i get depressed often.

i would say more than most people.

i have learned to deal with it a little better in my old age, but it still happens.

it's always there waiting to rear it's ugly head and remind me of how miserable my life is at any given moment.

i don't think i would have it any other way.

can't write a sad song unless you know what it feels like.

i feel better already,

scott

the texas rangers are good.

i bet their manager gets good blow.


legalize pot,

scott

i know that i said that i would blog more this year.

i lied.

i have more important things to do.

i have recently acquired my own radio show on 95.9 the ranch. it is sunday nights at 9:00.

you can listen to it online. it is called the scott copeland radio hour.

i named it myself.

it took about five minutes.

anyways, the show lasts like an hour and i usually spend at least 30 minutes preparing for it,.....so, i've been swamped.

this blog isn't really even a blog.

it's a pathetic attempt to get listeners for my radio show.

sorry.


i know right,

scott

it has been a while.

i apologize to those of you who read this.

i can only tell you that it has been a rough time for me and blogging was the least of my concerns.

i will try and do better in the future.

a few things positive have happened in the past few months.

matthew smith from golden globe winning ryan bingham's band the dead horses produced me a record. he brought an incredible cast of musicians together and we recorded 10 of my songs. it was an incredible experience. i am looking forward to it's release.

i am also finishing up a book project that i have been working on for a while now.

80 of my favorite blogs, poems, and song lyrics in one little book.

there will be some illustrations from some of my artistic type friends that i love.

i hope you will enjoy it.


here's to a new decade people,

i will start blogging again,

i promise,

scott

new commercial idea...


enter a man with a black leather mask and red rubber ball strapped in his mouth...


he mumbles..

"i am tiger woods."


cut to a half naked stripper on a pole...

"i am tiger woods."


cut to a cocktail waitress with incredible cleavage...


"i am tiger woods."


cut to alex rodriguez...

"i am tiger woods."


cut to a guy sitting in a van with tinted windows...


"i am tiger woods."




call nike,


scott

this is a message for those of you who are fortunate enough to be in my phone.

you know who you are.


if being in my phone means anything to you, please heed my advice.

do not text me, "happy thanksgiving." or "happy turkey day" ever again. there is no reason that i should have to look at my phone 27 times in one day just to read "happy turkey day" over and over again.

i know it's fucking thanksgiving.

you know why?

because i am usually doing what most every other american is doing. celebrating thanksgiving with my family.

and by celebrating i mean, stuffing myself full of food and passing out on the couch while watching football.

but that is beside the point.

which is, stop fucking texting me on holidays.

i will just assume that you all wish me a happy thanksgiving from here on out.


happy gobble gobble day,

scott

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

another edition of the church of scott's thoughts....

thank god.

i was "saved" twice.

surely, that will get me into heaven.

granted, the first time i was only nine years old.

i hadn't even started feeling guilty about masturbating yet.

the second time i was 16 and completely immersed in guilt-ridden masturbation.

sometimes after getting liquored up and watching porno, i feel grateful to have been "saved".

jesus loves the little children,

scott

they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

i guess this blog ain't even worth a picture.


fuck it,

scott

"do you know Toby Keith?", she asked.

"yep.", i answered.

"what's he like?" , she questioned.

"he's a fucking retard.", i explained.

that didn't really happen, but you know what i'm saying.


of course you do,

scott

"Only Lonely Me"


another wasted day
another whiskey down
another lonely night
in another lonesome town.

another song
that i've got to sing
and another somebody
trying to clip my wings.

it seems nobody ever sees me soar.
it seems nobody even listens anymore.

but it's only lonely me.


it's another heart
that i'm gonna break
it's some more good times
i'll turn into mistakes.

it's another promise
that i can't keep
and another problem
i'm in way too deep.

it seems nobody ever hears my songs.
it seem everybody's always taking me wrong.

but it's only lonely me.

it's another hour
that i've got to kill
it's another restless night
where i can't lie still.

it's another fastball
when i guessed a curve
and some more hard times
that i don't deserve.

it seems nobody is there when i call.
it seems nobody understands me at all.

but it's only lonely me.

--- scott copeland


yep,

scott

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

please bow your head for the prayer.

dear whoever,

what the fuck?

over.

AAAAAAAHHH men.

can i get an amen?

no.

alright then,

scott

"you need a new thought", she said.

"you need to shut the fuck up", i thought.

there.

i hope you're happy.


scott

i picked spinach in the rain.

i didn't like it.

i hate spinach.

you might as well be eating the grass clippings.

popeye was bald at 16.

that shit can't be good for you,

scott

i swear my dog is the only female in the world that understands me.

she knows exactly what i mean without me having to say anything.

and she's a dog, for christ's sake.

it can't be that difficult.

i even call her Bimbo all the time. she never gets mad.

sometimes i get mad and call her other names. she always forgives me.

she even likes me when i'm drunk. she told me so.

she's always happy to see me and she never runs away.

i love you Bimbo.

i wish you could read and speak english.

The other night i'm playing a gig at the Ridglea Theatre.

As soon as i get out of my car, a bum asks me if he can carry my stuff for a couple of dollars.

i told him that i'd just give him some money.

i looked in my wallet and i only had a twenty and a ten.

i gave him the ten bucks.

He hugged me and said, "God bless you.". he seemed very appreciative and he continued on his path.

i walked into the gig feeling very Jesus-like. it was a great feeling.

an hour later....

i go back to the car to get my cd's and the bum is begging from people in the same area he was earlier in the day.

i got pissed off.

"what the fuck, man? ten bucks ain't good enough?", i said to myself.

he fucking hits the begging lottery and he has to come back to the same spot.

i went up to him and asks him if he had a few bucks i could have. i needed to get some gas.

He looked at me strangely. he couldn't tell if i was joking or not.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out his money.

he gave me a five.

Jesus saves,

scott

it is raining hard and i'm hungry.

i'm tired, too.

i have been working hard on a new project.

i am sorry for not blogging that often, but i have been putting in a lot of time on said project.

i will try to do better, but i am scared it may happen again because i am not even halfway through.

unless i quit, which is a very real possibility, it will take at least another month to finish.

i will try to blog.

but i cannot promise anything.


sincerely sincere,

scott w. copeland

breaker one nine, breaker one nine...

this is big bad bobby looking for mama chitlins. come back.

(in woman's voice)

"this is mama chitlins, big bad bobby. come back."

(back to bobby's voice which is eerily similar to elvis's)

"hey mama, watch your tail. you got two smokies coming up on the westside."

"what?"

exactly,

scott

"why i blog" by scott copeland.

i blog for the people. all the people. even the cocksuckers who hate me and still read my shit everyday. i blog for them.

i blog against the machine.

i blog to keep from digging a hole in the bedroom floor.

i blog because i'm fucking good at it.

i blog because i feel like it.

i blog at the top of my lungs from the highest mountaintops.

i blog so i can go on about my day.

i blog to open my mind in the morning.

i just blog to blog, goddamnit. leave me alone.


scott

i have poison ivy all over me.

it is fucking out of control.

i am convinced that i have had poison ivy more than any other person my age.

i've got it every year since i was about 12. sometimes 3 and 4 times a year.

if there were two things i could change about myself, they would be as follows:

1. i would shrink my head enough so that i could buy a baseball cap in a store and not have to special order them.

2. i would drastically reduce my incredibly high allergic reactions to poison ivy.

i don't really know much else i would change about myself.

i'm going to get a shot.

fuck this,

scott

i don't like to blog about my gigs too much. it seems cheap and self-absorbed.

noboby reads this shit, anyways.

however, i have a gig friday that might be cool. it is in mansfield, tx at the main street theatre.

i'm not sure how much it costs, but i do know it is byob.

the show starts at 8:30 and all ages are welcome.

my cursing will be held to a minimum, but i was told to include some "raunch".

anyways......

off to the golf course.

luv ya bye,

scott

this morning i'm in the quiktrip.

what appears to be a family walks in while i'm waiting at the counter.

leading the pack were two twin girls. they were probably 13 or 14 years old, and both had pigtails. they both owned two of the creepiest smiles ever put on a child's face. the two smiles were also seemingly permanent. they reminded me of the twins from "The Shining".

behind them was a seventeen or eighteen year old girl holding her 40 something mother's hand.

they were both smiling creepily as well.

finally, the father followed.

he was wearing a motorcycle bandana with the number 3 on it and a baby blue wife beater.

he walked right up to me and said, "you wanna picture?"

"what?" , i replied.

"you wanna picture. it'll last longer", he answered.

then the mother said, "it's because we're so pretty."

then the girls chimed in, "yeah, we're so pretty."

then daddy again spoke to me directly, "yeah, they are so pretty. you must wanna picture as much as you're staring at them."

"how much are they?", i asked.

"what's that supposed to mean?", he asked back.

"it's implying that you have some pictures of them that you want to sell", i answered as bluntly as i could.

"oh, you must be some kind of smart ass", he growled as he barreled towards me.

"what does that make you?" i asked as i braced for impact.

the girls yelled, "Daddy, don't get in a fight again."

he seemed to think about it as he got closer and changed his mind and turned down the candy bar aisle.

five minutes later as i was driving away, they came out of the store. as they got closer, i yelled, "are those pictures up on the internet anywhere?".

daddy came charging and i took a slurp of my freezoni and sped away wearing the most happiest of smiles.

thank you jesus,

scott

i want to take the time during this blog to apologize to everyone in my life that i have offended, disrespected, used, abused, confused, and disappointed.

the list is long and i can't possibly name all of them.

i'm sure you know who you are.

certain experiences in my recent past have persuaded me to take a long look at myself.

i have concluded that i am an asshole a lot of the time.

in my defense, it is very difficult to be the smartest person in the room 99 percent of every single day. it wears down the want-to in my spirit. most of you people are so fucking stupid i can't hardly bear it.

but that is beside the point.

which was that i apologize.

i'm sorry that i have had to take to being a huge asshole to battle my superior intellect.

please forgive me.

sincerely,

scott

i'm sorry for not blogging.

i have been in a crisis.

a mid-life crisis.

i am seriously considering getting a real job. i hate it that no one reads my blogs.

i so thought that i was gonna make it big from blogging.

i need to quit doing drugs.

i saw a show about a guy shooting oxycontin in his veins and he was all fucked up.

i've never taken oxycontin. i wonder what that's like. i think i would just eat one to start with.

maybe i'd snort it.

marijuana is a gate way drug.

rush limbaugh loved oxycontin. he's a fat fuck.

i'm in a crisis,

scott

i noticed i've only been blogging on sundays lately.

i don't really want to analyze it, but i do anyways.

i've come to think that it has something to do with my lack of concern.

sunday mornings have become the only time that i allow my mind to open at all.

the rest of the week, nothing but movies, t.v., and mass media.

i have decided to dumb myself down six days a week. i want to be in the majority.

fuck originality.

i've decided to not let it bother me that jerry falwell, oral roberts, and pat robertson are the leading speakers for christianity and all live off the dying blood of the sick and elderly and are profiteers of fear.

profiteers of fear. the fear profiteers. fear the profiteer.

sounds like a punk rock band.

amen,

scott

sunday blogs.

the bible says that god created the world in seven days.

when questioned, many bible teachers will tell you that seven days may not be literal. that one day to god may be a million years on earth.

the way i got it figured is that this million years represents sunday. it is the sabbath million years.

and i refuse to work, goddamnit.


scott

i woke up this morning and my back was killing me.

i feel like someone wadded me up and threw me in the trash.

luckily, i vomited.

another sunday.

i should probably go to quik trip and get a cherry coke. those always make me feel better.

i went and saw "Live Free or Die Hard" yesterday. don't tell them, but i've been calling it die hard 4.

i don't know what it is about him, but i cannot stop loving john mcclain.
even when he says the stupidest shit, i still love him.

he killed one helicopter with a fire hydrant and another helicopter with a compact car.

he also destroyed a jet fighter plane with an 18 wheeler and a bridge.

he shot a guy behind him by shooting a bullet threw himself.

that is bad ass.

i am hereby letting Bruce Willis know, i will pay 6 dollars to see every "Die Hard" movie he decides to make.

please do not feel like you are repeating yourself. you were born to be john mcclain.

fuck ashton kuchar in the ass,


scott

it feels like sunday. but it's monday.

fuck it.

i used to really want to be involved in the movement to legalize marijuana. then they busted me. i choose now to protest silently and in seclusion.

the fact that marijuana is illegal is absolutely and 100 percent pure evil.

although, that is just my opinion, man.

for instance, let's say, hypothetically, that you have a back porch with a garden below it. And from this back porch you flick marijuana roaches into your garden.

Eventually, a plant will grow there. God's miracle of life.

see what happens if you pour out a bottle of jack daniels in the garden. not only will nothing grow, everything will fucking die.

which of these two is legal.

i pray for a day when all the world leaders get together and smoke some a.k. 47 out of a peace pipe together.

"why have we been such fucking assholes all this time", is what they will say to each other.

i'm a fucking dreamer,

scott

here's a thought.

women are evil and vindictive liars.

case in point, duke lacrosse team.

over the course of the last twenty or so years, our society has made it completely acceptable for women to be as fucking insane as they so choose.

Cut our dicks off and throw them out on the street, it's okay.

Profit off of falsely accusing three men of rape while you're walking around with five different types of sperm in your panties and three more up your snatch. No problem.

Try to run us over with your car.

Punch us in the face while we sleep.

Set us on fire.

Say whatever the fuck you want to say while you walk around dressed up like paris hilton, showing more skin than cinemax, and bitching about being looked upon as a sex object.

Say what you want about men, but we are at least held accountable for our actions.

Here are 6 tips I came up with to help women avoid being raped:

1. Cover your ass and tits as much as possible when going out.
2. Don't get drunk and go to mike tyson's hotel room at 3 in the morning.
3. Avoid fraternity parties.
4. Bachelor parties are probably a bad idea too.
5. Actually, avoid any parties in which you are the only girl.
6. Do not, under any circumstances, touch a man's penis and not expect sex.

i fully expect some negative comments, but i want to assure you that i understand many innocent women have been raped for no reason at all.

there is no justifiable reason for rape.

these are just some helpful tips.

that is all,

scott

i don't want to sound like i have a black cloud following me around.

but i have a black cloud that follows me around.

i decide to start covering "Let it Bleed" by the stones. It immediately becomes an Amstel Light beer commercial.

not only that, it's a beer commercial with a guy playing guitar on a patio and singing "Let it Bleed" to a group of delta chi looking fucks and their aspenite dates.

however, they left out the verse, "My breasts, they will always be open. You can rest your weary head right on me. And there will always be a space in my parking lot, when you need a little cocaine and sympathy. "

Pussies....

For the record, i would also like to let it be known that i think the sopranos finale was the biggest backstabbing, doublecrossing, betrayal in the history of television.

Everyone associated with that show should be taken out and publicly flogged.

i fucking spend six years of my life watching that show and they fucking pull some shit like that.
i thought my fucking t.v. broke or some shit.

Fat, lazy fucks. they've written 12 episodes in three goddamned years and they have the audacity to try that shit. Fuck them and fuck their movie that will be coming out soon. they can all rot in hell.

i want my six years back.

i want every hour back that i spent watching that fucking show.

They can have all those hours.

but they'll never take..

MY FREEDOM,

scott

when i have nothing to say is the best time to blog.

that is when i might say some fucking crazy shit.

i may ramble all over the goddamned place.

i might spout off some shit that blows your fucking mind.

i may screw off the top of your head and take a cosmic shit on your brain.

when i have nothing to say is the best time to blog.

or maybe not,

scott

I stayed over at my dad's house for a couple of days and helped him with a project.

i found this box filled with my high school stuff. there was a folder that was filled with all my old english papers and poems and shit. i couldn't believe it.

anyways, i decided to include some of my poems from high school on myspace. i've already put one on there.

for those of my thousands of fans who have not crossed over into the myspace kingdom, i didn't want to leave you out. Here is a journal entry from my english class.

Journal entry #5

The date is March 2, 1988, but who cares. As i rolled out of bed this morning and hit the floor hard, a thought crossed my throbbing, aching head. "What am I doing here? What is the purpose of all the time and energy i am spending day after day, week after week, month after month? Is it going to pay off before i'm rotting in the ground?"

After a long gaze at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I wondered why i was put in this god-awful creature of flesh, blood, and pimples. As i left home to go get my "so-called" education, I noticed that everything around me was dark and dreary gray. Colorless, motionless, lifeless....... Every object was the static of a cable channel i don't get. It was all the color of the dingy, gray snow on a downtown sidewalk.

As i arrived at the institution of learning, i attended my first class promptly. I sat in my desk and listened to an excruciatingly exciting, intriguing, lecture over stocks and bonds. One of the toothpicks i was using to keep my eyes pried open slipped out, and I let out of scream of agony.

The teacher became infuriated and demanded an explanation. All I could mumble out was, "Uh, I don't know." This response seemed to enrage her even further. She growled out, "Scott, I do believe you have a serious attitude problem today!".

My reply....."Could be."



I hope you found that entertaining. for me, it was refreshing to see that i haven't changed that much over the years.

we have a new gig tonight at cowtown sports bar and grill. it's on highway 80 and alta mere in fort worth. I think it's free, but i'm not sure.

later,

scott

sunday, sunday, sunday.

say that like a tractor pull announcer. it's cool that way. alright then.

let's have a little church, mofos. shit.


i left the p.a. at the bar last night and went back to get it this morning. it was still there.

thank you jesus god.

as i was loading out, i overheard the t.v.. apparently, there are several nfl players involved in an underground dog fighting ring. michael vick is front and center with the 40 fucking pit bulls he had at his home.

i would to like to say for the record. i am opposed to dog fighting.

however, i am also opposed to pit bulls.

it would not hurt my feelings at all if they became extinct tomorrow.

with that being said, i fucking hate michael vick too.

i hate that he gets 1 point for every ten yards rushing in fantasy football. that is bullshit.

which brings us back to pit bulls...

their whole fucking head is a jaw.

i think people who raise pit bulls to fight should be punished by having their champion pit bull clamp down on their balls for a couple of days.

fucking jawhead pit bulls.

michael vick is a dick. i'm going to go to one of his games and bring my poster for t.v. "Vick is a Dick". they always put the rhyming posters on t.v.

i hope we have all learned a lesson.

keep pit bull fighting out of football.

leave it for the rappers,

scott

Actual Sunday Conversation I had:


"If you drink enough liquour you can sleep face down in the sun on top of the grass", he said matter of factly.

"That's cool", i said, "How do you know that?",

"I seen some guys do it one time in front of a church", he responded.

I said the only thing i felt appropriate, "Right on."

Then another guy said, "I wanna write a song for 4 country reporter. Bob Phillips needs a better song."

Another guy chimed in, "It should be about liquor and whores!"

Then i jumped in with, "It should be CALLED "Liqour and Whores!"

"Too late", he said, "a band out of canada already wrote that one. it goes bologna, pickle, mayonaisse, liqour and whores."

i didn't feel like telling him you can't copyright song titles, and that i was probably going a different direction than the canadian band went.

Then i came home and watched, "The Sopranos".

amen,

scott

inevitably, i will meet someone who tells me how much they enjoy reading my blogs.

i always ask, "do you have a favorite?"

9 out of 10 times the answer is "The Church of Scott's Thoughts"

unlike some writers, i love my fans.

so without further a-doo-doo,

please bow your head for the prayer,

Dear God, we just want to praise your supreme being. you are an awesome God. i don't mean awesome in the biblical sense, but more like awesome in a cool way. you are a cool God. it is very cool of you to make cool people like me. i just want to lift up my hands and praise your holy coolness. Amen.

it is mother's day. a special reason for blogging.

i have tried to stay away from mentioning my immediate family member's too much. they don't like it. they all told me so.

with that being said, i love my mother. she is a beautiful, intelligent, graceful woman, and i am very proud of her.

she had nothing to do with the writing of "Cuntry Girl". i made that up all by myself. i only say that she co-wrote it with me at shows for a joke.

the joke being that no one like my mother would ever have anything to do with a song like "Cuntry Girl".

i have told her on numerous occasions that no one actually thinks she wrote that with me. Everyone knows i'm joking.

She doesn't agree.

on this mother's day i hereby state for god and witness, my mother did not co-write "Cuntry Girl" not only did she not write it, she despises it.

okay then,

scott

i admit that i'm an asshole.

all of my friends know that i'm an asshole.

it is my defining characteristic.

i guess asshole is not really a characteristic.
maybe assholishness.

assholishness is my defining characteristic.

with that being said, and having nothing to do with this next part, i continue.....

one of my most despised type of people are the ones who walk into a bar with a 2 foot tall mohawk, a face full of metal studs and hoops, and a body covered with ridiculous tattoos, and look at you and say, "What the fuck are you staring at, motherfucker?"

i'm always amazed at the size of their balls. i always say, "you sure gotta lot of balls for a guy with so much shit in his face i could rip out."

don't get me wrong, i have nothing against tatoos, earrings, or mohawks. only people who do everything possible to get you to stare at them, and then bash when you oblige.

if you don't like people staring at you...

BLEND IN, MOTHERFUCKER.

on another note, but not nearly as important as the previous bullshit.....

i have decided to start using my blog on myspace. it has been going to waste.
however, i will only write poems on there. probably once a week. i feel i should reward the people who join myspace with something.

have no fear, though.

this shit, as always, will not cease.

sincerely,

scott

sometimes i read back over my blogs searching for song lyrics.

sometimes i find some.

it's a twist, it's a turn
and it burns when you learn
that they stole the last line of your song.

it's a craze, just a phase
and everyone seems to stay
in this place to long.

it's a break, it's a bend
it's the wind that'll send you to the end
of your one last nerve

it's just this, or it's that
when you're doing 90 mph with a flat
on dead man's curve.

lord, i've been livin' like the devil
a rebel running through the gates of hell

i'm burning both ends of my candle
another man couldn't handle the heat this well.

bam.

making up songs, dude.

what a noble profession,

scott

dallas mavericks

2007 nba champions.

you heard it here first.

once you are off, you are off.

you cannot get back on.

step back nonbelievers,

scott

my thoughts on the mavericks......

anyone that knows me knows that i am a huge dallas maverick fan, and possibly the biggest dirk nowitzki fan in the world.

with that being said, i was tremendously worried about this fucking series to begin with. all the experts said mavericks in 4, mavericks in 5, mavericks in 6.

let's all just forget that they swept us this year, and that their coach practically hand picked everyone in our organization, tutored our infant of a coach while he is quickly approaching the most wins in the history of the nba, and led his team to an 18-5 closeout to the season to make the playoffs by one game with the golden state warriors for their first appearance in post season play in 13 years. that shouldn't mean a thing.

well. once again...
i'm always right.

right now, if you told me that i would be guaranteed a game seven, i'd take it.

we better fucking pull our goddamned heads out of our goddamned asses or we're gonna be the biggest fucking joke in the history of the nba.

that fucking arena was shaking.

i went to a maverick game a week or so ago, and it was fucking repulsive. what a bunch of fucking primadonna fans. i have never seen more plastic surgery victims in my life. if i was the man i was ten years ago, i'd have taken a goddamned flamethrower to that arena of wretchedness. half of those fucking sodomites probably don't even understand the goddamned game.

golden state has an entire goddamned country behind them.

they are not an 8 seed. they had a better record than we did over the last 23 games. they are completely as athletic as we are. we cannot stop baron davis and probably only won the game we did because he acted like a fucking retard.

i love my team and i will always love my team and i will go down with my team and suffer through a long pathetic year with them, but it is time, boys, to pull up our goddamned jocks and strap em on tight because these motherfuckers are not scared of us. they are inspired. it is time to match their inspiration and quit playing like you motherfuckers can just show up and advance to the second round because you won 67 games. fuck that.

lay it on the line, motherfuckers.

don't you fucking dare do this to me. i don't think i can handle it after your fucking great finish to last season.

jesus christ, start playing some goddamned defense.



mavs in seven,

scott

sometimes i make up shit about myself. it gets way too boring to tell the truth.

however, i do not consider this to be lying. it is an exercise in creativity.

thus being the case, if you hear something about me.....

it may not be exactly true.

i've also noticed that other people enjoy making shit up about me. i've heard countless tall tales told on my behalf. i find them amusing. however, sometimes the lies are less interesting than the truth.

not mine, though.

my lies are so interesting and unbelievable that they are completely believed by all.

they are believed and beloved.

uh oh

title track "my believed and beloved lies"

fuck blogs in the ass,

scott

i changed my top friends on myspace today.

i had a friend who had his myspace account deleted for changing his picture to the guy who shot 32 people at virginia tech.

he happened to be in my top twelve friends on myspace.

now, i have a new space available.

i am now accepting applications. please send to bignoggan@yahoo.com.

every single one will be read and possibly responded to. but i seriously doubt that second part.

i love to end sentences with prepositions and follow it up by starting the next sentence with a new preposition.

in a hundred years...in some college classroom....

i foresee a day when english literature majors are required to study scott copeland's use of the double prepositional alpha omega sentence structure. capital letters will be relics of the past, and writers of all shapes, sizes, creeds, and sexes will be able to use them at their own discretion because of the works of bignoggan.

my middle name is william.

me and fucking william shakespeare.

there are no such things as coincidences.

somebody told me that,

scott

some of ya'll never been down south too much
i'm gonna tell ya a little story so's you'll understand what i'm talking about.

down there we have a plant that grows out in the woods and the fields
and looks something like a turnip green

everybody calls it polk salad.

now that's

polk
salad.

i'll take "rock and roll frontmen" for 2 thousand.

the answer is...

"i am the greatest rock and roll frontman of all-time bar none."

yes scott.

who is elvis presley?

correct sir, thank you for playing.

(pause for elvis impersonations)

34 minutes later....

i cut my hair off the other day. i am suffering some kind of hair postpartum depression.
i'm thinking about dying the rest of it black or some shit.
fuck hair.

i will be attending the larry joe taylor festival some today and this weekend.
of course, i'm not on the bill, but i did get a free four day pass.

keep on the sunny side,

scott