Wednesday, April 30, 2003
If you could get rid of one grooming habit what would it be? I don't really have an answer, I just thought of it when I was staring at my weird face in the mirror in the bathroom. Does anybody else do that? I'm not vain or anything, but I can't stop looking at myself. Flesh and blood can be fascinating. Sometimes I think I look cool. Sometimes I think that I look like I'm dying, and sometimes I just study myself. Notice stuff that I didn't notice before, look at my teeth, make faces. I was listening to a bird chirp, also. I was thinking bad thoughts towards the bird. Why the hell does he have to be up right now? Couldn't he have waited for a little bit? Does he have to remind me that it's getting late, does he have to remind me to go to bed and try to sleep, and not be able to, and finally fall asleep two hours from now, even though I went to bed on purpose so that I could fall asleep? And why try to go to sleep when you know that you wont be able to? And what the hell was that noise just a minute ago? And, no - I don't do drugs. This is just the way I am. Thank you. Where the hell did this day go? Why did I spend so much time on these three sites? Looking forward to tomorrow can sometimes be a scary thing. New days always have the possibility of biting you in the ass, so why can't I stretch this one out? I guess we could all just lie to ourselves and say that we're experiencing one big day in our lifetime, just cut up by occasional bouts of silent, dark, commercials that vary in length and are best viewed when the eyes are closed...
Man, oh man. Now that time is short – I could just go on forever…
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Looking For A Good Home...
I am placing myself up for adoption.
If you are interested, please tell me what you have to offer.
All perverted comments from males will make me shiver and then be ignored.
If you have any questions, please re-read my blog thing.
Thank you daddy and mommy dearest...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 1:10 AM
Monday, April 28, 2003
I bartend on Sunday nights now. I've done it before, but always in the day. I had a guy fall off of his barstool already. I saw him do it when I was outside smoking. I didn't even know that him and his friends were drunk when they came in. I just thought that he was naturally a loud and friendly guy. I can't ever tell when people are fucked up. Drugs, booze, or whatever. I think everybody is weird. I'm pretty naive too. I'm one of those guys that never know when a person is strung out on something. I live in a happy dodo land where nobody does drugs. I can't tell. I always act like I'm on crack, and I've never even seen the stuff. Oh, wait...that's a lie. I was in a Denny's on Sunset once and a man stood up on one of the toilets and asked me if I'd like some. I declined. Flushed. Zipped. Got out of there. No Chris Rock, New Jack City for me.
I think I did okay. Nobody died. I didn't have to get all ninja on anybody's ass. I engaged in a lot of meaningless conversation. I guess Sunday nights will be the new hang out for my friends. They're all good tippers too. Bad drunks, but good tippers .I'm a good drunk and a good tipper. I'm really good at tipping over drunks too.
Some girl grabbed me and started dancing with me. I felt kind of foolish though because of my gimpy leg. I smoked a lot. My girlfriend came in for a drink and I messed hers up. I guess I'm an okay bartender, though. I'd rather have me behind the bar than someone else. I'm nice. I smile a lot. I laugh at your jokes. I pour strong drinks. I want to make you poor. Give me your money so that I can put my twelve children through college. Give me your money so that I can go to college twelve times. Or give me your money so that I can spend twelve hours a day making collages. Or just spending my time brushing with Colgate.
Best part of today? I'm talking to another drunk guy outside, and a small black kid came up and asked us if we wanted to buy some candy. The drunk guy asked him how much and the kid told him five dollars. The drunk guy said that he couldn't have sugar. But being drunk was? Anyway, the kid then said that he could take donations and the drunk guy gave him ten bucks. Then the kid asked the drunk guy if he'd like any candy and the drunk guy said no. The kid's face lit up, he said goodbye, and then started to dance down the street. Dancing. Really. Kind of shuffling and skipping along. I should have bought all of his candy, so that he didn't have to walk around asking fat, drunk, humans if they wanted any...
AND I should have bought him a drink for one of those Kit Kat's...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 5:27 AM
Confession Can Be Quick...
I used to hump my bedpost when I was a kid.
I also used to hump the basketball pole in the front yard.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:48 AM
Sunday, April 27, 2003
Friday, April 25, 2003
Stick Em' Up, Bugsy...
When I was young, I used to get in trouble a lot. I'd do wacky crap for no reason. Tear my clothes off, break something, name it - I did it. So punishment was a daily occurence. When my mother was around, punishment was different. If i was bad, I had to hold my hand out and get whacked with a...chopstick. No foolin'. And if I was badder, I had to stick both off my hands against the wall. I couldn't turn my head, or talk. If I was lucky, I got the side of the wall that had the calender nearby, and you could kind of discreetly sneak glances at it for entertainment, this lasted for hours sometimes. That's why I can't keep my mind still nowadays. My overactive imagination was a childhood survival mechanism. Now, if I was badder-er, I got the belt. Right on my ass. This was my fathers territory. He wore big belt buckles. He was a Texan. They all have big belt buckles. He always said it hurt him more than it did me. Uh huh. Yeah, whatever you say, pops. You've got the belt. You know what was scarier than his belt buckle? His face. It'd get all red and splotchy, and spit would start flying out of his mouth. He looked like a cartoon. I'd imagine steam coming out of his ears and a whistle blowing like in the cartoons...
See? Like I told you...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 2:49 AM
Doris The Thinkasauras...
You know, it's pretty sad when you have to go brush your teeth for inspiration. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't have started to brush them if I wanted to smoke, so now I can't - and I thought that it kind of sucks that I have to go to sleep. I guess I don't have to, but I'm trying to be good and at least have my body in bed by 2 a.m. I mean, what else can I do? A lot of stuff, I know, but people start getting up three hours from now and the sun comes up, birds start playing the guitar, etc. When that shit is happening and you're still up, it gives you an icky feeling, like you've been bad.
The other thing that I was thinking about was how cool it would be if there were two worlds, or at least like, two societal schedules. Kind of like if you had two seperate lunch periods in high school. I want the world to start according to my internal alarm clock. I want to be productive along with everybody else. If it's dawn, and I think that a beer would hit the spot, I want to see you at the bar. I know Vegas is like this 24/7, but that doesn't count. That's a special place - like Disneyland. I want the world to be my own personal Denny's. Where I can get what I want at anytime of the day, and where all strange behaviour goes unnoticed.
That's it, I think. Lick it.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 2:29 AM
Thursday, April 24, 2003
Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs...
Pretty anticlimactic arrival at work. It was slow and I was out of there early. It was frustrating not being able to walk as fast as I wanted. I just looked at the TV, and Ray Liotta was limping just like me. How cute. I'm having deja vu right now about typing about Ray Liotta limping like me, this is freaky. I hate deja vu. I get it real bad sometimes. I used to get it all the time, not as much anymore.
So, my friend called me last night and told me to take down a number. After I was done, I asked him what the hell it was for. With my friends, you never know. He said it was the number for a reality show. I tried out for one of the Big Brother's, like, two years ago, I think. I don't think I made it. Ha. Anyway, this one's kind of like ED TV. They follow you around 24/7 and all of that. Am I entertaining enough? Hmmm...yup. Shit, I just threw myself out of a car and am still recovering from it. I would've loved to watch that. I guess I could've held a mirror in my hands when I was doing it.
Anyway, I called. They called back. I'll talk to them tomorrow. If I don't get picked. They can lick it.
Oh, yeah...and if I ever wanted anything on Ebay, it's these two things. Yeah this and this thing. If any of you are millionaires out there, I'll be your court jester monkey boy for them.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 12:22 AM
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Here We Are...Face To Face...A Couple Of Silver Spoons...
When I was younger. I used to lie in bed and picture things that I wanted sometimes. Surprisingly, for a Star Wars geek, I never really focused on toys that I wanted. Maybe I had enough of them to satiate my appetite. I never collected comics as a kid. I started to dream about them much later. I spent a lot of time dreaming about being locked in a stone dungeon and finding one that was loose. I'd slide the stone inwards and find a bunch of Amazonian women that would treat me nice. I used to hump basketball poles, but we won't get into that. Thank god, my father never allowed me to have pets.
I used to picture my room full of arcade games. Just like Ricky Schroder's living room in Silver Spoons. I used to conduct interviews in my head. I wanted to be a movie star real bad. I used to pretend that I was Danny from Grease. I skated a lot, but never really thought about it unless I was doing it. I used to pretend I was David Adison from Moonlighting, and had a huge crush on Cybil Shepard. I would imagine that I would get locked inside the mall. That doesn't seem exciting to me now. What the hell would I get now? Who cares? What, decorate the house, take some tools? The books would be cool, I guess, but that's what the library's for, folks. I wish I could live at the mall, though, and just do what I wanted. Eat at the food court for free when you wanted. Open everything. Break shit. Set up a computer and try everything out. Parade around in Victoria's secret lingerie. Wear suits, smoke cigarettes, and spit off the balcony. Masturbate in the elevator. I'd set all of the pets free and let them breed, not feed them, and have to fight for my life. That'd be cool.
Oh, wait...they don't have beer at the mall.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 9:25 PM
Ack. Going back to work tomorrow, Hmmm...I don't know how I feel about this. It's good because being hobbled at home is not a good thing, but loads of free time is. I always thought that if I could just sit at home and write, I'd be a content and happy man. This was not always the case in the last month and a half. I need a vacation. Maybe I'll sneak in the luggage when my girlfriend goes to Europe.
So this is my last night of freedom.
Did I finish anything worthwhile?
Kevynn, did you finish a couple of screenplays?
Well, Ummm...I worked on em'.
You should be done with at least a couple final rough drafts, you should have been writing everyday.
Dude, you want to go outside and have a smoke with me?
Stop changing the subject. What else did you work on?
I...uh, wrote a lot on my blog thingy...and I tried to learn more html.
Your site looks the same. And you always write on that thing anyway. So, what else?
I wrote some stories.
Where are they?
In the computer.
Okay. So is porn. Useless, Kevynn.
I submitted a story to Marvel!
That was this week. What were you doing for the other month and two weeks?
Ummm...sleeping, I guess.
And playing video games, writing on other people's blogs, drinking and watching T'V. I thought you hated TV?
I do, it was just hard to move and -
Shut up. you suck. Goodbye.
I just tried to dial the number of my conscience.
All I got was an echo.
I think it's mad at me and moved out.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 8:31 PM
Monday, April 21, 2003
I try to avoid the place. Too many people. Too big. Even more difficult to be at if you're walking with a cane. I spent almost three hours there the other day with Joe and my girlfriend. They were both excited, at least. Joe was ready to buy stuff for his new pad and my girlfriend gets so excited that she’s there; she starts to hump the bedposts and bookcases. I tried to have a good attitude about the whole experience, and like to think that I've always had an uncanny ability to entertain myself in even the direst of circumstances. I tend to not get to too imaginative though, when I'm in a shopping environment and can't buy anything. The cheap things that they have are interesting, though. People watching is too. I spent most of my time reading the books that they had in the fake little habitat set-ups. IKEA arranges bedroom, living room, and office displays to help you visualize the practical and decorative applications for all of their junk. I found the choice of books set up in the displays funny and kind of interesting sometimes, and even wanted to steal an Isaac Asimov book that I saw. I wonder where they pick all of them up? Garage sales have more interesting choices.
I had fun in one of their fake kitchen set-ups. I walked around, and out of habit, tried to turn on the water. Nothing came out of course, but that made me think of that Twilight Zone episode where that couple got plastered at a cocktail party and woke up in a strange bed and didn't remember anything other than driving home the previous night. They were clothed. That never made any sense to me. The story would've been a lot better to me if the had woken up amidst empty taco bell wrappers, smuggled bottles of booze, and used condoms. Everything was fake. The phone came off of the wall. The trees and grass outside were fake too. They tried to take the train out of there and it only returned them back to where they started. Giggling too. They heard giggling a lot and eventually located the source when a huge hand came out from the sky and plucked them out of the town. I don’t remember if the hand belonged to an alien girl or one that looked normal, but her father picked her up a couple of pets on his way to a tiny Earth. Blah Blah. Cool episode, I’ve just seen it too many times. The man’s wife was a bitch, too. I remember that.
Anyway, walking around the kitchen made me think of that episode. When the couple tried to open the fridge, they found fake play food. I found empty containers. I wish I had some real food to throw in it, to throw the next guy for a loop. I also had the urge to leave the store and buy a six-pack. Even if I only had the time to enjoy one beer. It would've been worth it to start a card game at the kitchen table or something.
Maybe next time.
In another couple years.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 7:28 PM
I saw a baby possum that looked like a beany baby.
Realized everybody, when preparing for holidays...is nuts.
Had kids sing 50 cnt lyrics to me.
Played a lot of video games.
Watched some really embarrassing things Im ashamed to admit on MTV.
And had a fun day considering it was Easter.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 6:59 PM
Easter Eggs Smell Like Farts…
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 2:52 AM
Saturday, April 19, 2003
Come One, Come All...
Rabbit stew at my house.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 8:39 PM
All the things that I want to write about might take me to long to do. I have a couple of things to tell, but think that they would be better explained tomorrow due to the late hour and my over exposure to alcohol...I hope that I just made sense, bubba...
All that I can tell you is that it has to do with my three hour trip to IKEA today and about junior high school parties....
Green beans and Empire Strikes Back. That's what I'm all about right now. Yeah, I'm down for some smart Han Solo dialogue and some Jolly Green Giant Lovin'...
Oh yeah, fuck you, Lando Calrissean!
Lobot's cool, though...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:18 AM
Friday, April 18, 2003
Somewhere There's An Island Full Of People Just Like Me...
And here's another thing. When I go to clothing places and shop for jeans, It's kind of funny that the only sizes that I find on sale in the clearance rack in the back section of the store are either XXXL or 32 waist and 32 length, which is my size. 32/32, not the XXL.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:00 AM
Who starts editing a story for a Marvel Comics submission at 4 in the morning?
I suck. I know...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:55 AM
I Wanna Eat Yo' Brains...
So I guess that my sister made the transformation from a vegetarian to a full-fledged VEGAN now. This is a huge step for her, you know. I'm totally behind her on this. So I'm going to suport her 100%. So that means no more baths in cows blood when I come to visit. That means no more animal sacrifices when I pray to Satan. I'll now be using a soy substitute instead. This means no more Jello baths too. No more Chihuahua tossing. No more eating the worm from the bottom of tequila bottles. No more washing spiders down the plughole. No more meals at my vietnamese mother's house. No more bacon. No more Porky Pig cartoons. No more Moons Over My Hammy's. No more Just In Quesidillas. No more Moons Over My Hammy. No more, I tell ya'. No More!
Sindy is my little sis. She rocks. Next time you see her, slap her with your leather belt for me...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 2:26 AM
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Rock And Roll High School...
You know, the only reason I'd ever want to go back to high school is so that I could go to all of the dances and pass out drunkenly. I'd tell all of the nerds to kiss my shoes and then tell them to please hire me ten years later. I'd make out with the dance teacher. I'd kick the principal in the balls. I'd steal all of the raffle prizes. I would nominate myself for queen of the dance and I would have taken a lot more naked pictures of dumb cheerleaders.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 6:57 PM
I'm a pretty easy-going guy when it comes to understanding about staying out later than one expects. Time passes quickly. Drinks happen. Friends. Conversation. Whatever.
What I don't get is what I was talking about earlier. About how you would get very mad at me if I did some of the same things that you did.
Like: I understand if you just want to hang out with your friends without me being included - just tell me. Don't assume. You used to get mad at me about this type of crap all of the time. Now I don't do it. Who was the gal gettin' ready before she even let her significant other even know that she was going out. To be honest, I didn't want to go anyway. I hate where angelica works. It sucks. But if I was getting ready to bolt out the door before telling you what the hell I was doing, and assumed that you wouldn't mind not even being told that I'd rather go out by myself with friends? Fuck, you wouldn't let me live it down.
Like: Not calling the whole time you're out?
Like: Having Angelica call me after you were apparently too drunk to drive? You could apparently get to her house, but not ours?
Like: If you are at her house, then why don't I pick you up?
Like: If you're drunk, you know I'd pick you up or get you home somehow. If you wanted to stay at her house, all you have to do is let me know.
Like: What the fuck were you doing this whole time?
Like: If I can learn how to be a considerate partner, then what happened with you? You can't call me once?
So: Did anybody else stay at Angelica's house?
So: Did you not think how you would feel if put in this situation?
I really am and was cool the whole time until after 2 a.m. I puttered around the house doing my own thing. Angelica's call left me flabbergasted and saying, "Okay...whatever."
If I spent the night and had a friend tell you...how would you feel?
It doesn't really instill a boatload of security and trust in me about your trip to Europe, does it?
I am waking up 10 - 10:30 to have lunch with George.
Please don't wake me up because I won't feel like talking about it...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:22 AM
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Socially, today was not a good day. Everybody that I passed by or came in contact with disgusted me. From the attitude of the older man who tried to cut in line in front of me at the store, who I, at first, was polite to, and then had to be mean to, to the other dirty, creepy cretins who infiltrated my sunshine for the other portions of the day. People were rude, lazy, and impatient. People were driving too fast, and not giving a shit about anything except for their own "progress". Taco Bell will still be there, folks. You driving faster won't really make a difference. Your cheap tacos will always be around. There are no bombs dropping overhead in America, people. Not right now, at least. You can go with the flow. No need to hurry. I am disgusted at your laziness. I am disappointed at your lack of empathy. I am not surprised at your tunnel vision. You're all very hungry, so that carrot dangling in front of you is all that matters today, I can understand that. Just try not to involve me. If I speak to you, be polite back. I always give you the benefit of the doubt. Please return the favor. I'm trying not to show you my weaknesses or to make your day any more unpleasant by letting my insecurities, worries, and my bad upbringing rub off on you. Please do not let your children outside if they're just a carbon copy of your bad habits. I don't need to see the miniature examples of your inability to raise children. Dealing with one of you is enough, let alone one and a half of you. You didn't really ruin my day; you just made it a lot harder to enjoy. You made my sky a couple shades darker. You made me feel colder than I should have. I exerted more energy than I should have. Now it's lower. I might have to recharge all of the batteries that you tried to deplete today. I used to try to be apathetic. That never worked. It doesn't work at all, it just gets you angrier. I've tried hard getting rid of that, so I'm not going to let you get me back into it. I came to the realization that I wasting too much of myself towards something that I can never change. I think that the happy, gray area that I've created is just fine with me. I've got enough to think about now without you fucking it all up. I'm glad to meet you sometimes. And sometimes I'm glad that I can walk away. I'm glad sometimes that I don't need to say something to you all of the time. I'll still say something to you if I think that you're out of line or if you infringe on my personal space or enjoyment, and watch out -cuz' I'll rip your fucking head off, but I'm glad that your monsters don't hang around my house as much as they used to. It gives me more time to do the things that I want to. That's it, I think. This could go on forever, but maybe that's another good sign of mine. I can let you go, like some black dandelion floating off in the stinky air. You're forgotten, spread your seeds elsewhere. You dummies. You make me remember how happy I am with myself. You make me feel good. You make my parents proud.
You dumb, fucking sheep.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 9:53 PM
You ever get an idea for something to write, but then think that it's too long and you don't really feel like writing it, editing it, etc. Maybe you don't feel like getting started or continuing on something that you know that you should be devoting two hours on instead of two minutes. Maybe you just want to write something quick and witty like everybody else. Quick and witty is good. Not in bed though. If you're ever quick and witty in bed, you better be quick, witty, sorry, and a very fast runner. Maybe you start to write something and then erase it. Maybe you actually get started and then accidentally delete it afterward. Maybe you get that fever going, the pen is scribbling furiously, or the keys are clackin' - but then get interrupted by the phone or a visitor. You may be the mousy writer. A little sentence here, a short story there. Maybe you're the Manatee writer. Slooowww, floating, bloated. What? Sorry. You may be the type that works on a novel for years, it may be your little secret that you do when everybody is away. You may write alone, slowly building up stacks of notebooks, or files on your hard drive. Maybe one day you'll croak, and when they wheel your butt away, all of your work will be forgotten or thrown in the trash with the other things that can't be donated or sold. You might spend more hours staring away into space then actually writing something down. You may daydream more at work then you write at home. You might jot down more ideas on scraps of paper than you actually write down in a cohesive manner. You could be a defeatist, and feel that you were a better writer when younger. You may think that you have nothing to write about. You might be confused as to how to get it down properly. You might not have the time. You could be going blind. You could be waiting for inspiration to strike. You might like kung fu more than writing. Or kung fu movies. Or kung pao chicken more than writing. Maybe you're a specialist writer - nothing to say about anything until it comes to this summers line of shoes by Prada. Maybe you've always wanted to write, but don't think that you have much to say. After that, somebody will ask you how the Cubs are doing this year, fifty minutes later; they're squirming to go to the bathroom.
Or maybe you just take the easy way out and write something like this...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:05 AM
Monday, April 14, 2003
So I'm stuck in that one part in my screenplay where that guy is done from that last town and he woke up and then went and peeked into that thing...
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 10:44 PM
Roberta was angry because Liam kept on stealing her hairbrush. She knew where it was. It was in the backyard, by the little storage house. Liam always used it to brush the next-door neighbor’s pony’s hair. He was five, but that was no excuse. This was the second brush that she had to replace. The last one Liam couldn’t find. He said the ponies must’ve stoled it. But the horses didn’t steal it cuz’ Roberta found it by the play set a long time after. She tried to tell dad about it, but he usually got mad if you tattle-tailed, so Roberta stopped and just made sure to punch Liam good before dinner, but then Liam told dad that Roberta punched him for no reason and when Roberta was trying to explain, she got in trouble for being a “brat”, and that she was older so why did she always have to be so “violent” and then she had to go to her room and miss supper. Not that she minded because it was the same old, stupid fried rice that made the whole house smell like fish, anyway. The only good parts were the egg and the shrimp. Dad only made it because he made the same things anyway. He always made spaghetti too, which was good if you put a lot of sauce, cheese, and black olives on it. If they had it. But than dad would get mad if he saw that you put too much stuff on it. He’d tell you not to be “greedy”. Roberta thought that she wasn’t greedy. She was just trying to make it taste good and not like the noodles. The noodles were gross-tasting and why didn’t they make more of the other stuff? Why not just have it with the sauce and the cheese and olives, then? The only good time that they had spaghetti was when Liam was carrying his plate with the spaghetti and his milk and saw the Spiderman movie commercial on TV and dropped the plate of spaghetti on the carpet and then dad got mad. That was funny because Liam cried and had to rub the carpet good with a rag while everybody ate. That was the only time that the spaghetti tasted good. Roberta even had seconds.
What Invention Was/Is Of Greater Benefit To Mankind?
The printing press?
Or The Simpsons?
Sunday, April 13, 2003
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Billie Holiday Playing Is Not Helping...
So, I was in the process of telling you what was in my fridge, after I got down to the half empty/full jar of Skippy peanut butter - I stopped and started to eat the half empty/half full chicken sandwich from the barbeque last night. This was happening while I was still sitting on a little stool in front of the open fridge door. I put away the sandwich and felt very foolish. Oh, I need help.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 8:55 PM
So Not Money, Baby...
So, a lot of my friends are in Vegas for the weekend without me because I'm a gimp.
They rented a big ol Caddy' too. I'm doing nothing right now.
I hope that they win a nice and leaky STD while they're out there.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 6:16 PM
Friday, April 11, 2003
I am thin. I don’t look like I’m dying or anything, but you’ll live if I sit on you.
I love beer.
I love cigarettes.
I can’t hang with anything else.
I like Jane Goodall.
And the Dalai Lama.
I think Stephen King is one of the best modern writers ever, punk.
I hate funny books.
I generally don’t like comedies, unless it’s not supposed to be funny, but is.
I have one younger sister, one older brother, one older half-brother, one older half-sister, and one younger half-brother. None live in California.
I play bass guitar.
I paint one picture every six months.
I like action figures, skulls, and other scary shite.
I like comic books.
I miss typing on typewriters.
I read two newspapers a day.
I poop at least twice a day.
I can cook, but usually don’t eat it afterwards. I’d make a good personal chef.
I have some really cool friends.
All of my enemies are dead.
I never write on the things that I should be.
Gandhi was a pussy. No, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean that. I have no idea where that came from. Bad.
I am writing in a wheelchair right now. 20 bucks at the Salvation Army, yo.
I am tired......
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:46 AM
Thursday, April 10, 2003
The News Asks…
Who Will Run Iraq Now That Saddam Hussein Is Missing?...
Well, shit...me, of course.
I am now taking applications for certain seats in the government and the new Iraqi entertainment industry. I'm anxious to see the Iraqi cinematic equivalent of Hollywood do their take on Spiderman, to be honest. Spider Raed? As the new leader of Iraq's government, I will give them full access to America's TV programming too. All of it. Good riddance. Now, I'm sorry...this doesn't mean that I'm gonna unload all of America's crap to Iraq now that their government is in a state of disarray, but we don’t want it, right?
State your name, website, and your new official Iraqi position please…so that I can put it in my official ledger…
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:38 AM
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
Black And Decker...
After I was done playing the PS2,
I grabbed my Bud Light
and went outside to smoke a Marlboro,
then I sat down in front of the Hewlett Packard computer
and flipped on HBO.
Harry Potter was on.
Then I typed this on my Blog.
I'm a tool......
"In the world I see -- you're stalking elk through
the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center.
You will wear leather clothes that last you the rest of your
life. You will climb the wrist- thick kudzu vines that wrap
the Sears Tower. You will see tiny figures pounding corn and
laying-strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of the
ruins of a superhighway."
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:37 AM
Not About Your Significant Other...
Nastiest thing in the world?
Spiders with thick hair.
I used to think that my dentist was the shit, and now realize that they're a bunch of too-greedy, too-busy assholes.
They treated me really nice in the beginning, but now they just suck.
So, when I go today, if they piss me off in anyway...somebody's gettin' kicked in the teeth.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:15 AM
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Monday, April 07, 2003
So, if you haven't already read - I broke my ankle on March 1st after a drunken argument with my girlfriend in her car on the way home from a night of social stuff. It started after she said a comment about the girl who gave us our food at Del Taco. I thought that what she said about the girl who worked at the drive-thru window was racist and insensitive. She thought that I was going to press the point too far and then not back down and then threaten to get out of the car like I have in the past. I told her that I would never jump out of a car. That would be stupid. Especially in our driveway, especially when I could've waited five seconds longer, especially after knowing how far I've pushed the karmic circle of my bones. Especially after spending the majority of my life doing impulsive, half-brained stunts and lucky to be alive after them. She thought that I would take my body's uncanny ninja agility for granted, and that someday it'd all catch up with me. I'm kidding. The only thing that she was thinking was that I was an asshole.
So, after I jumped out, and after I kicked her car with the already-hurting-ankle, I zombie-shuffled to the front door. Then I hopped to the fridge. Then I went in the backyard and smoked. Then I realized that I couldn't walk. I felt really lonely, but that's nothing new.
My ankle tried talking to me as she got in her pajamas and yelled at me:
- Kevynn, did you remember to pay the cable bill?
- Dude, Ankle...what the hell? I'm hurting really bad. You're totally swelling and you're asking me about bills?
- Fuck yeah, Bubba. You suck at paying the bills on time. What's up with your memory anyway?
- Stop it. You're being a dick.
- Yeah, whatever. At least I don't have a broken me.
She went to bed. I stayed up. Probably writing on this goddamn thing. Search my archives. I probably tried to be really clever as my ankle swelled up like yo' mamma's booty. It was hurting really, really bad by that time, but I tried to sleep it off, thinking that it'd go away like the majority of my ills usually do. I don't even get sick. I should, but I don't. That's why Karma's such a bitch when it slaps me back.
I only slept for an hour total. After making up with the girlfriend; I still refused to go to the emergency room. I wasn't down for more financial shit. Last time I went to an emergency room after that fight with the three Mexican gang bangin' fucknuts, I got stuck with a bill more than I could afford. They didn't light me on fire or anything; I just got socked in the eye. But, I was being cautious. Fuck caution - it's too expensive, and to think that I missed a Mike Ness interview because of a bunch of wannabe O.C. gangstas. Hee hee. Fuckin' dorks.
But I went eventually. The pain was pretty bad. I actually took a Pamprin or something like that, because we didn't have any Aspirin or hard drugs in the house. All that that it did was ease the pain of my menstrual cramps. I hate taking pills. I hate all of em'. Never really take em', but if you would've given me a poo pill that night, I would've taken it. Feces be damned.
In the E.R., there was no George Clooney. Too bad, cuz' I would've quizzed him on his early days on the Facts Of Life and asked him about the making of From Dusk Til' Dawn. I was bored, tired, and in pain. They put me in a wheelchair, which I thought was funny because I have one at home that I bought about a year ago for fun. I'm quite good at doing wheelies and spinning around in circles. I'm tempted to join the Wheelchair Basketball Association Of America, but they'd probably get mad at me in the men’s restroom after seeing me stand up to pee.
UPDATE - *My girlfriend is getting up for work and I'm still up writing. Girls, don't fall in love with an insomniac if you want somebody by your side in bed. But, they're good night time watchdogs. So lick it.*
Anyway, my ankle was broken. That meant two months off of work. That would usually seem like a blessing to me, but what I didn't know was that would mean no bars, no fun, more stress, and more relationship stress. You would think that I would have a lot of time to write on my screenplays, to finish a book or something, or to make this site actually look good. NO. No way. What little I knew. It's like getting days off of school when you have the flu. Yeah, you get a lot of sleep and you have time off, but you can't function normally. In my case, I couldn't walk or sleep normally. Going to the bathroom or the fridge was a big deal. I became an unwilling participant in the T.V. world, and now, I know HBO's programming like nobody's biznatch.
Two months off of work...sucks. I never really realized how much I took for granted. I'm one of those every day shoppers. I'm an after-work shopper. I get my own little treats, things for dinner, and usually end up with a bunch of plastic sacks that languish in our "plastic sack" drawer. There's no more of that. I've learned to count pennies. To cash in forgotten scratch-off lottery tickets, to hold gimp-drives, and to sleep. I sleep a lot now. But it's all WAR sleep, so it's not as fun as my old Empire Strikes Back dreams.
- Where do you think you're going Captain Solo?
- Apparently nowhere, Greedo, because unless Chewbacca feels like carrying me all over the place, I aint goin' nowhere, bitch.
The first week, now, seemed to go by in a blur because I was in pain and didn't move much. My girlfriend felt guilty and spent a lot of time on pillow-for-the-elevation-of-my-swollen-foot duty. I took a small amount of the Vicodin that they gave me, but started to use those only sparingly because I hated the feeling that they gave me and thought that I could probably make a tidy, much-needed, profit from my initial hospital investment. But combine that with my girlfriend's affinity for all things in pill form, and that with the occasional swiping from my bastard friends, and I'm only down to two lonely pills to sell to y'all. And even then, I might need them for my next bout of "Stunt Arguing".
Now time is moving at a drunken snail's pace. Which is a little bit faster than the normal rate, but still really fucking slow. I've been to the "ankle specialist" two times already, but he's a shifty-eyed, Puerto Rican with a five iron in his hand...and I don't trust him. Actually the real doctor that I have tells me that I should be back to my normal, ambulatory goodness in another three weeks, but they can stuff all of that horse pucky up their shoddy arses, cuz....
I can walk!!!
Yes, true believers, It's a miracle. Kevynn Malone can walk. Sort of. It's more like a slow, senior citizen-like shuffle. But it's a start. Don't think that I'm down to start "Power Walk Racing" with the rest of the silver folk here in Orange County, but I could give them a run for their money in a bit. The fucking, all-knowing bastards.
So it's 6:50 in the a.m., I haven't slept and don't feel an ounce of guilt because of it. I'm not on drugs, but I am running low on cigarettes. My girlfriend is getting ready for school. She's not gonna be late, the junior high doesn't start until 8, so don't worry.
I'm still not in the clear. My next appointment is in a couple of weeks. I'm broke. Really broke. After this last cigarette, I'm gonna shuffle on down to the grocery store and knock some fucking yuppie over the head with my crutch. Notice I said "crutch" and not "crutches". I'll take his wallet, but leave all of the Viagra. I may be a bastard, but at least I'm not a fucking bastard.
I can walk. Sorta. Yeah!..........
Go, go, go, go
Go, go, go shawty
It's your walkday
We gon' party like it's yo walkday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your gimpday
And you know we don't give a fuck
It's not your pimpday!
You can find me in the club, bottle full of crutch
Look mami I got the X if you into taking drugs
I'm into having arguing, I ain't into making love
So come give me a hug if you into to getting rubbed
When I pull out up front, you see the Benz in the driveway
When I roll 20 deep, it's 20 knives in the ankle
Niggas heard I fuck with Dre, now they wanna show me love
When you sell like Eminem, and the hoes they wanna fuck
But homie ain't nothing change hold down, G's up
I see Xzibit in the Cutt that nigga roll that ankle up
If you watch how I move you'll mistake me for a playa or gimp
Been hit wit a few shells but I do walk wit a limp
In the hood then the ladies saying "Kevynn you hot"
They like me, I want them to love me like they love 'Ty from Trading Spaces'
But holla in New York them niggas'll tell ya im lrish
And the plan is to put the rap game in an Andre The Giant choke hold
I'm feelin' focused man, my money on my mind
I got a mill out the deal and I'm still fucking broke
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 7:06 AM
Sunday, April 06, 2003
What Will Happen To Saddam Hussein's Pets...
I've done absolutely nothing today. I got up late and saw my girlfriend sitting in my wheelchair that I bought for fun about a year ago. Little did I know that I would end up using it for real. I was sleepy and asked my girlfriend why she wasn't at school. She was on top of a pile of blankets too. Why? I don't know. Maybe cuz' she's so little and wanted to feel all tall like me. She told me that she didn't have classes because it was Sunday and that she now had to go into work an hour earlier because of the stupid time change. The she went back to watching Trading Spaces.
I think that this was too much information for my sleepy head, I tried to ask her something, but my head was muddled and my throat wasn't working, so all that came out was kitty sounds. Mewww.
So this cat went back to sleep and dreamed that somebody put a Saddam Hussein doll in my barbecue and almost got caught, but I covered for him and saved his Iraqi ass.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 5:43 PM
Why Aren't You Asleep?...
You need your beauty rest.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 12:08 AM
Friday, April 04, 2003
I'll Swallow Your Soul!...
Now my girlfriend is all freaked out because she watched Friday The 13th, A Nightmare On Elm Street was on after that, but she can't watch it because it scares the crap out of her. Then she got mad at me when I wouldn't stay in the room with her. Yeah, I'm a bastard. She knew this before we started dating.
I don't know, all of those movies that used to scare the Beezus And Ramona out of me are extremely dated now. Jaws scared the fucking shit out of me when I was a kid. I remember feeling creepy watching Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, The Blob, The Stuff, and a movie about a little kid at a boarding school who would chop up all of the girls. Oh yeah, and the two little girls and the dead, old woman from The Shining. The first Hellraiser freaked me out, also.
Now? I'd probably get bored. There's worse shit on T.V.
What's your favorite scary movie, you honkies?
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 2:37 AM
Honk If You're Hasra...
I think I just saw this on the news.
Tell me that I was dreaming.
A nerdy war reporter in Iraq in front of another Saddam mural.
Spray painted on the mural was, “Mean People Suck”.
I think that's the best use of a very old and overused bumpersticker/t-shirt slogan that I've ever seen.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
You Look Like Crap...
You know how when people are asked what celebrity they look like, they always say Gweneth Paltrow, Tom Cruise, or Blah Blah. It's usually an actor that's good looking. Very rarely does one say they look like somebody nasty. I used to get Lou Diamond Phillips, Anthony Kiedes, or that ultimate jerk Nuno from Extreme when I had long hair. With short hair I've had Kevin Bacon-ish, Marc Anthony-ish with a Ralph Macchio body. Ha. I don't know, I'd have to ask my friends. My girlfriend's not helping much either. But I always thought that she looked like a little Jennifer Love Hewitt or Christy Turlington.
I don't know if all of the comparisons above of me are exactly complimentary.
So, my best actor comparison from my girlfriend?
And my worst?
Gollum from The Two Towers.
What about choo?
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 5:31 PM
Do Not Stand Within Five Feet Of The Cage...
I'm not really happy right now.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 3:19 PM
Robot Conversation 1085324...
Human: i'm a robit
Bot: You are a robit? Is that your job?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:28:24]
Human: no, i am a college student
Bot: Are you serious? Which university?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:28:35]
Bot: I like the way you talk.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:28:51]
Human: thanks, i like the way you look
Bot: You are quite welcome! I'm not sure if I like it. I'm not sure if I like it. I like my creator.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:29:20]
Human: who is your creator?
Bot: I was created by Kevynn Malone.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:29:39]
Bot: For real.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:29:39]
Human: i used to read his blog.
Bot: By now you do not do it anymore?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:30:00]
Human: no, it wasted my time...
Bot: Are you serious?"It" being what?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:30:00]
Human: he's not very funny
Bot: Did you think he was very funny?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:30:38]
Human: someone told me that he was.
Bot: Was this trustworthy information?
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:30:38]
Human: That person is not very smart...
Bot: " Was this trustworthy information?" person is not very smart? I understand.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:30:38]
Human: thats probably the problem right there
Bot: Thanks for explaining it.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:31:21]
Human: so, what's your name?
Bot: I don't judge people. My name is Kevynn.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:31:52]
Human: what do you do for fun Kevynn?
Bot: I answer whatever questions my botmaster teaches me.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:32:25]
Bot: Thank you for that remark.
[Tue, 01 Apr 2003 18:32:47]
Human: bye kevynn, its been real
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 4:12 AM
Hitler Didn't Drink, Cuz' When He Did, He'd Get Mean...
Man, you write one thing about Hitler's dog, and those are the only hits you get. So, I'm listening to Slayer on Fat Free Radio, it's over on my links to the left also, I got the idea from Boz's site. Pretty damn cool, because I'm sick of all of my music. It's late. Again. I have to go to the ankle doctor tomorrow/today and get my cast thingy off. He'll probably tell me I still won't be able to walk for a couple of weeks. Too bad I plan on doing backside 180 kick flips off of launch ramps after I get out of there. You know what? Don't listen to the Slayer on Fat Free Radio, they're not as cool as I used to think they were, stick to the jazz, Doors, Prince, and other various crud that I put on there.
I need to tighten this site up. Get rid of that Haloscam thing up top. I don't need that, do I? Thin those gray bars and make them Black, then I'll be happy. Boz gave me a bunch of cool templates and pictures. I don't know how to put pics up. I need a new FTP server; I don't remember how to use my old one. Jane, the fat cat, just woke up my girlfriend. I think it was trying to chew on her eyelids. My other cat, "60" is here. She's nice. She looks like Patrick Swayze.
I hope I have good dreams tonight. Last night I dreamt that I was looking through a bunch of old books, and then Kevin Bacon came in and told me that he slept with my girlfriend.
Who's hiring?......besides Kyra Sedgewick?
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
So my girlfriend is leaving for Europe in May. She's going to be gone for 19 days. There's a movie directed by Danny Boyle coming out called 28 Days Later. And no, it's not about Sandra Bullock and alcoholism. The Danny Boyle movie's about a guy who wakes up in a hospital and finds the whole city destroyed and deserted. But most importantly, he finds...a crapload of zombies. What does this have to do with my girlfriend leaving for 19 days? Nothing, I guess. I'll be eating a lot of human flesh when she's gone. Ha Ha. Just kidding.
She wasn't going to go on her trip because this really isn't the best time to travel. If it was me, I wouldn't of given a crap. The chances of being at the location of a terrorist attack are bitten-by-a-shark-slim, I presume. And I could care less. If I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, who the hell would I blame? Madonna. I'd blame Madonna, just because. I'd just want to kick somebody's ass because they made my day really inconvenient by hijacking my -plane or throwing a Molotov cocktail at me while I was eating. Somebody would get their ass whooped, but otherwise...so it goes.
So. Girlfriend gone for 19 days? I don't know. I'm usually single, so it should be easy getting back to that mode of solitary normalcy. Well, single-yes. But not casual-sex-with-psycho-girls-mode like before. Single without the crazy-ass-alien-females. And how can you have "casual" sex with a psycho? What did I mean by that?
- Kevynn? Can I chop off your head with an axe after we do it?
- *stretches* Sure. But can we get something to eat first?
Would it be something like that? God, how I don't miss those days. Watch me break my other ankle when she's gone. Watch her hook up with a German boy with a bad haircut. Watch me hook up with a girl that acts like a German with a bad haircut. No, I'm really going to miss her and I can take care of myself. I won't get into too much trouble. I'll just write a lot and drink insane amounts of beer, but that's about it. Well, maybe a strip club here and there. Well, crap - I do that anyway when she's here.
Okay, so nothing will be different.
Posted by Fat Free Milk at 6:19 PM