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-
Monday, November 04, 2002
Sunday, November 03, 2002
Oh my god, I'm going to go to Dumb-Guy-World
or Hopeless Island or Blogging Idiot Planet or something for this...
I was smoking in the backyard and caught myself deciding
on whether to write a movie review of "Colors" or to write about bald men.
I suck. Serious.
Woke up this morning to:
One friend asleep on the kitchen lounge chair thingy.
Four on the floor.
One on the couch.
And two in the other room.
Two muffins hidden in kitchen drawers.
One in a flower pot.
One on my bedroom window sill.
One in a bedroom cabinet.
One behind the pictures on top of the t.v.
Two in kitchen cabinets.
One under the couch.
And one inside a ceiling lamp.
I also woke up to ONE big headache.
Friday, November 01, 2002
Like Mark said in the comments section of my last post-
I'm having a party. A cray-.......what? a cray?
a Crawfish party? No crazy hat party. Stupid fingers. Dumb typo.
Wow. I'm so wacky. Get a load of this guy, eh? Stand back. He's sooooo funny. Ahhhhh...no.
Yeah, we're all going to stick crustaceans down our pants and everybody at the party
has to guess what you have down there.
Hey what you got there? A lobster?
Naw. I've got Crabs!
Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk.
I'm lame. I need to start drinking.