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...