott

"Better this Way"

I guess we never got to say goodbye.
Don't waste your time wondering why.

Now, i'm on the outside looking in.
Don't wanna ever be him again.

You were just a phase
You knew i wasn't gonna stay
Chalked you up to my crazy days

and it's Better this Way.

Don't wanna hear your stories about California anymore.
Goddamn, i heard 'em all a thousand times before.

You're probably still stoned on your red wine and pills.
You never could let yourself see how it feels.

When your cold winds start-a-blowin'
and you can't control your shakes.
Don't be afraid, because it's gonna be better this way.

I heard you found another fool that you don't love
Who lets you win everytime push comes to shove.

Please don't run off and think of me.
I never wanted to haunt your memory.

You were just a phase.
You knew i was never gonna stay.
I chalked you up to my crazy days

And it's gonna be Better this Way.


---- Scott Copeland


caught one,

scott