Saturday, August 30, 2003



Madonna Kissing Britney Spears...

TheBookoftheDeadAfterallthedeedsaredone
AnddownGoesthesunItsonlythendoIrealize
ThatallunfinishedbusinessCreatedandranted
aboutduringThehotand messydayIsNothingmore
thanthat……Justbusiness…MyheartProblemsneardreams
deathsandpremonitionsnightlikethosealwaysrememberitmay
bethedayslikethesethatweforgetFORGETTINGTHEHALFFULLCUPOF
LIFEASOPPOSEDTOTHEEVAPORATINGEMPTYDAYSHERETODAYTALKINGTO
APARTMENTFRIENDSFROMWINDOWSVISITORSCOMPUTERCONVERSATIONS
WITHFRIENDSYOUWORKWITHCOMINGHOMETOAFRIENDALREADYINYOUR APT.
BEFOREYOUWEREEVENTHEREHERMOTHERANDCHILDRENPLAYINGWITHYOURSIX
SMALLKITTIESFRIENDSCOMINGANDGOINGCARSJOKESANDCONVERSATIONSABOUT
JCPENNYTWENTYDOLLARFAMI PHOTOALBUMSWITHEVERYBODYWHOLIVESHEREALLTENOFUS

( I erased the majority of this post. Sorry. Thanks to those who commented. That was really nice of you. I don't know, I don't really care about putting super-duper personal stuff on here. It doesn't bug me. I'll write whatever I want, but it kept on nagging at me in the back of my mind - so there. Yup. )






Thursday, August 28, 2003



Five Dollar Boom Boom...

My mom's from Vietnam. Yup, I'm first-generation-born-somewhere-other-than-that-place-guy. My older brother was born there too. Why don't we have the obligatory X-Men-Cyclops eyes? Don't know. Don't care. I always look tired anyways, so it doesn't make much of a difference in the long run. I had a bad mother. She's nice and all, but sucks in a lot of departments when it comes down to the final inventory. No big deal. No bad feelings. No skin off of the Irish-Vietnamese back. Tonight at the bar, I was engaging in some type of conversation that I thought was important, when I heard my name being called...There was a small, smiling lady selling something. With my bad vision, I thought that it was roses. But it wasn't. She was lugging around a wooden display case full of bracelets. That was probably why the lady was brought to my attention. I'm one of the only guys left with a girlfriend. So everybody was directing the lady towards me. Nobody wanted anything. The bracelets were okay. Nothing special. What was special was that I bought one. That she was smiling, even though that she had to try to sell cheap trinkets of homemade beauty to a bunch or worthless kids. What was special was that she always had a smile on her face. What was special was that I could hear people making racist comments behind her back, even though two of them were black. What was special was that she danced to the live band that was playing as she left the bar. The only money that she had was what I gave her. She danced away with a smile on her face as people made fun of her. These are the same people who probably made fun of my mother years ago when she came to this country. The only reason that she was here, and the only reason that I exist is because she met a handsome white guy. A guy that gave up the job that he loved to shack up and do the nasty with a beautiful girl. Nothing mattered. All that my father wanted was what was best for the both of them. They asked why I bought the cheap bracelet. I half-joked that I was watching out for my own. I told them that that was my mother who just left. They said, why, because she was Vietnamese?

I said no...because she was a person, you fucking idiots.






Wednesday, August 27, 2003



Ya' Flea Bittin' Varmit!...

Watching Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Wondering why Yosemite Sam was always such a dick.
Bugs Bunny could drive you nuts, though.
He's funny and all, but an ultimate smart ass.
The smug, buck-toothed bastard.

In a real street fight, Daffy'd kick his fluffy ass.





Monday, August 25, 2003



Roller City...

How come I'm not winding down with a movie and eating that pizza in the fridge? Why am I not getting some much-needed sleep after a long, boring night serving drinks to drunks? I've got a big day tomorrow/today involving fixing up cars, tow trucks, money, getting tattoos, more late-night bartending, and Star Wars figure trades. Yeah, you heard me, Bubba. What am I doing?

I don't know, Pa. I don't know why I have trouble sleeping. I don't know why I can't graze like the rest of the herd. Life is strange. Always has been. Getting older, my movie audience is getting younger, though. It's kind of...creepy. Sometimes I feel like I'm still at a roller skating birthday party, with all of the flashing, fucked-up lights going around and around, as I, myself, go round and around, making myself feel even dizzier. The skates on my feet are metal, heavy, and clumsy. I lost one of them somewhere, and I have to keep one of my legs up very high, and sway from side to side, so that I don't fall. It's kind of tiring. I don't even know how I got invited, anyway. Nobody's paying attention to me. I always feel like I'm tagging along, and when everybody else stops to take a break, and maybe get something to eat - I'm too poor to buy anything.

When I slow skate with the girls, they don't look at me. I feel that they secretly wanted to be with someone else. Before the last note of the song, they're already gone, rolling away on brand new, un-rented pink and purple skates. Before I know it, the DJ's already called the last dance, and it's all over. I end up waiting alone in a dirty parking lot for my father. Everybody else piles into mini vans piloted by young-looking mothers. Sometimes there are five or six kids leaving together in the same car. Nobody asks me where I'm going. Finally, about an hour later, my angry father pulls up. I'm the last kid in the parking lot. My feet hurt on the ride back home. My father doesn't ask me how it was. He doesn't ask if I had fun. He doesn't ask anything. He just guns his creaking van back to our oil-stained driveway. He's already in the house by the time I get out of the car. I walk past my older brothers room. He slams the door. I'm back in my room. There's nothing much in there. No posters on the walls to look at. One shelf for toys. Two windows. The night. And silence...






I Hear Pat Benetar...

It's getting harder and harder to finish books.
It's getting harder to write important stuff.
Maybe I've been reading and writing crap, urm?






Sunday, August 24, 2003



This Is What I Sang All Night...

We Like The Moon.





Saturday, August 23, 2003



Give Me The Crotch, Piggy...

After a night of poker playing. Poker-NOT-playing, I should say. After a night of poker playing, more sleep and a movie sounds good. LIfe IS Beautiful with the Italian Pinnochio idiot, The Hours with hot Nicole Kidman with Robert Deniro's nose on, and Pi by that Darren Aronofsky guy. My head is fuzzy, I can't concentrate. One day, I'll have something brilliant to say. One day...






Wanna Bet?

That I suck at poker?
Really?

You win.





Friday, August 22, 2003




Social Roulette...

You ever have one of those days or nights where everything that everybody says is wrong? Or have you ever felt so fucking alienated once the words start falling out of people's mouths? I'm sorry for ranting. I'm tired and am ignoring conversations behind me. Sometimes staying home isn't so bad. Just make sure that If you go out, that nobody follows you home. Don't pick up hitchhikers. Don't talk to strangers. Candy is a no-no. I feel dead sometimes., and part of it may be your fault. Maybe I need to book a flight and crash it, so that I can wake up on a desolate island. I spend half of my time nodding my head to conversations that bore the hell out of me or that sound like a fucking prescooler uttered them. Catch me in a better mood, and I'll be able to explain. But seriously, there was nothing tonight that interested me. I was on the red carpet all night. Some nights are good. Some are bad. Tonight was crap. The older I get, the quieter I become, because this means the less I'll have to say in response to all of the shit that you're slinging to me. Le Sigh. Le Who Cares. At least for now anyway. Who needs sleeping pills when you have conversation? I'm an idiot surrounded in a world by bigger idiots. Le idiotic. Le sigh again. Sorry to bum you out. This weekend we should all cut out our tongues, but then more people would write, and if they did - it'd probably be exactly like this. Le boring. Le done.

No Spellcheck.







Wednesday, August 20, 2003



Title...

I drove by a horrible car accident in front of the local college today. Traffic was reduced to a crawl as a team of cops directed all of the cars. As I was waiting in line, I stole glances at the crash scene. The front end of a Dark Green Mercedes was crumpled and smashed up. It looked like a discarded snot rag. There was a blue black rubbery sheet thing draped over what looked like a body to me. I couldn't tell if I saw blood, and I might've seen a couple of pink fingers not totally covered by the tarp thing, and then I was past it.

Five seconds after that,
as I was making my way up the street,
I saw a girl waiting to use a crosswalk,
who had the biggest pair of breasts that I've ever seen,
and I slowly whispered to myself...

" Oh My God! "




Tuesday, August 19, 2003



Id, Ego, Han Solo, And Greedo...

I talked to my younger self today. He wanted to go outside and play. I told him that I was too tired. He asked me why. I said that I didn't know, maybe we could do something later. He's too smart for that; he could tell that I was lying. Shit, he's me - we can spot that shit a mile away. We grew up together, c'mon. Later, after I had rested a bit, he sat down next to me while I was at the computer. He asked me what I was doing. I told myself that I didn't know, just cruisin' around, I guess. Reading some things, checking my site, and others. He told me that it didn't sound like much fun, why don't I play a video game or something? I told him that I might later. He slumped back in his chair, bored. I felt kind of bad, I mean - maybe I should've entertained him. We haven't seen each other in a while, we don't talk as much as we used to. I asked if he wanted anything to drink, a soda, or some Kool-Aid, or something. He said that a beer would be nice. I told him to fuck off, that he was too young to drink. He told me that I was too, and that I should fuck off too. I told him, fine then, you fucker - why don't you go in the fridge and get one, and then grab me one while you're at it - He got up, came back and gave me a Bud. He had a water. I asked him why didn't he grab a beer? He said that he liked his brain cells vibrant, thank you very much and that water was better for him. He was aiming to live to a ripe old age. I told him that he was a smart ass. He said...smart? Yes. An ass? Sometimes. But that I was a dumbass. I said, okay, then you little fucker. You little fucking know-it-all, why the attitude? You're supposed to be on my side. You're the younger me.

He said because you never call me, you asshole.

And then he kicked me in the nose and left...





Monday, August 18, 2003



Oh, And I'm Totally Not Kidding...

A little kid just rang my doorbell and asked if a Mr. Ohm lived here. I said no. Then he asked if I'd lost any hamsters. What the hell? This is by far the weirdest and funniest thing ever. Hamsters? What the hell is that? I'm serious, he actually asked if I'd lost any hamsters? Does he know something about me that I'm not telling? Hamsters? That would of been great if I answered the door naked and with a greased up tube in my hand. Wow, it would've been my lucky day...

Hamsters. I'm serious.






Forget All That Action...

Somebody please kill today, because it sucked serious monkey goolies.






Attack Of The Clones...

Somebody kill all MTV pop stars, please...oh and tone-deaf hip-hop artists too.





Thursday, August 14, 2003



Who's That Trip-Trappin' Across My Bridge?...

I want those back East to know that I'm down for the cause, so I'm typing in the dark right now. I know that I'm using electricity, but it beats writing this, bathed in the soft, illuminating glow of a pig fat candle and sending this to Blogger by carrier pigeon. After I'm done typing this, I'm going to cook up some food on the barbecue while humming Led Zeppelin. Why Led Zeppelin? Don't know, Bugsy. See? Yeah, see? You're not gettin' me alive you lousy coppers! Here, have a lead sandwich! Bratta tatta bratta tat tat tat! Ugh. You dead.

Friends are coming over and I'm gonna tell some ghost stories, Frank's bringing over some Night Train and his new girlfriend who can spit fire and eat glass. She's very cool, I guess her parents were part of a commune, freak show thing back in the day, and taught her some tricks - but only after she was sixteen, Babies eatin' glass ain't too kosher. It would've been for me, if I was one of the parents. Less trash to take out. Hee. From what Frank's told me, she does more than eat glass and spit fire, IfyouknowwhatImean. Hee again.

What this world needs, in these dark times, is an army of as million Atticus Finchs. Fighting for justice. Bein' bad arse. Everybody's all...Boo Radley-ish. Go outside. Let's go surfing now, everybody's learning how. Your parents suck, flip em' the bird, and get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Just make sure to swipe as much money as you can before you go, otherwise, get used to wrapping your backpack straps around your arm so that the homeless guy next to you doesn't swipe your half bag of Cheetos and Mead notebooks full of late night rat scratchings. I remember being stranded in a bus stop out in Montclair, California and meeting a girl with the blondest hair and reddest lips in the world. I think that she invited me in the bathroom with her, but I was so young that I couldn't spot a sexual invitation from a road-travelling prostitute if it hit me in the crotch. She eventually stole my Soda, cigarettes, and lighter shaped like a girls breasts. The flame would come out of the left boob. I miss those boobies.

Frank just called. He said that he's running behind because his gal has to pick up her friend. I don't know her friend. Maybe she's a lion tamer. Then what? I should, maybe turn on the front porch light so that they don't think that I went somewhere. But they all know that we're gonna get drunk by the light of the moon and the glow of whatever the hell Frank's gal uses when she breathes her dragon stuff. Shit, when that Night Train comes, I'll be breathing fire too. I haven't had that stuff since I was in high school. Last time, I tried to rip a tree out of the ground. I failed. Me and my back. Hee once again.

I want those back East to know that I'm down with them in spirit. Don't hurt anybody, be nice, make babies. You have nothing else to do. Your TV's busted. You have to do something, right. Plug the significant other because the tube's unplugged. It's our own damn fault, lightning or not. We take things for granted, and are way too dependant on modern magics. Lets get back down to the stone age, baby. I wanna carve my initials with a spear tip on the hide of a Bison. I don't know. I want everything back to basics, but want beer involved. That's all. That's all I'll take with me. Bison and Bud Light. Yup.

Oh, and Night Train.

Protect your trees tonight, people...

Goodnight, static.

Hello, moon.






Poo...

I mean it.




Tuesday, August 12, 2003



Twat's That? I Cunt Hear You. I Have An Ear Infucktion...

Comments will be back up soon.
Haloscan is working on some issues.


Yeah, Haloscan - me too.






The Olson Twinge...

This damn kitty is going to jump on the keyboard - I know it. After I get back from bartending, I feel nothing. I barely drink - that's how out of it I feel. I come in, get out of my crappy tie, and check on the galfriend. I say hi to the cats. Look around the house for psychos, murderers, and hiding mormons, and usually look for something to eat - even though I'm not in the mood for anything. I turn on the computer and usually go through a quick version of my routine. I check my email, bloggy thingy, and maybe some other sites. Then I realize that it's later than it even was when I came in, and curse myself for even turning on The Beast in the first place if I wasn't going to write anything Hollywood-wise. All of these ideas floating behind my eyeballs. All day. And all I do when I get home is check my site and yours. And porn. Don't forget the porn. But I don't feel guilty about that.




Monday, August 11, 2003



Good Morning, Baby...

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The Cure...

This is not about Robert Smith.
Anyway, sometimes when I start to tell my friends a story -
they stop me and say that they already read it on my website.
This bums me out and makes me feel a bit strange,
so I've come up with an answer......
......to get rid of my friends...




Saturday, August 09, 2003



Beezelbub And Romona...

Thinking furiously,
And with a head full of flies.
Trying to get buzzed,
Before the whole world dies...







Max Headroom...

This a better day than yesterday.
It's sticky hot, though.
Peanut butter madness.
Do you feel like writing reviews or rants???
Go talk to Hard over at The Hard Artist...
Thanks, Bubba.






Ah, hell...Today/tonight wasn't so bad, was it?...

I played Star Wars Galaxies with Joe, and taught my wookie how to dance.
I just got done bbq'in' at five in tha' mornin'.
And got bitten by a spider on my forearm that I hope/pray was radioactive.

Dude.




Friday, August 08, 2003



God, That Was Stupid...

I apologize for my last two posts.
It's one of those nights.

Dude.






Leaving Las Scissorhands...

Watched Leaving Las Vegas. Haven't seen that in a long time. It makes me not want to drink...Vodka and Tequila! Ha!
Anyway, it was pretty good, and what ever happened to everybody's favorite babysitter, Elizabeth Shue? Who cares about that Melrose Place brother of hers. So, it made me think about all of the cool roles that Nic has played, and then it made me think about Johnny Depps career.

Who do you like better?

Nic?

Johnny?




Thursday, August 07, 2003



Lady, I'm Gonna Have To Ask You To Leave The Store...

Who would you want to win in a fight between Brittney Murphy and Britney Spears?
Tom Green or Alan Greenspan?
Would you rather live in Iraq or Afghanistan?
Matrix Trilogy, so far, or Lord Of The Rings?
Do you come in peace or go in pieces?
Spiderman or Batman?
Kirsten Dunst or Keira Knightley?
Movies or books?
Favorite book?
Favorite movie?
Favorite website?
Would you rather have a super nice car or a super nice wardrobe?
Ever shoot a gun?
Been in a fight?
Why am I writing this? What happened to what I was supposed to put down?
Do people like you?
Who do you hate today, besides me?
Drink much?
Smoke much?
Nervous habit?
Masturbate much?
What was the last website that you were on before this?
Do you want to ask me something? Anything?
Am I sorry for doing this to you?

Lick it now, please.





Wednesday, August 06, 2003



Kobe Bryant Day...

A couple of my friends had a kid. This is not something friends of mine do for fun when bored. We don't all just sit around and fuck each other, placing bets on who's gonna be the one that gets the bigger belly first. Well, I guess that would be fun - all of it except for the actual birthing, responsibilty, and financial burdens. But these two friends of mine happened to be married. I visited the hospital and saw their baby. Samuel was little. He had little toes that looked like champagne grapes. I was acting out a story to both of them earlier and almost knocked over the baby's bed - so when they asked if I wanted to hold him, I said Hell No, because, if I'm knocking around things, then I sure as hell am not going to hold a kid. I did smell his head a couple of times, though. Why do we eventually lose that? I brought her a Snapple and an In Style magazine, and I brought him his favorite soda. I should've brought beer instead. I asked the father if he wanted to play poker, and he said that he did. Maybe he would've bet the little dude. Maybe not.

Anyway, I found out that the baby had a little ankle bracelet on that sounded an alarm if he was taken past a certain point without it being deactivated first. It looked like a miniature version of one of those parole anklet thingys. Babys now come with anti-theft devices? Do they have versions like the ones that they have in certain clothing stores that explode when you take them outside?

I was still staggering from the weight of this, by the time I got home.

Then I had sex and forgot all about it.




Tuesday, August 05, 2003



Things I Hate About Summer...

Bugs
and
warm beer.

And bugs in my warm beer.




Monday, August 04, 2003



The Naked Ape...

I don't like to generalize, but I think that all people are inherently evil. Overall, the majority of us have selfish, monkey thoughts hardwired into our brains. Not much has changed in the minds of man in the last 1000, million, bajillion years. I think that we still want exactly the same things that we wanted way back then, except that there are now a lot more useless things that we acquire that disguise our real wants. Men and women want to fuck each other, and they don't care who gets in the way. We hate people that impede out progress. We're very hungry. We want various versions of security, and we want it now. Heaven help those who get in our way. We'll grab it, and all of it, if we get the chance. I think that the only reason that humans domesticate animals is because we get disgusted with ourselves and need something else around to keep us company. I think that the majority of humans get sick of other humans, that we may be able to blindly justify our behavior by surrounding ourselves with animals that we feel a superiority over. But does it make sense to laugh at another animals unconditioned responses, when we do the same type of shit all the time?

Hoot Hoot! Pant! Pant!

I just don't understand us.
My own fault for trying.

All monkeys look beautiful when looking up at them from the ground.
But when you get up really close to one,
and you have to start dodging the shit that they're slinging...

It's just fucking gross.






Saturday, August 02, 2003



What I Did On My Summer Vacation...

Last night involved, yet again, more stripper madness. My girlfriend earned a dollar dancing for me at the club. Some very mean-looking girl with breasts bigger than my total body weight put a dollar in her pants. I was a pimp for one whole second. Some pimp. Anyway, this morning I was about to go to the bathroom when Hard arrived at the door...

I'll let him tell you...

Hi kiddies! Its' your old pal, The Hard Artist! Kev and I auditioned for a play today! Then we went antiquing... it was delightful! Actually, we did audition today. But Kev might not get to do the show because he has to go see those whiny bitches, Radiohead, on one of the performance nights. Then we went back to his pad to watch some horrible movies. Boy, this is starting to sound like one of those blogs that I hate: "Sorry I haven't updated in six months but school has been really tough!" Kev has Metallica playing right now. It makes it hard for me to string any coherent thoughts together. Here, take over homie...
This is like blog freestylin'!...

Yeah, I auditioned for a play. I was talking to a guy outside of the theatre. I asked him if he'd done any shows there. He said that he had, but not in a coupla years. I told him that I haven't done any theatre in...ten. Am I just old, or not a card-carrying member of the drama fag society? Maybe both. The other day when I was re-applying for school, the guy at the admissions window said, " So, you graduated this year? ". I was puzzled. I told him no. He showed me my admission form. Yup, it said year of high school graduation, 2003. I had to tell him that it was a mistake. He asked me when did I really graduate then? I looked around and whispered...1993. He was kind enough not to arch his eyebrows. I started to snicker, cuz' I'm getting fucking old. Hee Hee.

Hey, Hard! What movies did we watch over here after our auditions?

Hard here! Well, Kev... It shames me to admit this, but we had the pleasure of watching Final Destination 2 (don't worry if you didn't catch the first one, all your crap needs can be met with this purile sequel), something called The Wash (a movie where, seemingly, the director just turned his camera on and walked away - leaving Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog to get up to all manner of pointless jackassery), and Evil God (a short film by the one and only Kevynn, which wasn't too shabby once he explained what the fuck it was about). Hey y’all here's a little quiz for ya; who wrote the following?:

O Pointy Birds,
Pointy Pointy.
Anoint My Head,
Anointy nointy.

No fair you answering, Kev.

My god, what the hell was that? I refuse to speculate. I want one of you to tell me what the frag he's gussying on about. I'm very proud of myself for actually waking my hung over body up to go stand in a theatre with a bunch of balding, white men. Maybe I won't get a call back. Maybe I will. Actually, there were a couple of black kids at the auditions too, but they kind of freaked me out. The one without the afro kept on talking to me excitedly, and was later told by the director to stop dancing while he was on stage. The afro-less black kid had a lot of pent up energy in him. I blame it on Motown. Oops. I didn't say that. Anyway, the guy with the afro was weird too. Fuck, everybody was weird. White, black, plaid. One guy that I auditioned with smacked the fuck out of my chest when he was all caught up in the moment. It was so loud that Hard said that everybody outside asked what the hell was happening inside. So. Uhmm. I would like a part. A big part. I would like to part the Red Sea.

H.A: Do you all see what's happening here? Kevynn threw in a little cleverness at the end of that paragraph in order to draw you away from his earlier racist comments. Let me be the first to break the news in this Hard Artist Exclusive: Kevynn is the Grand Wizard of the KKK. I know, it's shocking. But true. I swear... [choking noise as Hard is throttled by Kev] He's never gonna let my write on his site again.

Dude, I don't care what anybody says - I'm allowed to get away with whatever I want. My mother was born in a Vietnamese jungle and she fed me bugs and dogs as a child. What that has do what I said earlier? I have no idea. But I'm excused, thank you. And I was serious about wanting to part the Red Sea, but that fucking Moses got to it first, the bitch.

Lick us. Goodbye.

Hard and Malone, out...





Friday, August 01, 2003



At A Friend's House...

Theres a lot of crud going on right now. People fighting with swords. I'm not kidding. there's two people actually fighting with swords behind me as I write this. The ability to see is way over rated. Dueling is so last year. As I type this, chunks of my ear are getting hacked off. This is not a pleasurable experience. I like how there's only two girls to the eight present. Poor guys. It's sad to see the monkeys fight for their scant resources. But, then they just all left...and guess what? I'm already hearing about strippers. I have no problem with that. I have no need for the poo-na-nee search. Yeah, take that Google. How do you spell that, anyway?

Hold on...