Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Who Changes Baby New Years Diapers?...
This year I managed not to get mauled by a pack of wild dogs. That's good.
I rarely kicked anyone in the crotch.
I managed to infuse my body with just about as much booze as oxygen.
I fought balding for another year.
I lost weight. Now I weigh 135 instead of 136.
I read things other than porn.
I stopped visiting your mom.
She says to write her, by the way. And to send money.
Happy New Year, you bastards!
Monday, December 30, 2002
I have something(s) to tell you...
I curse IKEA for what it does to my girlfriend.
Please cry me a river. I can't get that stupid
Justin Timberlake song out of my head even
though I've only heard it reluctantly in the last month.
New Years Eve means more work for me.
I hate car insurance. I'm scared of cops right now.
I have a new record player and am playing Perry Como.
Does that make me hip, or a complete, fucking idiot?
Should I post a picture of myself on this site? I'd be scared to do it.
Have you scrolled down to my links and talked to my new-and -improved-gothic-Hives-lead-singer-robot?
I'm going to play Castle Risk tonight.
And I'm gay.
Thank you for your support.
How's It Feel, Bitch?...
Huh? Nose back to the grindstone yet?
Need some coffee?
That fat whore from QA is still wearing her perfume too strong,
except now she's wearing her new Christmas perfume and it's vanilla-scented.
The obnoxious, fat tech guy is talking too loudly about what he got for Christmas.
Your supervisor left you a fat stack of shit to work through before you even took your coat off.
You are in debt.
There are new rules posted somewhere about...something.
Seeing the Two Towers still did nothing to erase your memory of this place.
Welcome back to work, you fuckers.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready
To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgettin
What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
He's chokin, how everybody's jokin now
The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Kevynn, he choked
He's so mad, but he won't give up that
Is he? No
He won't have it , he knows his whole back city's ropes
It don't matter, he's dope
He knows that, but he's broke
He's so stacked that he knows
When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
Back to the lab again yo
This whole writing shit
He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him
And that's my post.
Thank you, yo.
Sunday, December 29, 2002
Thursday, December 26, 2002
Horrible Crap Part 1...
The Never Ending Story.
I know you all like it
- especially you girls -
but I could never stand that fucking film.
My father always used to stick me in summer school
when I was in the elementary grades because he was afraid
I'd kill somebody while he was away at work.
It just made me want to kill everybody who went there. The teachers looked tired. They didn't want to be there either. They treated you like shit. It was hot. They tried to use ice cream parties as treats. Gee, 50 cent ice cream. Roll over. Play dead. Who cared? Everybody except me. That's why everybody's fat now and I'm not, I guess. Anyway, on Fridays, regular lessons would be cut short and we watched movies in the dark. Which was better than the normal routine. Classrooms always looked better with the lights off, I'd always get disappointed when they turned them back on. Where were all the staff? Smoking pot in the teachers lounge? Making out in the photo labs? I hated going to summer school for no reason, but hated the movies that they'd make me watch more. Fuck, even in classes during the regular school year - they'd throw movies at us on rainy day recesses. Is that all that they could think up? Why didn't they stick us all in the gym and give us sticks and watched us beat the shit out of each other? Movies? I know, kids eat up anything on the screen. Even if they've seen it a million times because it's different watching it at school. But, c'mon. Condor Man? All the Herbie/Car movies. The Apple Dumpling Gang. Witch Mountain Whatever. Sucky.
But in summer school it seemed like they showed it every week. The stupid Never Ending Story is right. I'd be in agony. Stupid boy. Stupid flying dog. Stupid talking rocks. Stupid movie. Now The Dark Crystal! That was cool. How come they never showed Star Wars at my school? Only the same movie every week. The same soon-to-be pep squad girls crying at the end of the movie when the boy, Atrau something or other, had to save the universe and read from a book and some princess girl was doing something. Talking. Looking like a princess in a crappy movie. I hate it. I'm gonna buy a copy just to douse in lighter fluid.
The Never Ending Story was horrible crap.
Thank you and good night.
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
Monday, December 23, 2002
The Grand Ennui...
Not only is it well-written, it is funny.
Not only should you post a comment on his site-
But you should thank him for having hot chicks on his web site
AND for giving me the best present in the universe besides
the pet monkey that my girlfriend is going to give me...
The mad genius responsible for The Grand Ennui sent me a copy of this in the mail for Christmas...
Fuck Santa Claus...
He ain't got shit on this guy...
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Friday, December 20, 2002
I Feel Sorry For Those Of You Who Don't Drink...
because when you wake up in the morning, that's as good as you're going to feel for the rest of the day. DINO
Now I will give you updates all night, as long as I'm in the house, as to what's going on at the moment...
Beer 1 - 6:42 pm - I've talked to four or five friends on the phone. They're gonna stop by for some drinks. So that means I better do whatever I want to do soon before anybody gets here. I need to brush my teeth. Stanky.
Beer 2 - 7:41 pm - Girlfriend just called. I'm supposed to call her back when she's drunk. Now me and Mark are slow dancing.
Beer 3 - 8:20 pm - I've already managed to knock the two stupid cat towel holders off with a pink ball I was throwing around. Mark is now playing a drum set that's in the middle of my living room. Courtney's coming over. We need film.
Beer 4 - I just finished playing drums to Micheal Jackson's BEAT IT, and as I sat down to type this, the ASH from ARMYS OF DARKNESS doll that I have next to the computer said, "Groovy!" Not yet. It's still just me and Mark. Another beer done. God save the queen. The cunt.
Beer 5 - 8:55 pm - We're trying to get our rock star friend luis over here. He's mexican, so I told him to fly over here on a tortilla-but he said he's going to show up somehow. I don't know why he can't drive. License suspended or something? Joe's bringing over the film for the camera. I hope Luis doesn't steal it...
Beer 6 - 10:33 pm - Somebody's shooting me with a toy gun. Mark posted " I Hate Jews!" on this site. I had to erase it. We're looking at pictures of Luis' tour in Scotland. My girlfriend is not answering her phone. I put out chips for everyone and I saw Mike Myers ( not the actor ) stick his finger in his nose and then rummage for more chips.
Beer 7 - So now I'm defending myself. There's a crowd around me as I type this. Let me state this...right now...I am not a RACIST. by the way....They say that I'm typing too fast...p.s.....I'M not a racist...
Beer 8 - 11:57 Amy is now opening up Anne's xmas invite. People are shooting balls at me. No, it's not sexual. There's some super-model here. Who the hell is she? I had to take out the trash. And Amy just shot out the toy balls from Mark's xmas present to me from her vagina. Or at least pretended to. Who's this playing on the stereo? The Stones? Somebody smells like Pepporoni...aw fuck it. How do you spell it...it's meat, yo.
Beer 9 - Okay. We're going to play a couple of songs...even the guy from the comic book store is here right now....UPDATE...Camback just asked me if it was okay to plug in his vaporizer? I had to have him explain what it was for...fucking pot smokers....I've never heard that b4...okay I have to play now....
Beer 10/11/12 - Hey, where'd the comic book guy go? I lost count, sorry. Too much has happened. Too much noise and too much foolish shenanigans. Somebody just breathed in my ear. I might give up soon. We played a couple of songs. That was a mistake. Drums in a living room is not good when you have people over. I bought gum at the store too. It was Big League Chew. It reminded me of Little League. Crimson and Clover is playing. Apparently it's a hit because now everybody's making more noise than before.
Beer 13/14/15? - 3:50 am - After the neighbor...is that how you spell it? showed up...I've tried to keep it down. Luis is playing babies breath drums and Ryan is just playing.
Beer Infinity - 6:01 am - All humans must hate me. Her I'm trying to have a conversation with my drummer, who's curled up in one of my nappy ass blankets and all that he wants to do is go to sleep. I'm wide awake, of course. Doing NOW exactly what I wanted to do before, even though I had fun tonight. Not too much fun-but mellow fun. Before sleep, I'm thinking about tomorrow. I will have a smile on my face. I'll have a hard time explaining the night to the girl when she gets back because not much happened. But everything happened though, didn't it? There were a million funny-ass, hilarious conversations and small, smatterings of important life blurbs that made all of tonights nothingness...worth something. Me and Tom reading an old story that we both wrote together, to what? A bunch of small nothing stories. That's it. Breakfast at noon. Goodnight....
punctuation and spelling be damned.
Good night...sweet bastards.
Giving yourself to the TaunTaun...
How the hell do you spell that anyway?
I'm a Star Wars geek, I should know.
Looking up the correct spelling on the internet
would make me geekier though, so I wont.
My girlfriend is in Vegas. I am home alone.
I said I wasn't having a party. I have changed out of my work clothes.
I visited the Toilet Man. He eats your poo poo and your pee pee, y' know.
I will give you a beer report.
December Is Horny...
It's trying to paw me. It claws at me. Grabs my ass and stares at my chest. December's a fuckin' pig. I wish It'd go away.
When this month is over, maybe monetary obligations and all of this freakin', friggin', fuckin' craziness will end. My girlffriend is leaving for Vegas tomorrow. What to do? What to do? I'm not going to Vegas with her because it's birthday thing that she's doing with some of the girls and because I have a penis and I'm not allowed to go. I swear though, one of the girls that she's going with has one, but I'm used to hypocrisy. Mark has been talking about having a party at my house. He always talks about having a party at my house when my girlfriend leaves. I don't know why. He can do whatever he wants here all the time and usually does. Which is nothing. So why a party? Strippers? No. Too expensive. What then? My girlfriend got freaked out and asked what I was going to be doing. I don't think that she understands that my greatest wish, that my greatest desire-is to be trapped on a desert island that resembles my home. I like to write. Do nothing. Stare off into space and think crap. Life crap. Comic book crap. Crap crap. I like to read. I like to masturbate. I like to read about masturbating and read comic books about masturbating. I like to type...M-A-S-T-U-R-B-A-T-I-N-G-...while masturbating. When I masturbate, I like to think about the masters of masturbation. I think about The Masters Of The Universe while masturbating.
SO, I'm probably going to get drunk.
If I'm here...tomorrow night maybe I should post after I finish a beer.
Damn, I better go to sleep then, that's about 19 beers...
Then I'll go masturbate.
Thursday, December 19, 2002
Before I Go To Bed...
I must do your mom. No. I must remind myself to write my next post on what books I have that I can't finish...YOU SHOULD TOO, IN THE COMMENTS. Whether It's some that you've tried repeatedly or one that was just plain fucking dissapointing after you got all worked up about it...
Actually...kind of like your mom.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Woke up reluctantly. Should've put in a cartoon or Empire Strikes Back and then just relaxed. Got up. Did some shite on the computer, I don't remember what. Went shopping, bought some presents for the gal friend. The we went to her friends sister's house to pick up a rug for our living room. It looks nice. You could stick a dead dog on the floor and I would say the same thing, though. I'm not too picky about that type of stuff. Her friend's sisters house was cool, though. I'd met her and her husband before at some party that we had here. They have a couple of small, wee, little chillun's that are cute as hell and I hung out with while the women were jabbering away about god-knows-what. The little girl. About Three, I think? Showed me her Disney magic mirror with the hair brush and the lipsticks. The mirror talked to you. She read me a couple of books, and tried to scare me with a frog puppet and then a bug mask. The boy-a little older, I think. Five maybe? Showed me all of his Star Wars. I was impressed and tried not to rub it in his face too much that all of my shit was better than his. But his room looked cool. I was jealous. The father was giving away some movies too, did we want any? Ummmm...HARD BOILED? THE KILLER? BLUE VELVET? THE STREET FIGHTER? RETURN OF THE STREET FIGHTER? and BARTON FINK? Uhhhh...yes? Then we went to the comic book store and I bought a bunch of Spider Man comics. Peter Parker's the shit, yo.
Went home, talked to my sis. Now I've got band practice coming on at 10 pm! Fuck. But it's a joyous fuck, though. Then I'll be back home, putting off sleep and a the following loooong-ass work day.
Soon, I will be rocking out. While visions of sugar plums dance in your head, I will be playing a cover of William Shatner's cover of Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. Just Kidding. I'll be slamming heroin while fifty groupies rub my...feet. Just kidding. I'll try to kick some ass, maybe. Well see.
I'm A Big Jerk...
Because I havent read The Two Towers. I can't get through it. Two page long descriptions of mountain passages bore me. I liked the first movie and vowed to finish the second book before this movie came out, but...I suck. It sucked. I don't know. So, I'm tempted to sneak away and see the movie right now. It makes me feel guilty that for years geeks had only the books and wished for a movie to come out, and I couldn't get through the second book...
So about The Two Towers...
I have one question about this movie before I see it...
Is there any nudity?
Package from my Pa. Every year I get a check for fifty or a hundred bucks that sadly goes to some emergency bill, rent, or porn situation. Last year, I think i got a sweater, which my girlfriend was quick to snatch. This year, though. Oh this year. I got...check it, A phone card. Which I think is my father's way of dropping a hint. A thirty dollar card gift certificate thingy for the Olive Garden Restaurant. Which is awesome. Everybody knows I'm emaciated and bone-thin. Maybe I'll get some meat on my bones? Yeah, right. Suck it. I like being thin. I'm a wispy god doing whatever the hell I want. I'm going to save the card and put it towards their bread sticks and salads. It'll last me for eight months. I should be a supermodel. And a check too. What the hell? It's for...hold on....50 bucks. Wow. I'm a little nervous. Last time I got this much from him, he kicked me out of his house. This is making me paranoid. What's happening, Roge? And there's more!
A Santa Claus Pez and three...THREE Simpsons Burger King watches. I didn't even have to eat there.
Now this is where it makes me totally grateful and happy, but nervous.
I've written both about my affinity for Pez and my desire to purchase those Pez watches here. He has never heard me say anything about either of them.
Now what does this mean? Is my father reading this site? Did my sister tell him? Cuz' she wasn't supposed to. And he doesn't know I have this. Not that I care, but I don't like people peeking over my shoulder when I write. I know that people read it. Shit, I want them to. C'mon-you guys are going to help me get rich and famous, right? But under no condition should I ever stop to think what somebody else will think about what I just wrote. That destroys it all.
So father. If you're reading this. Tell me. So I could boot you the hell off of this thing or switch the name to Mr.stinkass.blogspot.com or something.
I love you and all, but you need to go away.
p.s. I love my presents too. Send more.
Monday, December 16, 2002
Hey, Look! My Turtle Is Actually Sitting On Top Of His Rock...
So my girlfriend asked me to buy her a magazine yesterday when we were at the store. It's called "Shape" magazine. The girl on the cover's pretty cute. In "Shape", I guess. Fit. Attractive. Blah, Blah, Blah. Why my girlfriend wanted the magazine, I don't know. My girlfriend's hotter. But anyway, It got me to thinking. So if this magazine cover girl is what magazine publishers, the media, and the entertainment industry deem the norm for beauty and physical fitness-and every girl secretly wishes they were this magazine cover girl...does this mean that I'm supposed to want to look like the guy on the male equivalent of a "Shape"-type magazine? Doesn't it seem that women get pissed off about female performers/models/actresses more than men do? Do you get what I'm saying? I guarantee you that if a supermodel, actress with big tits, or any horrible crap actress is on the screen, a girl will have something negative to say about her. A guy will only say something about a male actor if he kills somebody, has sex, or lights a joint. Is there only a small percentage of males who look at male models or actors on magazine covers and then try to look like them as much as possible? Besides all the men in L.A., I mean. Why does it seem that more women want to be the societal stereotype of beauty, while men are just either too lazy to aspire towards anything, or just content being the fat ignoramuses they are?
Who has a copy of the Star Wars Christmas special?
Who likes Beautiful Stories For Ugly Children?
Who took all of my underwear?
Sunday, December 15, 2002
Brad Pitt's Character In Oceans Eleven Is Always Eating...
I recieved a CD in the mail from Boz, the purveyor of The Grand Ennui, that we agreed upon as part of our "Exchange Things We Already Have, and Want to Get Rid of, Instead of Polluting the World With More Useless Christmas Gifts, That We Probably Don't Want or Need in the First Place" program.
- Neil Young With Crazy Horse "Broken Arrow"
When I opened up the package, I was kind of like all...(See that? That was authentic California speech) Anyway, I was like...Hey! Neil Young? He's not that bad. There's two or three songs of his that I like, maybe more. I had to go though, before I could listen to it, but did today. It lasted five seconds before I popped it out. In Boz's note he said that it sounded like it was recorded in a bowling alley bar, which I think is hilarious because he means that it doesn't sound like it was recorded in a bowling alley, but the bar or a bowling alley. That's funny. Bowling alley bars are scary. Limbo-Awesome, but scary. As a test I'd like to become a patron of a bowling alley bar for two staright weeks. For no reason. Two weeks. Eating lujke warm nachos and playing electronic darts. I like bowling once or twice a year, I guess. I like bars better. I like bars once or twice every one or two days. If I watched a bar and a bowling alley get in a fight, I would hope that the bar would win. I knew that I would be the honest fucker that I am and write exactly what my first listen of the CD was like. I promised to myself listen to it later when I had more time, and now I can, but my girlfriend is asleep on the couch, so I'll have to tomorrow. You know what? I'm gonna do it anyway...just real low...hold on.............wait, ill put it in the computer....hmmmm....let me take out the stupid video game out....
And I'm an idiot. I spent the last five minutes looking for it by the stereo-and it was right by the computer....
Okay...you know what? I put it in and skipped the first song after a bit...but in the last 10 minutes or so, the CD was playing and I didn't really realize that I was listening to it. This Neil Young album sounds like a mosquito. On a camping trip. But you have the flu. And you're too weak to wave the mosquito away.
You know what? Maybe Boz meant that this sounds like music that you would hear AT a bowling alley bar. That makes sense too. Hmmmmm....
I would get shot if I tried to play some of these songs in front of people. But I bet you could do all punk covers of these songs. See? Like this one sounds SO much like a Ramones cover tune.
Done. Album bad. Operation a success. Wow. That was a really bad album...
Now, can anyone else tell me what one of the worst albums are that you own? And why haven't you gotten rid of it?
And why?...oh nothing...what a long day this was...
Friday, December 13, 2002
See What I get?...
For trying to be all Christ-massy?
I bought some Xmas cards in a Hallmark store the other day. A bunch of cards in a pack. The design on the outside didn't have any Jesus-stuff on it. The price was ridiculous, but was the least ridiculous compared to the rest. Underneath the card display it said that they'd print one free line for you. I bought the cards and had them say "Love Kevynn and Dawne" on the bottom of the card.
I picked them up before work today.
At this beautiful time of year,
we want to express
our appreciation for your business.
May your holidays be filled with
HOPE and JOY
and your new year with success.
Love, Kevynn and Dawne
It looks like the liquor store is getting a Christmas card this year.
Thursday, December 12, 2002
After the fight, or at least round one-I went to...
The Post Office.
Toy's R Us.
In N Out ( Thats a burger joint for those of you who don't know).
Stopped by a friend's house.
Found a new thrift store.
Went to the library.
Bought stuff at the grocery store.
AND had band practice.
We should argue more often, huh?
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Monday, December 09, 2002
Exchange presents. We should trade crap that we have in our houses. If yopu really want to...yopu? What the hell is that? A Pokemon character? Use this comments section to propose a Christmas trade. It's not that hard to stick some junk of yours and send it in the mail...no feces though. I want none of that. No ebola virus, no monkeys paw either...
Leave a comment and your email too...
We should...It'd be fun-you never know what you'll get from me...
Oh wait. I said no feces, huh?
Sunday, December 08, 2002
Just For Today...
It's hard to think that one day we won't be here. Tomorrow. Eighty years. Tonight...you may die. Maybe one morning your significant other will wake up, wondering where you are, grasping the empty section of the bed next to them, and then cry...realizing that you'll never be back. You're gone. Maybe a friend will be at work or driving down the street and be struck with a fleeting image of your face or reminded of something you said. A passerby will remind them of you and they'll think how long it's been since you left. Your dog or cat will always wander by the door, making noise, wondering when you're coming home. What will happen to everything that you own? Inherited? Tossed out with the trash? Separated and dispensed between different people? Sold? Will your writing eventually be lost? All of your precious books scattered? What happens to pictures and photo albums a hundred years from now? Do a couple of them wind up in a thrift store? One found in between the pages of a book? What will the person who found it think? Will he toss it or spend time looking at every detail? Wondering exactly where and who you were?
What do we do with today? What did I do important? Maybe nothing big. Maybe my whole life just changed in the last minute. Just as long as you can absorb any notable moment. No matter how big or small-isn't that something?
So, what do I do know? Me with these feelings and this not societally acceptable awareness that I've had forever that will never go away? What do I do with it now that I'm getting older and the days seem to passing by even faster than they did before? What do I do when it gets a little harder to tap into that wide-eyed, open wonder that used to be constant? How do I dismantle the filters that I installed inside my brain through time?
Writing, I guess. Any activity. Remembering to look up at the sky like I always used to. Saying hello to the weeds growing in between the cracks of the sidewalks. Giving my cat an extra pat on the head and spending even more time with my girlfriend. Laughing louder. Driving faster? No, maybe not. Looking forward to tomorrow and to the last moments of tonight. Realizing that this crazy, expensive month, this Christmas, and all of our supposed worries that we had today are actually blessings that we're taking for granted. Damn, look at the stuff we're arguing or fretting about right now. Everything is...I don't know. Everything just...is. And that's it.
Someday I'll be forgotten and everything around me will disappear. Covered up, changed, overlooked or ignored. Everything so important won't matter. All that matters is that I did it. Whatever that was. Loving. Life. Raising children. Raising havoc. Raisin chickens? I just wrote Raisin Chickens...they come from grapes, you know...
Just for today?...
Have fun. Be nice. Smack somebody around who's being stupid or mean to anybody undeserving. Be aware of your surroundings and become an addition to the beauty of it. Whether it's by saying hi to the neighbor's dog out loud or by blowing up the Death Star, Luke...Save a rain forrest or go to a bar and introduce yourself to the opposite sex as Forrest. Forrest Guuummmp.
So...just for today?
Open your eyes.
Have intercourse with your heart and soul.
Time is passing, folks...so catch it, punks.
And don't poop your pants...because that really smells...and it's a bitch to clean up.
Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Phlegm...
Whoever got me sick deserves to be kicked in the crotch. Well, I'm not really that sick, I've just felt like crap for the last couple days. I know it was one of you I-Don't-Cover-My-Mouth-When-I-Cough Cretins. You suck. Bastards. Makin' me all sniffly and poo-headed. Eat it. I'm already getting better though, so there.
I need another beer...
Friday, December 06, 2002
Not to be mean...
But Strom Thurmond just turned 138 or something, and in the paper there was a picture of him now, and a picture of him from 1957. Hey-is that how you spell his name? Really? Strom? Or is it really Storm? Is he one of the X-Men? Did he attend The Xaviers Institute of Higher Learning? Ummm....
Anyway. He's old. Like I said, not to be mean-I'll be lucky to live that long and he's probably healthier than me. I bet I pee my pants alot more than he does. I started to feel a little guilty for ragging on the guy-I don't even know what he did/does...until I read this..."Strom holds the record for the longest-ever speech in the Senate, a 24-hour, 18-minute magnum opus filibuster in opposition to the 1957 Civil Rights Act. He was also the author of the 1956 “Southern Manifesto” against Brown v. Board of Education." Say goodbye to my guilt.
But, have you ever seen a picture of someone...your parents, an actor, anybody-and been amazed at how different or how good that person looked? Especially if it's a black and white photo. I almost typed porno. You notice alot of similarities between the old and young pictures, but sometimes the person looks hot or pretty bad-ass. My parent's don't count because they looked like movie stars in old photos I've seen and still look pretty good. My father especially. Sorry mom. Not that you can read this anyway. I sound like Eminem.There are a small handful of people who never seem to age. But they don't count because they're weird and most normal mortals will never get the chance to trade their soul to the devil, let alone meet him. To be accurate, there are some people who have always looked like shit. These can't be helped and we don't need to talk about them. They're in the McDonald's drive-thru lane honking their horn at the car in front of them, telling them to hurry up.
I know I was rambling and really didn't prove any point. All I'm trying to say is that it's amazing sometimes how fifty years, sometimes even five years can really affect a person's looks. So, lets look at ourselves in the mirror. To be honest, im not entirrely dissatisfied with what I see in the mirror, some days are better than others. Geez, some months are better than others. I know both of my parents have aged well. But when my Satan-Spawn-I mean, children look at pictures of me from this year, are they going to freak the fuck out? Are they going to think that I once actually looked okay? That I looked like I used to actually do things and not just sit around the house all day losing my teeth and my fucking marbles? Are they going to find it hard to believe that I used to talk to people? Because first thing I'm going to do when I become a senior citizen is to shut the hell up. If I want to communicate with people, I'll just draw them little stick figure doodles. They can try to figure it out if they want.
We'll see, I guess. But it sucks cuz' half of you wont be around to laugh at me when I shave my head and paint my face purple. I'll wear a shirt that says "Mr. Pruney Jack Ass."
Or maybe I'll just walk around the mall with a shirt that says "I got to third base with your grandmother!"
Or maybe I'll just fly uninvited to any of my grown up children's houses and when they answer the door, I'll point my finger at their faces and start to cackle. Then toss my cane in the tree, throw my fecal matter at their dog, do that leap where you click your heels in the air, strip down to my Depends and then run down the street...
Or maybe I'll die in my sleep tonight and we won't have to bother with any of this...
Thursday, December 05, 2002
When I Had Long Hair...
People used to say I looked like that guy Nuno from that crappy band, Extreme. Damn. Or that I looked like Lou Diamond Phillips or that I just plain looked like shit.
Now I get Harry Potter all the time or a skinny Clark Kent.
Better than people telling you that you look like Ellen Degeneres, I guess...
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
What A BeeYatch...
No, not Michael Jackson or his spider nemesis. So, my girlfriend just came home from visiting about eight stores to look for kitchen stool satan seat covers or something. Nothing in her hands. I asked her how the affair she's having is going. She asked me how my other girlfriend is. She's fine. Forget about that, check out what she just told me.
I guess my girlfriend and a woman were both looking at the same cream seat covers except that there was only one pack of three left. Four come in a pack. Somebody must have taken one out to look at it, like people do in stores sometimes. My girlfriend found the stray one from the pack a little later and...HID IT.
Yeah, tucked it away somewhere. Later she ends up seeing the lady in the store again and they have a long conversation about seat-thingys and tells my girlfriend that she can have the last pack if she wants because she can't find the other one. Then my girlfriend went outside to the pay phone to ask her mother some question about something and then ended up going home because the girl on the pay phone next to her was screaming fuck you and restraining order into the phone repeatedly and at top volume.
My girlfriend left.
Someone's getting coal in their karma stocking this Christmas...
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
I Love The Damn, Fuckin' Library...
Oh, and thrift stores too. After work I bought a crapload of cheap books, but I won't tell you what most of them were because you'll laugh at me. Hey, they were only a quarter each...I also got a couple of books at the library. Prey by Micheal Chrichton and the Nanny Diaries by some crap head. I rented two movies also...Portrait Of A Lady with Nicole Kidman and...Zero Effect with Ben Stiller. I got two comic books also. See, I'm spoiled...my library has comic books.
I also saw your mom.
She says hi, and to send more money.
She needs new shoes.
Monday, December 02, 2002
Writing, like all forms of expression, can be a pain in the Mons Pubis. The first story I remember writing was when I was five, I think. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree while my father tried to be sneaky and take pictures of me. I have that picture around here somewhere. Beatles mop top hair, khaki pants, skinny as hell. Writing a story about a giant, red robot named Maxmillian. I read it to my shitty-ass older brother later that night and he accused me of stealing the idea from the movie Black Hole. I denied it. I lied, but who cares?
Writing kind of sucks. Once the sick urge infects you, there's no getting rid of it-you're always going to feel like you should be doing it. You'll feel guilty for not doing it or for wasting ideas, and if you're like me, you'll go through intense, sporadics periods of productivity and then slog through a desert of uncreative poo.
Like now. I'm in the desert. That's okay, though. I don't care as much as I used to. I can't sit in a tiny rented room and write twenty to thirty pages full of shit anymore. I try to focus on the quality not the quantity, I tell myself now. That's bullshit, I think. I just don't write as much. I'm not as angst-ridden, I'm more patient and more willing to write when I can, and accept the day as a success if I just wrote anything. That's why writing all of this crud is good. If I'm not going to tackle the big Kevynn Malone projects then at least I can still tackle something when I'm being a lazy punk. It's like getting sacked in a football game and then hitting the waterboy over the head as you make your way to the bench to recuperate.
My spelling sucks. Syntax horrible. I have Frankenstein punctuation. Actually, If Yoda was a writer-I'd be him. Writing, of yours...good-it is not...yesssss? Why does Yoda sound like a snake? I don't know. I've ditched all of my schooling. My earlier literary influences didn't help much either. Mr. Kerouac-No-Punctuation-Don't Stop. Bukowski's poetry. Morrison poetry. Allen Ginsberg-Miasmic-Mess-Of-Form. Hustler reader responses. Ah, but I've done all right considering. I've done some good stuff. I like my ideas and what I've done with them. I'll never be the best writer in the world and who would want to be? I'm content to excrete my own shit and fertilize my life the only way I know how...slowly and with relish. Grimacing and feeling pleasure at the same time...
I'll be rich and famous one day. Everyone else can erase my mistakes. I'll just keep on creating them. After puking my guts out and visiting my harem, of course. And if I ever run out of ideas, I'll just write about Star Wars...
Now What The Hell Was That All About?...
Checking this before work and I couldn't get it to load.
My web site would come up as the archives for Que Sera Sera.
Not that bad, I guess. At least it was linking to something good.
It could've been embarrasing and linked to my midget porn picture link.
Nothing against midgets and porn...
Sunday, December 01, 2002
Small Friggin' World...
Video Store. See Michelle and some guy. She ran up and scared me as I was perusing the childrens videos. I had a Hamtaro-something-or-other thing in my hand. No, not in my butt-thank you, Mr. Gere. Where the hell did the Richard Gere hamster/butt thing start anyway. How, I mean? Damn, that rumor's old-but is there validity to every rumor? It has to start somewhere, right? He was probably shopping for a pet and an employee probably dropped one down his pants by accident. I don't know. Saw Amanda and Mark. I didn't think it was her. I started to run up to her and scare her but then put on my brakes and stopped in the middle of the new releases because I had second thoughts. I back-pedaled and started to cough her name out really loud. It was her. I put a Grease DVD in her hand and told her to buy it. After the video store Dawne and I went to the grocery store to pick up Beer (me), cigarettes (me), and aluminum foil (us). As we were leaving we saw Amy. Made fun of each other. She said I smelled like tuna. What the hell? Do I? Tell me. Do I smell like tuna? As we were leaving I spotted Amy's car and fucked with her windshield wipers, like I always do. I love my annoying humor. Too bad nobody else does. Went home, Mark (another one) and Nadia came over and gave me glasses from Spaghetti Factory. We watched a bunch of horrible, old movies that I made. They left. Amy called and left a message saying that she knew that I would see her car and fuck with her windshield wipers. Yup. That was the last couple of hours.
So now, what should I watch?
Reign Of Fire or Attack Of The ClonesAttack Of The Clones?
Tell me now or I'll kick you in the crotch...
Platypus, Cookie-puss, and Sisyphus...
Sunday is for sleeping, but trying to get up early.
Ummm...probably not writing, even though I want to.
I have to call April and have her come over so that I can rub her pregnent belly. I want to whisper dirty things into her navel.
Not turn on the t.v. unless it's Star Wars related.
Not turn on this computer unless it's really late.
Feed my cat.
Fuel my fire.
Quench my desire.
There's no band practice cuz' Ryan's in France-the bastard.
I'll need to pick up an L.A. Times.
Pick up some lollipops to give to random children.
I need to let it loose.
Eat pie in the sky.
Wear something other than black.
Pretend I'm black.
Pretend I'm white.
Waste the day.
Create waste as a consumer or fecal-wise.
Listen to music.
Play in the park.
Play with myself.
Play Bocce ball.
Playfully tweak your nipple.
Lick me til' your tongue hurts. I'd appreciate it...
Saturday, November 30, 2002
When The Time Comes...
We will need to see this movie.
Ouch? What the hell was that? Jeezuz! Pain in my chest. Damn, I'm too young to die. Conan's on-not the conquerer. The talk show host. The body's kind of weird. Slapping you around every once in awhile. Pain here, eye twitch there. Zit. Rash. Erection.
You know, all that stuff, right?
Thursday, November 28, 2002
I Suck...And I Don't Care...
So, I talk about trying to not eat meat.
I Rag on fat people, fast food culture and I hate t.v.
Well, I just saw a Burger King commercial advertising talking Simpsons watches.
All you have to do is buy a value meal...
I am so there, Bubba!!! I'm going to order five of every single version and run around the store yelling, "THIS" and punching obese people in their bellies.
This is a good thing.
Hail To The King, Baby...
Whoomp! Here I am. Finished my last post-based-on-reader-comments-thing. Fun? Yes. Glad it's over? Yes? Was the last one a good one? No. Do I care? Ahhh...no. I'm glad Thanksgiving is over. I'm a waiter. I suck. I used to have a good writing job for a fancy-schmancy company and got treated like a baby. Fed for free and flown on skiing trips. A bunch of good shite. No more. Now I pretend to care how your $150 meal was. So, today I worked. Left as quick as I could. Went to the store. Came home. Called Father Malone. Talked about various stuff. Called my sis, Sindy. Read. Wrote. Played on the computer. Girlfriend came home. Now I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Drinking a beer, Phantom Menace is on t.v., and I'm pretending to write. This is a good ending to an otherwise poo-filled day.
Love my butt, please. Thank you.
1 . Most scientists recognize 17 species of penguins (del Hoyo, et al., 1992):
- Emperor Aptenodytes Forsteri -- Class of penguin that helped sway Anakin Skywalker to the dark side...
- King Aptenodytes Patagonicus -- Made good music. Got Fat. Produced a kid that could kiss Micheal Jackson...
- Adélie Pygoscelis Adeliae -- Was Early Grace's girlfriend in Kalifornia...
- Gentoo Pygoscelis Papua -- Lesbian penguin that has to bring her girlfriend everywhere...
- Chinstrap Pygoscelis Antarctica -- Football Jock Penguin.
- Rockhopper Eudyptes Chrysocome -- Lives in New Mexico, does psychedelic drugs...
- Macaroni Eudyptes Chrysolophus -- Smokes alot of pot, still lives at home with his mother...
- Royal Eudyptes Schlegeli -- Penguin who dies in a tunnel or writes this website...
- Fiordland Crested Eudyptes Pachyrhynchus -- Ummm...like a penguin that enjoys water and land bridges and stuff...sorry...
- Erect-Crested Eudyptes Sclateri -- Viagra penguin
- Snares Island Eudyptes Robustus -- Likes to set traps penguin? Sorry, again...
- Yellow-Eyed Megadyptes Antipodes -- Penguin with Jaundice...
- Fairy (also known as little blue) Eudyptula Minor -- Penguin who dresses real nice...
- Magellanic Spheniscus Magellanicus -- Portugese penguin who first circumnavigated the globe by sea...
- Humboldt Spheniscus Humboldti -- Penguin who grows the best weed...
- African (formerly known as black-footed) Spheniscus Demersus -- Penguin who still thinks Spike Lee is a good director...
- Galapagos Spheniscus Mendiculus -- Vonnegut Penguin...
Lame, yes...Sorry. I was going originally going to write about The Penguin from the Batman comic books and then talk about what a psycho Batman is, but this was easier-so lick it, Brian!...
Okay. No more. That whole 'write me a word' experiment was harder than I thought it would be. Next time I'll just ask for nudie pictures in the mail...
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
Chow reminds me of Chow Yun Fat, the not-obese, Chinese action film star, and Chow reminds me of food. Hey, Thanksgiving, yoyoyo! I know that all of you are going to scream-especially all of my fellow fat ol' Americans. Especially Southern Californians, but...I...HATE...TO...EAT...( no, I'm not a super model, but I will be if you pay me ). Everybody likes food. Loves food. Food can't come fast enough for us. We all wish for bigger mouths so that we can jam as much shit in there as possible.
Okay. Dogs, right? We've seen them eat. They gobble, they inhale their food. This is an instinctual behavior. If they didn't eat their food fast enough in the wild or out on the prarie, another wild dog or Laura ingalls would grab it. I think that's why human beings and all of society gets so crazy, possesive, and fat about food. We're programmed to hoard and eat as much of it as we can. Yes, I know we also had to hunt, preserve, and store our food back then, but that was all learned behavior.
I am not the biggest fan of food. Yes, there are things to eat that I absolutely love, but I won't go all ape shit over it. Ill buy it. Maybe. There are preferences that I have. I will knock you over the head for your steak. Maybe your beer too. But otherwise? Feh! Food and the whole obligatory act of ingesting it is a necessary evil to me.
It's something that we all have to do, but I make a meal last as short as possible to me. This doesn't make me a fast food eater, I actually don't like the majority of the chains out here-it usually makes me feel ill or lethargic. Putting beef flavoring in the meat because it's lost it's natural taste in the processing doesn't help them either. Deforesterazation and excessive water waste too.
Eating is such a social behavior, no wonder the majority of us look like Alfred Hitchcock. Ask people what they did today ( not counting this day/Thanksgiving ) and they'll say, "Oh, Ryan and I went to McShitBurg" What does that mean? I didn't ask you where you went to eat, I asked you what you did today. Did you ride your skateboard around town?, offer candy to kids?, dangle them over a balcony? If we didn't do anything-then we should say nothing. But we think that we're doing something by engaging in the act of eating. I know, I know, some of the greatest times that I've had have been around some table somewhere over something-but I don't count it as an activity. I count it as trying to make something out of nothing due to the hilarious conversations of my friends. Dates? Eating. Meetings? Eating.
I like to poop. Serious. Sorry if this is too gross for you, but I love to poop. It's fun. I'll stay in there forever. Reading, thinking, whatever. Defecation/evacuation ( Alright everybody, evacuate! hee hee! ) is just as natural and enjoyable of a process as eating right? That's just as natural and necessary of a process. So why don't we hold business meeting in communal bathrooms? Because you can't order the poop that you want and it never comes when it's supposed to, huh? Why don't we ever have a first date in a bathroom with some nice atmosphere and some fancy music and then maybe catch a romantic comedy afterwards? "Gee, Kevynn-thanks for taking me to the bathroom tonight-it was great!"
Now this is making me hungry. I have to go. Girlfriend has to use the computer...and don't send me freeze-dried poop in the mail. Yam-chips are okay though...and...uh...yo mama...
Great. Thanks, Ichi-wawa. What a word. All that I needed to know about philosophy, I learned in kidney-garden-to kind of quote that Robert Fulghum guy. I remember that I had a cool teacher in philosophy. He was funny, bald, and happened to miss his classes the same weeks that I did. Yes! It was World Philosophy. What, as opposed to New York City philosophy? Orange County philosophy? Actually that does make sense, doesn't it? There is a difference.
Existentialism? Making me did up the old books that aren't around now that I need them. Existentialism evolved as a school of philosophy, borrowing from others, while never completely rejecting past ideals.
Kierkegaard -- humans suffer a deep anxiety because they cannot be certain of anything, of any meaning.
Nietzsche -- not only is there no logic to existence, but the truly strong person rises and masters the absurdity of life.
Existentialism is a paradox, as Sartre came to describe it -- an attempt to live logically in a universe that is ultimately absurd.
So what does this mean? Nothing. It means...enjoy yourself on Thanksgiving Day. Enjoy the moment. Everything will be back to it's crazy-ass self the next day or when the relatives leave. Don't eat the yams, either...because they suck...
Stupid-ass yams. Yams are retarded. Yams are wrong. They're sweet! What the hell? If it looks like a potato, it should taste like one. I am God, and that's my new law. That'll be my eleventh commandment. Thou shalt not eat nasty yams. I'm gonna buy a yam tomorrow and burn it in the backyard in protest. Do you only eat free-range yams? Yams are like the distant, red neck cousin of the wonderful potato. If I had a gun, I'd shoot a yam next time I saw one. I'm a yam racist. I'm anti-yam. I'm going to buy the web domain Godhatesyams.com. I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam...stupid Popeye.
Love, Jean Claude Van Yam...
Was there ever a man named Plethora? Was he the inventor of excessiveness? Was his house a mess and full of useless crap like my room is? Was he friends with Pythagoras? Did he drink much? If you asked him for a book of matches, would he pull out a drawer filled with them? He must've had a HUGE porn collection...
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
First I was going to write a story about me on a hunt for sexually-starved blondes. Then I changed it to a story about piloting a ship towards a planet called Alpha Blondy. Then I was going to tell a tale about fighting a wrestling jock. I just couldn't get passed the "Bloody" oops! not bloody- I couldn't get past the "Blondy" spelling. I wanted "Blondie" even though it's not really a word-but I really shouldn't mind because I make up my own words when I write anyway. So I found the real Alpha Blondy's website and it's not bad at all. Well, I only heard the song that plays at the beginning of the website. It made me realize that I don't have jack-shit when it comes to reggea in my music collection. Not even the obligatory Bob Marley's Greatest Hits CD. Doesn't everyone? But you don't have any Atari Teenage Riot, do you? Nope. I'll get this guy's CD. Now everybody get Atari Teenage Riot...
Attu, this is the fucking funniest thing I have ever seen...this thingy.
Sad Story. Years ago I once needed money so bad that I sold a whole Darth Vader case of Star Wars figures to a guy who placed an ad in the paper. I think that I sold them for two bucks a piece, which netted me about forty much-needed bucks, but is still very sad when you think about it. Two bucks for a Power Droid? How? Two bucks for a Gammorean Guard? Why? Two bucks for Mon Mothma? Weeeeeelllll...that seemed about right.
Mon Mothma sucked. She was one of those weird-ass figures that they had that no kid really wanted-but somehow managed to get at Christmas or on a birthday. Mon Mothma looked like an action figure of somebody's really religious, anal-retentive stepmom or something.
So she might have been at the top of all time shitty Star Wars action figures to have. God, she was boring. I don't remember her having a weapon-maybe just a gay-old staff or something. She wasn't even hot looking, so Chewbacca humping her in the back of the Millenium Falcon wasn't even a redeeming option for her plasticky existence.
But I guess as far as Star Wars geek-dom goes, she wasn't pretty looking, but still pretty much a bad ass in the whole Star Wars universe. To the big ol' bad and evil Empire, she was a problem. She became disillusioned with the Empire and left to foment a rebellion against them. Enter Luke, Leia, Han, Chewy, your mom, etc...to save the universe.
Monday, November 25, 2002
Anybody who writes ONE word of their choosing in the comments section of this post will get the next post(s) written about their ONE word.
I hope that made sense because I'm not going to write it over, baby.
It'll make me stop reading these damn, old comic books anyway...
Go ask Wil-He'll tell you too. We get these winds out here that suck my big fat one to quote Stand By Me. What did he say in that? Suck my fat one, you cheap dime-store prick? Was that it? Anyway, these stupid Santa Ana winds ( I don't know why they call them that-Santa Ana is a city out here-what, do they come from there or something? ) They're the kind of winds that wreak havoc on those with sensitive noses like mine. It feels like somebody stuffed a couple of chopsticks up into my brain and turned on the snot faucets. Sorry. Gross. I tend to sneeze alot. I'm not the type that sneezes once either. Or like a little mouse like some of you-that always drives me crazy with jealousy. I sneeze HARD. FAST and FURIOUS. Yeah, if Vin Diesel was a series of about five sneezes in a row followed by thirty others...that'd be what his next movie would be called...I don't care if that made any sense. My nose is buggin' the crap out of me.
So A Customer Asked Me The Other Day...
Where I would want to live in the United States if I didn't live in California.
Somewhere like Montana. Definitely. Even though I've never been there, it just sounds good. Looks good to me from what I've seen. I want a ranch in Montana. A modest one with some horses. No cattle. Some chickens. Some Werewolves to fight. I want to walk around my ranch. Help my hired man out with some of the chores. Sit around on the front porch and smoke and drink and write. And I'll use "AND" all of the time in my writing. And I won't use proper punctuation-I'll have the fancy-schmancy east coast editor do all of that. I'll fly in friends whenever they want, or they can just raise a ruckus in the guest house. I want some lemon trees too. I don't think that's possible there-but I'll want fresh lemonade. AND to do that-I'll build a geo-dome thingy. Yeah, that's it. And I'll run around naked, dressed in war paint. With all of my dogs, who will help me fight all of the Werewolves...
Sounds good to me...
Friggin' 80's people...
Have you noticed all of the recent "celebrities" that have been in trouble the last couple of weeks or so?
Micheal Jackson-he's kind of an 80's icon, right?
Anyone else I forgot?
Hulk Hogan getting arrested for prostitution?
Alf for tax evasion?
Martha Quinn...um...I don't know...doing something? Anything?
I hated the eighties. I really did.
Sunday, November 24, 2002
So, I Think...
That the "X" in "X-Mas" is a greek definition for Christ. So what does the "Mas" mean? Well, I know that it means "more" in spanish. So does that mean that if you're from a greek/mexican background that you're wishing everybody a Happy CHRIST MORE? More Christ? Mount Christmore? I don't need more Christ in my life, thankyouverymuch...
Anyway, I'm not that excited about Christ More coming up. I had some cool Christmasses (sp?) when I was young and when my weirdo parents were still together. Everything pretty much went to hell after I turned seven. A cute thing about my mother and father was that they thought that you had to have all of the Star Wars figures that were displayed in a little action panorama on the box. So they wouldn't quit until they found all of the figures. Every once in awhile, they couldn't find one and would apologize to me or my older brother and promise to find the figure after Christmas. My brother and I would say okay and give each other a look that said. Shut up. Don't tell them.
We all became pretty poor after my mother left. Then Christmas was always either a long-ass road trip to Texas or quiet mornings at our house. My father is a 5 a.m. riser. My brother and I were not. My brother was such a sleeper that if I tried to wake him up, even on Xmas-he'd tell me to fuck off and to leave him alone. The house smelled like coffee. My father always did the stockings kind of cool. Tangerines, Walnuts. Candy. Toothpaste, and as we got older underarm deodorant too. And a barbeque briquette. Ha Ha. Coal, get it? That was my Pa.
i'm gonna sneeezz.......ee....oh...okay maybe not....
Um...as I got older, I just started to ask for simple things because all kids want totally expensive shit when they start to grow up and most of us knew that we weren't going to get it. So we all just asked for a specific sweater, boardgame, skateboard-whatever. My father played Christmas music. That was always nice.
As I got older, older. I don't remember any Christmasses from sophmore year of high school on. I, by then, would usually try to get out of the house as soon as I could, to go hang out with friends. We'd wander around the city and not really do anything. I got booted after I turned eighteen ( did you see that coming? ), and all holidays became different. My older brother was already gone. I don't know where he was by then. My older half bro and sis always lived on the east coast. My father and sister moved to Texas. If I didn't visit my sister in Texas, I always spent the holidays in whatever dingy-ass apartment that I was staying in. My roomates would always leave to go to their parent's house and I had the place to myself. Which I grew to like. The day before, if I had the money-I would stock up on videos, beer and porn. No, just kidding-no porn. Maybe a t.v. dinner. A turkey one just for the poetic aspect of it. I'd write. I'd drink. It was actually kind of peaceful. My apartment complex was always deserted. Eerie, but nice.
After about seven p.m., a stray friend or two would start to filter in, usually laden with heaping amounts of leftovers for me. Friend's mother's always ask about me during the holidays-but my friends knew me so well they'd just tell their ma's that Kevynn likes to be alone for the holidays. It was never my choice, but I grew to like it. LOVE it. See, when my friends always came over to my place they were always tired because they had to drive some long-ass way away or put up with all of the family bullshit/talk/problems, etc. They were always itching to have a beer or something and by that time I was already drunk or happy that I got to go on a walk or write alot or watch a couple of movies.
So Christmas to me was never about family, it was just always a day ot two off of work and the chance to have a private Kevynn party. That's why I'm so low-key about it. I don't have to buy many presents. Just friend presents and that usually doesn't break you. Holidays are mellow times for me. Which is just the way I like it.
Now it's changed. I have a girlfriend. She has a family and now her family is my family. That's the way that it goes with them. And I like it. Im not ungrateful. They are all really cool and are very close-knit. I'm not used to it. Definitely not used to having to talk to grandparents and stuff for hours and having to eat around everybody and make polite talk and what-not. There is no way in hell I will ever be able to spend the holidays by myself anymore. Unless she breaks up with me or I chop off her head and throw it in a ditch or something. Like I said, her family is my family now, and I put up with her past and her crazy-ass upbringing-she has really put up with mine...
So I miss the old ones that meant nothing and now look forward to those that do, right?
I bought myself a Christmas present already...
You wanna see?
I'll Say This Before You Get All Busy On Me...
But I'm not excited about Christmas. Have I ever been? I don't know. Like all of us, I was back when I was a kid. But my yule tide cheer was probably due more to my expected Star Wars presents than anything else.
You know what?
I'll write this tomorrow...or in 10 hours or so. It's 4:18 a.m., "Herculoids" is on Cartoon Network. It's late. I'm glad today is over, I want to get back to that dream that I had last night. I was flittin' around, gliding more like it-like a vampire in a big mansion and had to sleep in the basement. I had a couple of close calls where I almost died in the mansion by falling off things and I remember that my friend's mother was in charge and didn't wan't me to be there. I remember looking at her butt and thinking that it looked out-of-shape.
Oh. I bought a big pack of candy canes at the store yesterday, That was my Xmas contribution. All of the grocery store employees were standing right by me and started to make fun of me because I had the candy canes, a 12-pack of beer, gummy worms, cigarettes, and cranberry juice. One guy asked where the vodka was and I said that it was at "their mama's!" One guy laughed. The other two didn't say anything. The checker girl just looked impatient.
I want to float around again.
Friday, November 22, 2002
I was going to sleep....
But There's an earthquake going on right NOW....
Whole lotta shakin goin' on, bee-yatch....
i'm not kidding. This beer to my left is shaking....
That's why you should never go to sleep....look! the lamps are swinging a bit....
See? You miss all of the good stuff....
And remember, folks...
It's friday today-So this weekend, don’t do drugs that’ll make you smell like a hippie, cause holes to appear in your head, or make you want to fight the local law enforcement. Don’t have sex with anybody that Bill Clinton wouldn’t touch and don’t dangle anything out of a balcony unless it’s your penis or a child of Micheal Jackson's.
By the way, My neighbors just gave me twenty boxes of Jell-o....
What do you think I should do with it?
Update! More Important Than...
Shaq's big toe,
Micheal Jackson dangling his baby clones off of balconies,
As I promised Saara, I would use the word..."Pussy" in conversation today.
I wrote a "P" with a pen on my left hand before work. Well, I forgot cuz' it was all smeared after awhile-BUT! I did remember before I had to go. But I was working with all guys. They wouldn't even flinch if you just said that you had sex with a chicken. All they'd say is, "did the chicken have big tits?" So I worked it into a conversation with a customer. Or two customers, I should say. I asked how they were, they said that they were fine and the girl asked how I was. Here's the moment folks...here's where I actually said "Pussy" to a couple of complete strangers at work and wasn't using the whole "Cat" term.
After she asked how I was? I pretended to look around and said that it was kind of slow. Yeah, we noticed that, they said. Yeah...That's when I "Pussed Out" and showed them my notepad with the kind of cool picture on it...
That's when I kind of blurted out too fast, "See, I just drew a Platypus-see?" The gal leaned over to see it and the guy looked at me kind of weird. I said SEE twice and I said it too fast and I think that the girl only looked at it becuase I kind of thrust it in her face a bit. The guy was a freak anyway. I cheated though. But I did it. It was either that or tell them the dumb golfing joke that I know that ends with the word "Pussy Willows" in the end.
So if I write the word "PUSSY" one more time and the name of my site is called Fat Free Milk, what kind of Google searches are going to show on my site meter in the next couple of weeks?
Thursday, November 21, 2002
But do you think Micheal Jackson ever dangled Macaulay Culkin
over a four story balcony in Berlin?
Did Culkin get an eerie sense of deja-vu watching video of it?
Was Micheal actually throwing the baby to a disguised but anxious Culkin down below?
Maybe they planned to meet up later after Culkin ditched the crowd. Then what? I don't know.
Micheal looks like a cat. Now his children, Prince 1 and 2
and whatever the hell the other's name is,
have to wear veils over their heads too. What?
I know why though. They actually aren't his kids.
They're all clones, see? Micheal's falling apart, so he had not one but three made.
Two boys. One girl. Whichever. Then he'll have his essence transferred to the
appropriate host/body when it's voice reaches full maturity.
I'm a genius. Thank you.
I Was Paying The $150 Cable Bill...
Actually, I was trying to pay the damn bill but there was a line.
I was after two skinny teenagers with spiky hair, two angry black guys,
and a fat, chipmunk-y lookin' noisy mother and son.
I don't mind waiting, it's my fault-I'm the guy doing the same thing that
everyone else is doing on my lunch brreak, so it's my own fault.
I watched some of "Big Fat Liar" with that Frankie Munchkin Monkey Munez-
whatever his name is from "Malcolm In The Middle".
Well, they had a computer there set up in the corner.
I got on after angry lookin' black guy no. 2 was done.
It had internet access so I checked out this site.
Does that make me a geek? Probably. I didn't think about writing something
In the comments until I left. Oh, and I also didn't bring enough money,
so I still have about thirty left on the balance.
That also left me broke so I couldn't go to the comic book store.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Another Reason Why I'm A Bad Boyfriend...
Like I said, I was watching the Victoria's Secret fashion show thingy.
My girlfriend's sick, so I was going to re-soak a compress for her,
on my way to the sink I look at the t.v. and say, "Damn, did you see her vagina?"
Romance is dead, folks.
I don't Care...
But besides a documentary about Chimpanzees using twigs as termite-fishing tools,
I don't know what could be better than a Victoria's Secret fashion show on t.v. right now.
Well, maybe a Victoria's Secret Porno on t.v.
Well, maybe a Victoria's Secret Porno/Radiohead concert/Thundercats/Dean Martin/Twilight Zone marathon....
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
I went to the library before paying the phone bill
and found a Poet In Exile and Everything's Eventual. Cool.
Rented 2001 A Space Odyssey and What Dreams May Come.
Did you know that they have DVD's at my library? Spoiled, huh?
God, I used to spend so much time there. I still live close, I used to live real close.
I could've probably run there in a minute and a half. You can never really know a library
unless you have the chance to visit one at least once a week. I used to go there so much that
a couple of the younger clerks that worked there used to give me my movies for free and erase my library fines.
There were a couple of girls that worked there that I thought were cute.
I picked up Anne Of Green Gables once.
Loved it. Gay, I know. So, one day I was looking in the childrens literature section to search for the next book-
and up came hot-library-clerk no. 2, strolling her little cart around right by me.
So I left real quick and wound up pretending to be interested in Danielle Steele novels.
Which is worse?
I don't know.
Oh, this is for Saara.
She's my number one fan, y' know. That's why everybody should always write me back in the comments sections.
Cuz' you get presents from me, bitch.
Sunday, November 17, 2002
Why You Should Give Me A Million Dollars....
I get a call from my girlfriend's manager from work.
I joked, "What'd-she do, fall down the stairs and hit her head?"
She sprained her elbow falling down the stairs. Either I'm psychic or I know that she's clumsy.
In my last post, I was going to title it "A Pizza Without Pepperoni Is Just A Cheese Pizza"
but named it "Rooney Eats It" instead. Next day, I go to Sarah's site and see her post.
It confused me. I thought maybe she read mine and it inspired her to write about
Ferris Bueller's Day Off or something but I didn't get what everyone else was commenting about.
Rooney got in trouble. Pee-Wee too! It's Jambi's fault-the green-headed bastard.
So, I'm psychic.
So, give me money.
So...look at THIS.
So, You'll like it, punk.
See? I knew you'd like it.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
Rooney Eats It...
See? I'm not even a good vegetarian. I tried and only lasted for about 14 hours.
Most of those passed while I was asleep. I did good at work until it was time to go home today.
I just ordered some food to take home. Some sauteed artichoke hearts and a chicken breast.
Yeah, I know it sounds gay, but it's good-so suck it! Anyway, I was talking to someone
when I realized that I was just eating chicken. All of the cooks started to laugh at me because
they thought that it was too hot for me and I burned my mouth. Then they strated to laugh
harder when they found out that I forgot not to eat meat. I knew it would happen. See?
I love meat. Love animals. Love the taste of them too.
Hate how some are treated to get to my plate.
I respect vegetarianism and all, it'd be kind of hard
in this mass media/consumer-driven society
to be a full-fledged vegan-but more power to those who try.
I mean the one's that really try.
You want to know how to rule the world?
Bottle up the smell of a steak on the barbecue.
That's the most powerful smell in the world.
I've seen people weep when the smoke hits their nostrils.
My veggie friends get a glazed look to their eyes at get-togethers,
and it's not because of the PCP and Crack we smoke while we're at them.
I turn into a dumb neanderthal.
Well...more neanderthalic, I should say when steak's around.
I'm not going to try again. I give up. I'll just eat less of it. Stupid PETA. Thanks for nuthin'.
I will eat human flesh though if given the opportunity...
dipped in ranch dressing.
Naps Are Evil...
I didn't even mean to take one last night but after I ate I started to nod off.
I stayed up late the night before trying to figure out how to add
those permanent link thingys on the left side of this site.
I woke up groggy and then tried to go to bed at 2 a.m.
I tried to watch cartoons until the sleep hit me. It never did.
I had to eventually turn it off and started to fall asleep when the gardners came at 6 a.m.
I swear they know I'm in my bedroom. I could even hear the air repeatedly whooshing in the cracks of the window seal.
They were yelling to each other and whooshing the window forever. They know I'm an insomniac, I swear.
What'd I ever do to them? Do they know that my father used to work for Border Patrol, is that it?
I'll try to get some sleep tonight. Maybe I'll call somebody on the phone. That always does it for me...
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
I Scream, I Scream...
I tend to sit around and not do anything.
I don't know where this came from.
I used to be productive, I swear.
I am lazy now, I guess.
I've always been a hyper active kid.
I used to write alot. Now I do sporadically at best.
I never get anything down that's important or that
I need to professionally.
I've been telling myself that I need to just do it.
I need to ignore evrybody and everything like
I used to and just become the insane madman that
I used to be. Yeah, your health and all relationships suffer but
I never used to let it affect me when
I was done, so why should
I let it get in the way now?
I think that as
I'm watching time do it's job, life is becoming more of a job to me.
I don't feel the fiery burn in the scribbling fingers.
I don't feel the need to get it all down anymore...because
I used to try. All the time. And
I liked it, yes. But
I've either said it before or
I will put it down later...and if
I don't care...
I'll write later...
I need to pee...
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
Scared me there for a minute. This thing wasn't working.
See, Isn't that cool when I do this? Then I can sound like William Shatner.
There's something on the wing!
First I thought HACKER, cuz' I'm a paranoid BeeYATCH,
then I thought that Blogger shut me off cuz' they know I suck,
then I thought that I was a big ol' wuss for even feeling the moment of panic that I did.
I was going to write about so many things-
but this is all you're going to get because my girlfriend,
the Nazi of my heart that she is-was on the computer forever.
Yeah, yeah...just like me, I know.
She was writing some ungodly college paper
on lesbian firefighter vampires or something like that.
I cooked dinner, read both of the newspapers, almost finished Roots,
and watched a movie on cable that I'm too embarrased to admit to.
I feel weird. Spock? Somethings...wrong.
I don't want to work tomorrow. Oh. Did Darth Vader Masturbate alot,
or was he always too busy to?I think one of his Imperial Officers caught him in Empire Strikes Back.
You know, when he was sitting cross-legged in his "Meditation Chamber".
Forget the Torture Chamber-
I want my own Masturb-I mean,
Yeah to meditate in and to heal up all of my wounds
that that damn Moulin Jedi inflicted on me in the climax of Episode 3.
A private sanctuary so that I can focus on domination of the galaxy
and not Natalie-Portman-Princess-Gal. You know what,
If I was one of those Imperial Officers who walked in on or
interrupted Darth Vader while he was masturbating-
I would come back later and steal his spent sperm
and sell it on the intergalactic market.
Now I know why Darth always wore gloves.
Feel The Force Luke...indeed.
Thank you and good morning.
Monday, November 11, 2002
Sunday, November 10, 2002
This post is rated...AAARRRRR!!!
there's a man right now living in a lighthouse and he's jealous of me.
jealous of what i'm doing and what i'm about to do tonight.
he may be thinking the same things that i am,
about how i could be jealous of someone in his position.
but it doesn't make it any better for him because I can walk outside.
WALK and WALK and WALK.
going until the hunger hits me.
i can talk and TALK and TALK and TALK and eventually someone will be listening.
the crash of waves can sometimes be a horrible friend.
just ask pirates.
theres booty in the water,
but if you dont grab it-and quick!
then it all SINKS..…..
Friday, November 08, 2002
My Name Is? My Name Is?
I will see this movie.
Even if he talks shit on Moby.
Even if he is or was in D12.
Even if he's from Detroit.
Even if Johnny Cash deserves a movie more.
Even if Thom Yorke deserves a movie more.
Even if Longfellow did too.
Even if he's black.
God, I can't wait to be old. Serious.
I need to start planning my retirement fund.
It'll be great. I plan on living til' a hundred and eleven.
That sounds good, doesn't it? 111 years?
I want senior citizens to mutter to themselves, " Damn look at that guy! He's friggin' old!
I want to make up stories about myself and to mess with my children's heads.
You know how when you were young, you had no concept of history
and would ask your parents what it was like to live during the great depression
even if they were in their later thirties?
Or to ask them where they were when Lincoln died? I want to tell my children and grandchildren that I helped write The Dead Sea Scrolls,
but the part with "written by Kevynn Malone" got lost. I want to tell them that I created "The Rave". That I smoked Crack before it was "hip".
That I knew the original Betty Crocker and that Aunt Jemima wasn't really that fat. It was a marketing ploy,
she was actually quite the looker and that we once engaged in some heavy-petting after the homecoming dance sophmore year in high school.
I will cackle things out loud in public. I will name all of my body parts and talk to Wal-Mart employees about them like they were real people.
I will have no problem wearing diapers. What was fine for me when I was an infant, should be fine for me as the senior-ist citizen.
Staring at the ceiling for hours on end and breast-feeding. What? Did you think I meant playing with Fisher Price toys and eating baby food?
As I get older, my wardrobe will get worse. If I wear anything even remotely fashionable, I will wear an enormous baseball hat ten sizes
too big for me on the following day as penance. I will pretend to fall everyday at various eateries and make people feel guilty
for not telling me to "watch my step!" I want to watch t.v. for twenty-eight hours straight. All local news coverage. I want to kick ass, though.
Whether it's through my cane or a gnarled, old fist meting out punishment-I wanna be able to kick yo' butt.
I am getting old.
Look what I'm writing about...only old folk do that.
Maybe this is getting old too.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Carrie White's ass looked cute...covered in pig's blood.
Brian DePalma's Carrie is dated, but good. There was a short-lived musical version of Carrie which I never (unforunately) saw. Carrie 2 The Rage!!! Apparently not the rage. Maybe it should've been set in a rave. Burning glow sticks and pacifiers set to hard core techno? I don't know. And now I just got done watching a new three hour television version that I, at first was unreluctant to watch, but did. Not that bad actually. It was modernized, had some parts from the book that weren't in the original one and had a sexy gym teacher. Funny, cos 2day I was at the video store with Dawne searching for Charles Manson documentaries for her school project. Last one was on Rosanne Barr. No. Rosie Perez. No. Parker Posey. No. Rosie O' Donnell. College, eh? Anyway I was looking through the horror section and noticed how many either classic Stephen King film adaptations there were in there or how many utterly horrible translated works there were. It's reported that S.K.'s quitting writing. That would make me sad. He's one of the best writers around. I don't want to get into it. The arguments. What sucked, blah, blah. Mass production crap. But he's good. I read my first S.K. novel when I was in fourth grade. I've read everything of his except for the Talisman/Blackhouse-which for the life of me, I can't get through. I've tried a million times and I just can't do it. He's allowed to quit though. It's his right. He's in pain. He says all of his ideas have come full-circle. That's okay. But I don't trust him. You can't take the WRITING DEMONS away from that type. He'll try to quit and just won't be able to. If I am like him in any smidgen, if I have one ounce of the sickness that he does. Please God(s), there's no hope for him. He's doomed forever to put combinations of letters and syntax on empty spaces. Good luck. It won't ever happen.
Anyway, this Carrie movie reminded me of high school and if I was cursed and had to repeat high school, I would take the often-ignored-Eliza-Doolittle-type of girl out. Just as long as she didn't mind drinking a couple of Pre-Prom beers in a park somewhere. I actually never went to my senior prom. I went to a girl's senior prom when I was a sophmore, but she ended up getting Bronchial Pneumonia and I surprised her on that night at the hospital with a corsage, Taco Bell and in my tux. I made the nurses cry and they even turned a blind eye when we snuck outside to go smoke a cigarette. Her lungs be damned. I was too busy to go to prom when I was a senior. I told everybody I wasn't going, and then...it was all over. I overslept on a couple of final activities, arrived late at a senior barbecue, lost twenty bucks in the school pool, went to some dumb parties and watched wrestlers spit tabacco juice in dixie cups. My father never had any interest in me or school activities anyway. Just my hair length, earring and my attitude. But out of nowhere he bought me a Grad Night ticket. I wasn't even planning on going. Most of my friends weren't. But I think that my father was afraid of the three a.m. police phone call telling him that his son was dead or in a Tijuana jail cell. So I went. Had nachos in a bowling alley, hung out and played blackjack with the girl that I had a crush on for almost all of high school, won a mini tape recorder in a raffle that I actually got alot of use out of years later. I used it to interview bands for a magazine. I sat through ceremonies. That was it. I played a game of basketball with Joe in front of my house the first day after graduation and then eight days later my father gave me a $300 dollar check on my birthday. I didn't get for graduation (not that I expected to) and thought that this was a combo gift. My father told me that it was for moving expenses. I asked when was I moving? He said Tomorrow. I put down the drumstick that I was eating and watched him walk into his bedroom. I wasn't hungry anymore. I left the next day. One month later I was awakened on a Greyhound bus by an ex-gangster from the Bronx telling me to, "Gett up nigga! We in Pittsburgh! "
Eat your heart out Stephen King.
I've got some horror stories too.
You just have a lot more money than me and are a much better writer.
But you aren't listening to "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John right now are you? Thought not.
Pig's blood! Redrum! They're coming to get you Baaarbaraaaaa! Dead By Dawn! Dead By Dawn! Candyman! Candyman! Candym-