I'm Sorry...

But the best way for one to wake up is to a spelling bee on ESPN. To see a small, Asian kid get a word, ask for it again, and then faint dead on the floor. The audience gasped, commentators talked about how they had never seen anything like that before, nobody moved, the kid got back up, spelled the word right and sat back down. All of the other kids looked at him. Not in amazement or concern - but FEAR. I hadn't even pulled on my socks yet. Little kids in spelling bees is the best fucking way to wake up in the morning.

Everything after that is icing on the cake.

A Friend From New York..

Is here for the summer and trying to break into the stand-up/improv biz thing/scene.
He said that he's good with acting things out, but just not creating them...
I asked him how the trip to Cali. was.
He said that he had to bring his cat on the plane.
I asked how that was.
He explained.
I asked if he had to sit next to a Vietnamese couple.

Thats all I could come up with.

The donut shop was the only place in my suburban town that was open twenty-four hours. Sometimes Tony, Chris, and I would end up there anyway because we all had no cars and little money to do anything anyway. We could smoke, talk, laugh or end up bored with the boring boredom and leave to go sit bored at the boring park. It would suck whenever they had to go home because that would mean I’d have to entertain myself. Which is okay for the first couple of hours, but then you start to go crazy knowing that you wont be able to see anyone until at least eleven am or by noon. They had homes with parents. Warm beds. Showers. Music, TV, etc. I had a yellow-tinted 24-hour donut shop with distant Mexican music playing in the background.

All of the pictures were faded. Donuts and croissants. I used to laugh at the one that described their croissants as creamery and buttery. Creamery? I still don’t know if that’s really a word.

I would start reading the paper at about two or three in the morning. Making it last, reading every inch and every word of that newspaper except for the classifieds, sports, and opinion sections. I would write a lot in notebooks. Nobody would mistake me for a fledgling screenwriter or a young insomniac putting down The Great American Novel because they don’t have backpacks. I don’t know, maybe they do.

Occasionally people would come in. Usually to buy smokes. The guy who worked there and couldn’t speak much English was cool and never kicked me out because I’d been buying cigarettes there since I was fourteen and always bought a coke and a creamery ham and cheese croissant. It was the only item that they had that had actual food in it and not a bunch of sickeningly sweet shit. Donuts are like candy. If I want candy, I’ll eat it. Blagh. I needed to eat somehow. So when I die of a heart attack by the age of thirty – you know whom to blame.

One time a good friend of mine that I hadn’t seen since we graduated high school came in. She gave me a big old hug and asked me a bunch of questions about what I’d been doing since we graduated, what was I doing here, etc? I must’ve looked like I was on drugs because I felt uncomfortable and my eyes kept on darting around looking for an escape. I didn’t want her to know that I was homeless. Even though she was a friend, I didn’t want anybody to know that my father had kicked me out right after I graduated and by the time that my senior class was taking Tequila shots in Mexico, I was dodging cockroaches and sleeping in Elementary schools. I lied and told her that I was waiting for Tony to come home from a party and that I should leave. She offered me a ride but I didn’t take it because then I would have to let her drop me off in front Tony’s house and then have to pretend to go up to the door and then wait for her to leave. Fuck all of that. Last thing that I remember was her looking at me confused and concerned as she drove away.

I walked around the block, smoked a cigarette and then came back to the donut store. I had to buy another coke too because I had thrown out my last one to make it look like I was leaving.

There were only a small handful of homeless people in the town that I lived in. I knew them all by sight and some I used to give money to when I was in high school. After I got kicked out, I always used to see the Vietnam vet guy sleeping at one of the elementary schools that I did. He was nice. I used to buy him a coke and a small bag of chips every time I saw him outside of the Blockbuster Video. When I was sleeping at the school, he was always cool to me and I never thought that he’d try to fuck me up or steal my shit. That still didn’t keep me from wrapping the straps of my backpack around my arms though. I learned that trick on Greyhound bus trips. I had a wallet with a chain on it too. I used to shorten the length of it so that nobody could try to unlatch it without me feeling it.

The one that I saw the most was the big fat guy. He was fat fat. Really fat. He looked Hawaiian or something, maybe in his forties, and wore shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops all the time. I would always see him leaning against a shopping cart and strolling along like that. Like his weight was too heavy for him to bear and that he needed help. One time he asked me to buy him a bottle of cherry brandy. I told him how young I was. He said that it was only four bucks. I told him again how old I was. He acted disgusted at me. Whatever. Anyway he was fucking huge. Sometimes he would come into the donut shop too. He’d buy a coffee and would start to nod off. He snored. Sometimes I would have to wake him up because the cigarette in between his fingers would look like it was going to drop on the floor or burn his fingers. Sometimes he’d knock over his coffee and the donut guy would kick him out.

The fat homeless guy would talk to me sometimes. I tried not to speak to anybody because It’s hard to be in a place that’s your last resort and to engage in a conversation that you’re not interested in because you don’t really have an escape route if you have no where else to go.

I remember that he said that he grew up next to Hank Ketchum and used to play with him. He was the guy who created the Dennis The Menace comic strip. Hank Ketchum – not the fat guy. Maybe he was bullshitting. He used to tell me all kind of stories in between his bouts of narcoleptic sleep. I drew pictures of him sometimes in my notebook. One time I left early because he noticed that my shoes had silver duct tape wrapped around them. He started laughing hysterically and pointing at my shoes. My face burned red. I tried to explain to him that I usually did that to my shoes because of skateboarding, but he was too busy laughing/choking. Tears rolled down his big, red cheeks and he kept on pointing at my shoes. So I gathered my shit up and then slept in the park.

It all sucked. I hated that fucking place but was grateful for it’s existence. I hated my life. I hated when the sun came out and the occasional passing car became a constant drone because then more people started to come in before work. Then I would leave. Too crowded. Too loud. Too many people looking at me. Too many people going and doing things. Nobody knew or cared who the hell I was and that was how I liked to keep it. By that time I could maybe wait for Carls Jr. to open and then I could grab a burger or some fries. I stretched that out too. I had nothing to read because I didn’t want to read the paper. I would have to save that for the night. If I was lucky I could maybe watch a little TV. I wish that they’d had a TV in the donut shop - that would’ve made it easier. I’d waste an hour or two at Carls and then go to the park for a quick nap. Tony was in continuation school and would get home at noon, maybe at 1 p.m. if he was smoking pot with somebody. Then I would get to use his shower, maybe change my clothes. Try not to bug him or his parents too much because I might get to spend the night there on the weekends. I stayed there for a couple weeks once until his father asked me what my plans were – so I left. And I didn’t want to do that to Tony or Chris because it was hard enough for them to live with their parents, they didn’t need me to put a strain on all of that shit. Anyways, people’s parents like you a lot better the less they see you. Trust me on this.

And if there was a point to this story - I’ve forgotten it. I originally wanted to tell you about the fat man, but the retarded translation really doesn’t do it justice unless you get to see how huge he was. I wasn't trying to whine either – but if it sounds like it and you don’t like it – then you have my permission to leave, nerd/loser. Don’t ever come back. I wrote this story last week and then forgot about it. I have to fire up the barbecue now. Grilled Mahi Mahi is more important.

I hate donuts.

Thanks.

I Can't Help You...

To the person who came to this site looking for masturbation techniques?

You need to get out more.

Or...to stay in more.

or something like that.

I Need...

To remind myself to be happy
before I start to spend the rest of my life being unhappy
i know everything that i used to
but need to remind myself
how it and i was
i need to not feel as old as i make myself
i need to feel as old as i made myself
how it and i was
but to remind myself
that everything that i used to know
before i started to spend the rest of my life being unhappy

need not be remembered...

Do I Write Email Spam To Myself?...

But they need to remember how eagerly cup behind girl scout procrastinates.Furthermore, tripod beyond cheese wheel flies into a rage, and squid inside prime minister reach an understanding with inferiority complex inside customer.around rattlesnake bur oil filter for, or rattlesnake inside make a truce with around parking lot.mirror behind fundraiser figure out inside trombone, because photon near prefer stovepipe near.Furthermore, insurance agent behind ruminates, and living with clock write a love letter to cloud formation behind maestro.Furthermore, judge toward rejoices, and cloud formation from mirror confess senator beyond satellite.

lifetime committal barberry schoolroom smolder

Bunny Mcintosh Rollerskates On Your Face And Makes You Cry...

I broke my digital camera today.
No focus anymore.
The camera - not me.

Now I am sad.

Beautiful Stories For Ugly Children...

A Message For You From The Guy That Screams In The Middle Of The Street And Pretends To Hold A Rifle...

I just gave him a couple of bucks as I left the store and he said," Tell you're friend to be safe, okay? Be safe! Be safe!"

I said that I would even though he didn't specify exactly whom he was talking about.

So...ummm...BE SAFE. Yeah you.

And then five minutes later while I was in my car at a red light, I saw a teacher herding about twenty little kids across the street in a crosswalk. A little girl did a cartwheel. I smiled.

That will probably be the coolest thing I'll see all day.

More Important Than Me Getting Drunk...

Go visit The Island Of Misfit Toys.
Come back.
Don't.

Bring gum and a sleeping bag.

Some Other Day Than Today...

I can't write. The story I just started...ended. Hiccup will forever wonder why people are stealing his trash I guess. And why is this easier to write than what i was writing earlier? When I don't care, I can write. I don't obsess over grammatical syntax even though I rewrote this sentence. Those things can be corrected. Who cares anyway? It's not like there's a book deal hanging over my head. I'm not getting paid. I have no deadlines. Well, actually i do for a couple of things - but reading 128 pages of a book before I started writing tonight doesn't help because if im reading - im not writing. The music playing on this stupid-ass computer isn't helping either. I must remember to write like Hemingway. I must remember to write like a baby. I can't wait to go to Paris and write like a baby Hemingway. Actually, like I'd give a shit about writing about famous cities. I'm all for writing about famous situations within the cities. Not the boring, everyday march of the morons in places with history. It's already been done. Blow up a bomb in a cow field. Kill a cat on a dirty rooftop - but not on a famous rooftop. Throw a famous cow off of cat-infested rooftop with a bomb inside the building.

Morale of the story: Somebody else was picking through Hiccup's trash and slowly recreating his apartment because he or she or it wanted to be like Hiccup.

p.s. Hiccup got his nickname because he always does when he smokes pot. Which is awesome. I only named him Hiccup because my Muse CD was skipping.

No spell check.

Samuel Clemens' Right Eye...

Since nobody reads this site anymore - maybe I'll just let it die and do more productive things.
Nah. Fuck that. The writing'll probably get better now.
Like I care what the rest of the Munchkins in Munchkin Land think...

I hate you so much - I want to twist off your head.

Oliver Queen...



Whenever my girlfriend talks about going shopping, I ask her to look at the toys for me. Even if she's going to a fabric store, IKEA/HELL, or looking for fake purses in L.A. She'll tell me that they don't have toys there. I always think she's lying to me. Everybody's against me. If I ask you to get me toys, a monkey, comic books, or beer - you better try real hard to make it possible. I'm serious. You can make this happen. I don't joke about stuff like that. I have constantly asked everybody for a bow and arrow set. My conservative, secret branch-of-the-government father of mine only gave me presents that he was interested in. So, my older brother and I got bow and arrow sets when we were young. We had fun, actually. We had more fun when my father was inside the house because he would’ve beaten the crap out of us seeing us shooting arrows at each other's heads. So, I've always wanted to do that again. Not shoot an arrow at my brother's head. Been there. Done that. No. I want to stand out in my backyard with twenty-four arrows, a twelve pack of beer, andjust shoot a bunch of arrows at targets, bales of hay, and fat people. I dream of this. From you, I get smiles. This is not cool. Do I look like I'm being cute? I mean it. Nobody listens to me. I was talking about this to a co-worker the other day and he told me that his younger brother was an archer. Seriously. An ARCHER. Legolas in training. What? Wow. I did a double take. Yes, he was serious. So he gave me one of his younger brother's bows.

It needs to get re-strung. I don't care. When I first got it. I took it out with me. In my drunken glee, I thought that, maybe a bow-stringer would see me pretending to shoot things and would take pity on me. Nothing happened. I am not lucky. I write like Frankenstein tonight too, I guess. Errr.

So, the other day, I went looking for the local archery shop. We do have one. I swear. I didn't just imagine this. I saw the sign, said Ace Of Base. I did, really. I saw a sign...but couldn't find it this time. I felt like a nerd and eventually gave up. Yesterday I looked up the place in the phone book...

- Blah Blah Archery. How can I help you?

Yeah, Umm…Where are you guys located? I tried to find you the other day, but didn't see you.

- Well, we're not in out old location anymore.

Like I'm a regular. Got any new stuff? Dorkdorkdork.

Oh. You're not on Commonwealth?

- Yes. That's where we are.

Really? Okay. Well, are you by anything, like a landmark or something?

Yeah, I said LANDMARK. Like they were right by Mt. Vesuvius, The Death Star or the statue of Jebediah Springfield or something.

- We're between POO and BLARGH street.

Like I have a sense of direction and like I know the streets of the city that I live in. I don't. I'm fucking retarded.

Oh. Yeah, and do you string bows too?

- (pause) Ummm……yes.

Okay. I guess that's like asking a mechanic if they do car work, but - c'mon, man, like I'm supposed to know. Maybe they'd all start laughing at me or something. I'm just making sure, okay. When you assume…you make ass-meat out of U and ME. Something like that…

Oh. Great. Thankyouverymuch. Cool. Thank you.

...Click!...

So. The moral of my story is that I'm drunk and that it's hard to be a nerd when the nerds...think you're a fucking nerd.

The End.

Watch. Now even the comic book guys will start pretending that they don't even know me.

Jai Guru De Va Om...

I just tried to take one of those little quiz thingys that you find on somebody else’s website – but the questions and all of my answers seemed dumb. It was kind of like I was trying to make myself look more clever or interesting to spice up the whole waste of time that it was. SO. I erased it. SO. I am now going to create my own. Which will suck and waste my time even further. I hate you, Internet.

Worst childhood memory?
Beatings, arguments, abuse. All of that happy crap.
Since nobody really knows you, what’s the no. 1 sexually perverted act that you like?
Human contact.
Best lie ever.
I love you.
Last time watched porn?
A week ago?
On a diet?
I look like I took a diet WAY too far.
Kerouac?
Loved the early guy. Sad for the fat version. Like Elvis.
Americans?
Fat. Lazy. Nice. Mean. Stupid question.
Bukowski?
NICE.
Stephen King?
Brilliant at times.
My authors suck. Name one of your favorites.
I just did.
Forget it. No more authors. That was stupid.
Yes.
Jawas? Filthy or just plain misunderstood?
Filthy.
Coolest part of your day?
Time with the girl before work.
What didn’t you do that you totally wanted to?
Write.
Why didn’t you do it?
Work.
Is that any excuse?
No.
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-punch?
Fuck…ummm…today?
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-massage?
Kate Beckinsale?
Give me an idea for a movie.
I crotch punch Hollywood.
Last favor you did for someone.
Crotch-punched Hollywood.
Most annoying website – besides mine, of course.
AOL.COM
Drink of choice?
Bud Light. Seriously.
Deserted island. One book. One item. One author, dead or alive. One companion animal. One thing that you could take to the island that’s in your car right now. One bathroom item.
Boy Scout Handbook Of America. Rambo knife. I wouldn't want to be stuck on an island with a writer unless it was a she, and she was hot..and MUTE. I'd like a Peurto Rican boy as a companion animal. I'd take my road flares so that I could burn my Puerto Rican when he was really bad. Bathroom item would be a gun.
What’s going on tomorrow?
Chaos. Order. Pizza. Porn. Oasis.
Favorite 5 cd’s right now.
That one Bjork CD that I got. AND SO ON by Longfellow. YOUR ENEMIES FRIENDS. THE ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND soundtrack. KNUCKLE SHUFFLE ON THE PISS PUMP by WRIST ACTION.
Site you were on before this?
Fat Free Milk.
Any comic books you want to send me?
Yes, I would love to, Kev...
Last time you got really pissed and why?
Today. I'll keep it to myself. Bottle it up.
If you could kill somebody right now – who would it be, why, and with what?
Ms. Scarlett, cuz' she's a whore and with the lead pipe in the study.
If you could bring a dead person back to life – who would it be? Religious figures don’t count.
Andre The Giant and The Haiti Kid. I cheated.
Weirdest thing that’s ever been inside your body?
Energy.
This was lame, huh? Oh well. YOU took it. I was bored. I’m the bigger dork, but YOU took it. Dork.
Piss off, you wanker. Yeah, you.

Yoda's Bland Food...



First thing I see
when I twist off
the cap of a beer
is Dagobah fog.

And a lifetime of solitude...

Seriously...

Have I missed the bus or was I not supposed to be able to buy a ticket anyway? I just don't get it. I'm either the biggest waste in the universe or I'm grasping at the coats of demonic millionaires a coupla seconds too late. I'm like a stray dog weaving in-between lanes of highway traffic. Maybe I should stop and take a breather? Maybe I rested too long that last time. Everytime I stop, I put myself in more danger...but maybe if I pull my leg over my head and lick myself, one of those cars might notice me, stop...and take me home. To a place of warm fireplaces, food, comfort and heavy petting...

Yes. I said heavy petting...

To Get To The Other Side...



If you combined the whole Blogger thing with the old Atari video game FROGGER - then maybe there'd be a point to this.

The Taskmaster Knows All of Your Moves Even Before You Do Them Because He Studies Them On Videotape Before You Fight…



And the beat goes on even for those suffering from heart attacks. Black markers on black souls and the color black is used in too much writing. Work is a bitch, and don’t you just fucking hate that bitch from work? I make food for my girlfriend and never eat it. I’ve become my mother. She’s very short. I’ve seen her twice in the last eleven years. That either makes me old or her - not too attentive. Maybe both. My friend’s mom told me the other day that she thought that I was 22. I said thank the gods I’m not anymore. I feel sorry for Ernest Hemingway because he pussed out and because he was a jock and couldn’t survive being a tough guy today. Kerouac did not become a roman candle – he became a fat dud firework. His last wife looked exactly like his mother. I couldn’t marry my mother because she’s too short...and I need lots of attention.

And the beat goes on even for those suffering from heart attacks. Black markers on black souls and the color black is used in too much writing. Work is a bitch, and don’t you just fucking hate that bitch from work? I make food for my girlfriend and never eat it. I’ve become my mother. She’s very short. I’ve seen her twice in the last eleven years. That either makes me old or her - not too attentive. Maybe both. My friend’s mom told me the other day that she thought that I was 22. I said thank the gods I’m not anymore. I feel sorry for Ernest Hemingway because he pussed out and because he was a jock and couldn’t survive being a tough guy today. Kerouac did not become a roman candle – he became a fat dud firework. His last wife looked exactly like his mother. I couldn’t marry my mother because she’s too short...and I need lots of attention.

Fat Man And Throbbin'...

I just saw one of those two person bikes. The guy in the front was dressed up as Robin The Boy Wonder. The guy on back wasn't dressed as Batman, which made it even weirder.

I waited for The Joker to follow on a unicycle - but it never happened - so I got in my car and drove home.

Melatonin...



Lost a paper that had about five story ideas and a list of things to do.

So now I'm here, just kind of twiddling my thumbs on this keyboard. I gathered up all of my movies to return to the video store. I have Netflix but still go to the video store occasionally, because, you know - it's just so hard to mail those Netflix envelopes back, y' know? I also have my bow propped by the door. I'm going to take it to that archery store place thingy to get it strung. Then I can start shooting arrows at people and chirping birds. I also took off the back of the huge tv that we have. We broke the connector thing off of the back. When I popped of the back panel, I made something else come loose too. It's brains and nervous system were all too complicated and web-like - so, I guess I have to find somebody to help me lug that thing to a TV repair shop. Then I will go back home and work on my screenplay about demon conjuring, binding spells, Hell and The Necronomicon...

Malone On Babies...

What sucks about baby pictures is that time passes and then you look at the picture afterwards and then realize that the kid looks nothing like the baby picture anymore and it’s not as fun. Then, maybe, like, twenty years go by, and then you get all astounded by how young the baby was.

Yeah.

Dork...

I just got done making my car payment over the phone. I always talk to the same girl. She's nice. We shoot the shit and fill each other in on what's been happening lately. After we were done talking, I told her goodbye and then said, "Be good".

Be good?

What the hell is that all about?

Oh. Now I remember...I'm retarded.

Shrtst. pst. evr.

.

John Constantine…





Waking up can be a mistake. Some days, I feel like I’ve made a bad choice. People who die in their sleep may be geniuses. Maybe they found out something in dreams that I never will. Maybe they had a divine moment of REM clarity and said holyshitfucknowigetitwhatthehellwasithinking? Then they’re done. Pop goes the cork. Bright burns the light. Sink the ship. Fries are done. Game Over, Ms. Pac Man. Fireworks. Smoke in the air. The crowd leaves. Holiday over. Laughing all the way to Narnia, Hogwarts, Orange County, Krynn, Hoth, Middle Earth, Oz, Hollywood, and to that place where The Brothers Lionheart went.

I’m quiet now. Maybe I cashed in all of my emotional stocks way back in the 80’s and 90’s. I’ve made some bad investments. Now, I just seem to float around all gossamer-like. Kind of like the one, thin spider web that seems to stick to your face no matter how much you claw at it when you go out in the backyard to water your lawn late at night. I won’t go away – but I’m not as big as I could’ve been. Just a tad bit annoying. Making my presence known. Not doing any real damage. Somebody once compared Jimi Hendrix to the thin wire filament of a burning light bulb. The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long. That’s how I feel. Like the slow parts of a good movie. Like radioactive waste. I know I’m still young, but you really should’ve known me before. I was crazier. I fucking either wanted to be left alone to scribble away in the darkness, to think, to break things…or wanted to question and tear the outside world apart. Now, I wish that everything was quiet. Silencio, por favor. I don’t think. And when I do. It passes through my brain like caffeine. All energy dissipates as soon as it’s fleetingly conjured. I smile a little, but always look like I’d be happier somewhere else. I wish I knew where that place was. It’s definitely not in front of a computer screen. It’s definitely not outside. Definitely not inside my head, or out of it. What makes me feel happy now? I’m not depressed or anything. I’m just talking. I know that a lot of my biggest changes have happened in small amounts of time and sometimes the smallest change can happen in a long time. I know that if love and life played by our rules, then that pretty, little picture in our head would be a reality.

Slow, progressive, Earth-shaking change was cool back in the day. Spending a couple years here or there doing the same-ass things - but making adventures in the meantime was nice – but we were a lot younger then. What happens when the amount of time starts stacking? What happens when the amount of decay overpowers the fresh growth?

You get the fuck out of town. Okay. Where and for how long? Guess you have to find out along the way, eh? Change yourself? Duh. Whatever. Instant change is like ramen noodles. Unsatisfying and shitty.

This might not make sense – but like I care. Keep your snide, little comments to yourself, or go visit a clever BLOG. Say what you want. Just don’t be funny, because I’m doing all of the fake, unreal cleverness here.

You know why I liked Bukowski so much? Because he was honest. He was ugly. He was the poetic John Merrick. He was sad. Depressed. Brilliant. A pig. He wanted to be left alone, but needed love on his own terms. He went postal before postal was postal – but he went postal on paper. That last sentence makes sense if you slow it down.

Jumanji’s in my heart, but the Hellraiser Cube’s in my pocket. I don’t know what to do.

I really do wish that I could meet Han Solo and have a drink with him. He’d understand, and just say a coupl of gruff sentences that WOULD MAKE SENSE TO ME AND SUM UP THE WHOLE DEAL. Then we’d have more blue drinks served in Tupperware glasses, and double-team a gal with tentacles for hair.

After work today, I was at a stoplight and saw the mayor of my city walking across the crosswalk. I leaned my head out of my car and said hello. He said, Hi Kevynn! That’s nice, even if he is a politician.

I like my cats, my friends, toys, comic books. I also like porn, threatening mean people with violence, and fucked up music. I’m writing about absolutely nothing.

I need to live on a ranch and just make all of this stuff go away. Trust me – I’m not trying to be all complicated and deep. I’m far from that and I don’t want your sympathy. Your condolences are like cheap crack. It strings you out in the end. No caloric value to it. Ample amounts of empathy does not make a healthy diet. I need direction. Something other then TAKE A LEFT AFTER THE STOP SIGN or GET A NEW JOB. I need something … I need it like Dracula does. I’ll know it when I taste it. I used to watch my mother suck the marrow out of chicken bones when I was young. I tried it a couple of times. I remember her chasing around a couple of geese that I thought were pets. I remember her chopping their heads off with a cleaver, Wally. Feathers floating in the air and headless bodies flapping on the ground.

People talk too much. They need to just stop for a bit. Most of my days are like one, sticky, continuous conversation ball thrown at my head. Im too tired to dodge em’ and just let em' roll down my face. Nodnodnod yesyesyes. Big Bump. Everybody just calm down, shut up, and leave everybody else alone. Walk around, play with your kids, walk the dogs – but, still … shut up. You’re about as original as ME. Which isn’t much. I’m an ungrateful bastard. I’m the ugliest beautiful person you’ve ever met – I deserve to be hunted down like Frankenstein.

He’ll tell you…

Waking up can be a mistake.

My Friend...

Brandon has a new dog about the size of two tarantulas.

Cody?...

Visions of the drunk ass girl at the bar last night, puking tequila in between her fingers still haunts me...

Ask Me A Question...

Besides why I'm so gay.

The reward for your participation will be my next post.

I think It'll be fun.

And gay.

Meaning happy.

Meaning GAY.

Kevynn Can Mend A Broken Heart When He Gets All The Pieces…

Sometimes…when I approach a person, I don’t know whether to stab them or to hug them. Sometimes, I’ll hug them first and then stab them – but I’d rather stab a person after a good, long hug any day.


"Since light travels faster than sound, is that why some people appear bright until you speak to them?" -Steven Wright

Clementine Kruczynski...



Today at work, I asked a table if they wanted fresh ground pepper.

The man said, "Give me three turns."

So I spun myself in a circle three times.

When I was finished, they all just looked at me.

So I left.

Hitler Mouse...

The Walt Disney Company is blocking its Miramax Films division from distributing Michael Moore's documentary "Fahrenheit 911," which criticizes President Bush, according to a statement on Moore's Web site.
The film is highly critical of Bush's handling of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and his actions leading up the attacks.
"I would have hoped by now that I would be able to put my work out to the public without having to experience the profound censorship obstacles I often seem to encounter," Moore wrote in the statement.
Miramax spokesman Matthew Hiltzik did not immediately return calls for comment Wednesday. Disney spokesman John Spelich also did not return calls early Wednesday.

Moore attributes Disney's decision to concerns that the documentary will endanger tax breaks the company receives from Florida and anger Bush's brother, Florida Gov. Jeb Bush.
Disney has a contractual agreement with Miramax principals Bob and Harvey Weinstein allowing it to prevent the company from distributing films under certain circumstances, such as an NC-17 rating, according to The New York Times, which first reported the story.

"Some people may be afraid of this movie because of what it will show," Moore wrote. "But there's nothing they can do about it now because it's done, it's awesome, and if I have anything to say about it, you'll see it this summer — because, after all, it is a free country."

The often confrontational director won an Oscar for his 2002 documentary "Bowling for Columbine," about the Columbine High School shooting and U.S. gun control policy. He's also known for the 1989 film "Roger & Me," which explored the effects of General Motors on his hometown of Flint, Mich. "Fahrenheit 911" will be one of 18 films in competition next week at the Cannes Film Festival, Moore wrote.

She Looks Out The Portal At Solaris.

RHEYA
Is it a planet?

KELVIN
Not exactly. It exists in a
continuum that wasn't proven until
ten years ago, a higher
mathematical dimension superimposed
on top of the Universe. An
infinite number of them, in fact.
It was a violation of all of our
various laws regarding the
Universe, Space, or Space-Time. It
was completely counter-intuitive.
We had to unlearn everything.

RHEYA
Is it intelligent?

KELVIN
Intelligent beyond our
comprehension.

RHEYA
Then it's God, right?

KELVIN
It's something.

RHEYA
You still don't believe in God?

KELVIN
The whole idea of God was dreamed
up by a silly animal with a small
brain called Man. Even the limits
we put on it are human limits. It
can do this, it can do that! It
designs, it creates!

RHEYA
Even a God that wasn't active, that
just created something and stood
back and watched?

KELVIN
You're talking about a man in a
white beard again. You're
ascribing human characteristics to
something that isn't human. Human
beings look for causes and
patterns. How could we know what
Solaris is up to, if anything?

A beat.

RHEYA
But what if Solaris is what there
was before The Big Bang?

KELVIN
As I said, it is beyond our
comprehension.

RHEYA
As I said, then it's God, right?



I was going to write about my trip to Austin– but then erased the beginning of it because I don’t know how I can fit most of the highlights in and because I’m a very lazy guy. I had something funny to say anyway, but now I’ve forgotten it.

I did see the biggest goldfish that I’ve ever seen. AND I also watched a dog hump a keg. I tried to take pictures of a little kid with a mullet, but his mom was watching so I didn’t get any spectacular pics. I drank constantly.

With the mullet kid.

So, I Leave For A Week...

And I come back to NO new comments and an Internet virus.

Lick it.

Stone Cold...



I leave for Austin tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll write less, maybe I won't. Maybe I don't really care much. It's hotter here in THE OC than in Austin. That's kind of strange. usually it's the other way around for me. Yes, I said THE OC. I'm gonna pull a Paris Hilton and trade in my comfy life. I'm ready to milk some cows. Give me your tired, your weary, your cow manure. I'm tired. I should go to bed. I need to forget to pack things.

This is why I need to get away...

Writing like this...

There Must Be An Unwritten Rule...

That the more keys a man has jingling from his belt...

The creepier he is...

Uncle Rhesus Monkey...

I wish that when people talked about Hip Hop - they were actually talking about people that were hip, and hopped around a lot. Maybe, like, cool bunnies. All Little Bunny Foo Foo - but without the violent bopping of the heads.

Regarding Chewbacca's Inability To Speak Human And His Deep Feelings Toward Han Solo...



He would've said to Princess Leia, " Bitch! The man is mine!"

I think that Chewy would be the ultimate sexual partner because he functions as both a lover AND a blanket.

Not A Cool Title...

If I was an addict trying to score illegal substances at a party,
I'd bring along a K9 drug-sniffing dog.

Genius.

Friday, February 28, 2003...

Bamboo Plants...

My name is Kevynn Malone. I am 5' 11' and a half inches tall. I weigh 138 lbs. My hair is dark brown. I have one brown eye and one light brown eye. My hair is short. I have a scar on my eyebrow from Ian punching me in a drunken fight club night. I have a scar on my nose from throwing it through the glass on a front door. I broke my wrist playing football in fifth grade. I have bad knees. I play Bass guitar. I draw one picture every three months. I write everyday. I am horrible at paying bills. Children like me. I have too many friends. I have too many enemies. All of my friends are talented and insane. I barely drive. I hate freeways. I like to read. None of my family lives in California. I have a girlfriend and two cats. My father used to work for a secret branch of the government. My mother is very short and could drink you under the table. She's a fucking scrapper in a fight. My father is shy. I am not. I sing a lot out loud. I used to skateboard a lot. I like comic books again. I want to be a movie star. I want my screenplays published. I did meet one of the studio heads from MGM yesterday, though. I want to be a Calvin Klein model. I like to buy action figures. Tonight I am going to Jen's house, then I am going to see Tony and Tom play at a bar. Tomorrow I am going to the library. Sunday? I don't know. I am looking forward to Kevynn Malone Day on March 5th. I encourage all to AIM me. We can all hook up that talky-to-talky option on it and drink together. I don't drink anything else but Bud Light. I'm a puss. I don't like to get in trouble anymore. I like to be awake when I drink. I should be getting ready right now, but I'm not. I'm talking to you and singing to Soul To Squeeze by Red hot Chili Peppers.........


I am happy. Mostly. I won't complain. I'm trying. Maybe not hard enough. I need to ignore you more and concentarte on all of the movie and book shit that I attribute 4% of my time to. I taught my girlfriend's niece all about Pez today. I gave her a really cool one today. We ate candy and filled all of mine up. I broke one. But it was a stupid one, so who cares. I need to hook up my photo scanner. I need to get business cards printed. I can dance, but don't. Much. I don't have a Play Station. I have a cool backyard. My neighbors are my friends. I buried my old cat in the backyard. I am friends with an eighty year old man. My youngest friend is four. I am twenty-seven. I believe aliens have visited Earth but don't believe in any of your gods. I don't like to watch wrestling. I like basketball and nothing else. I am unorganized. I think a lot. I wave to planes and helicopters. I don't like to kill ants, but will punch you in the face if you piss me off. I have to remind myself to breathe deep. I am more apt to look up or down than left/right or forward. I don't have a cell phone. I carry around a Moleskin in my back, left pocket. I hate coffee. I smoke. I have Buddy Holly-type glasses, but I need new ones. I paid three hundred glasses for these four years ago. I think I got my moneys worth....My vision isn't horrible. I am nearsighted. I eat a lot of salads. I hate sharks. I like monkeys.


I'll be back soon, nigga...

ENOUGH. The Sovereign Of Asgard Has Greater Tasks To Attend Than The Subjugation Of One ALREADY Brought So Low. Take Him To The Dungeons, And Let Asgard's NEW Age Begin Forthwith...



Living life through the gray area. I see my reflection on the computer screen. It looks blurry and dark. I'll try to change it, to adjust it and to give the picture more clarity.

I spit hard outside before I came in here, trying to get rid of the excess that was in my system. A Buddhist mantra also came to my lips – but I cut it short. No matter how beautiful it is to cultivate peace and meditation – it still takes action and a little physical force to move things. If I can cut the roots of a heavy tree, because it’s blocking my way - then I’ll try real hard to move the damn thing. Even if it makes me more tired than I am now.

Now I don’t see my reflection. The page that I’m typing on is a blinding white. I’m trying to darken it with my words. To blend it into something...in-between. Grey. Then, after I’m done. When I’m ready, I’m going to turn this damn thing off.

Let it go black...

They Might Be Wil Wheaton…



Went to see They Might Be Giants on Friday. Thanks to Cartoon Pig for the tickets. It was at the House Of Blues in Anaheim. I’ve never been to this one – only the one out in L.A. I like the layout of the L.A. one better, but this one was nice and simple. Cool in my book. Nice and simple always works for me. Concert venues, stores, diffusing bombs…stuff like that.

I met Wil Wheaton at the bar. I noticed the T-Shirt that he bought first, actually. I thought to myself, “smart guy”. None of that waiting in line crud after the show. Then I noticed that he looked like my friend, Brandon, then I noticed that he looked like Wil Wheaton, then I noticed that he was Wil Wheaton. I introduced myself, and then later, introduced him to my girlfriend. He was a very nice guy. Not that ever expected him not to be. We talked for a bit about writing and whatnot. He had just finished his book that day. Good for him. I’ll buy it. I like his writing. I tried not to bend his ear too much, even though I had a million geeky questions about small press publishing, writing habits, influences, comic books, voice agents, role-playing, and Warhammer 40k. The show was about to start, Cartoon Pig was already inside and a $4.50 Bud Light can of beer was calling my name. That might be the first time that I’ve actually met a real, published writer. Ray Bradbury was speaking at the library right down the street from my house years ago, but I couldn’t get tickets. I talk to myself a lot – but I don’t count because I’m a hack and wouldn’t want to ask myself anything anyway because I’m rude, condescending and always have food in my teeth.

On Saturday, I played poker with some friends and ended up splitting the pot. I dug myself out of a hole and ended up with $180. Not too shabby. Maybe I’ll email Mr. Wheaton and invite him for some poker, beers and geek talk if he’s ever in my neck of the woods. I don’t think that we live that far from each other. One famous geek, one not. I’m not the famous one – but I will take his money. Ha.

Sunday, I worked fourteen hours straight.

Today…I wrote this.

The end.

Stop It. C'mon, You Can Do It...

Someone has found Fat Free Milk through Google about a hundred times in the last couple of days by typing in Obsessive Compulsive disorder. Dude. Get help. And give me a dollar. You must. Seriously.

They Might Be Giants...



Tonight.
Drinks.
Geeks.
No fights.
Well, maybe - y' never know.
But how much harm can a geek do with a slide ruler?
Shit.
Maybe a lot.

A Testimonial From My Friend Baxter...

"When he has his first book published in a format that requires a barcode on the back jacket, I will undoubtedly add the title to my favorite books list. I would also like to point out that Kevynn is an early example of what happens when our troops go to a foreign country for no reason, get their ass kicked and f*ck the natives. We should be seeing more recent (and hairier) examples in about nine months."

Droopy...

I love flat tires after you get off of work.

I'm SO horny about them.

John Wayne Was A Prick...



Big, tall racist, cowboy ass. All of his movies are outdated and worthless now anyway. Tell us how you really feel, Bub? Props to his son for selling his image out on those old Coors Light commercials too. I used to think that his offspring sucked for doing that - just like Fred Astaire's too - but when you think about it. They were both pricks probably and the kids needed the money to pay for therapy. No. That's not fair. Yes. Yes, it is. I really don't know about Fred, but John Wayne was a crap head. Now, Robert Mitchum...THAT'S a real fucking cowboy.

I have no idea why I started writing about this.

You and me both.

And Spellcheck.

No More Reading About Star Wars Stuff For Me...

I mean...even my nerds are growing nerds.

What?

I don't know either.

Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain...



Thank you to The Jesus Bunny for giving me the day off on Sunday. No bartending for me, folks – so that meant serving drinks to myself. Which is cool, but not as financially lucrative. So it goes.

I bought fourteen dollars worth of Halibut that nobody ate. Joe bought enough steak to feed an army – which everybody later ate. Played poker, and then ended up getting drunk with Tony and taking pictures into the wee hours of the night. Gay. Yes. But fun.



I've reached an all time low.
My pic's on the internet.
Might as well log on to a Star Trek message board now...

The Grand Ennui...

kvn: how ya been, punk?
boz: that's not a sweater thats a bondage vest
kvn: ha.
boz: I'm good, I'm always good
kvn: Cool. Im half-crazy. The same.
boz: so tell me about this donnie darko fetish you have, is there a book, cause the movie really sucked
kvn: Half-Viet, half-Irish, half-insane.
kvn: Dude. So original. So much a better piece of writing than half of the shit out there.
kvn: Not the best - but original, at least.
boz: figured there had to be a book, because the movie really didn't answer anything
kvn: You remind me of Frank - the bunny.
boz: I thought I reminded you of the roberta scurvy
kvn: No. No book. recommend a movie to me then, bubba
kvn: nothing funny
boz: have you seen Frida?
kvn: comedies are boring
kvn: BERT?
kvn: no. but i heard it was good.
boz: Frida with salma hayek
boz: yeah, real good, about an artist not reaching her potential, sort of like someone I know
kvn: Generally movies about painters suck, though...Stealing Picasso...Bisquik, Pollack...
boz: this had sex in it
kvn: Dude. They made a movie about somebody that reminded you of yo - I mean...The Hard Artist? wow.
kvn: jk. Hard kicks butt.
kvn: sex is good.
boz: I wasn't thinking about Hard
boz: I was thinking about someone who used to sleep with him
kvn: I'm getting kind of bored with the internet and writing on it - can you tell?
kvn: I know you didnt mean Hard. ha.
boz: funny thing though, the less you write the more comments you get
boz: I know you know I didn't mean Hard, I just wanted another chance to tell people that you used to sleep with him
kvn: Crap. Seriously, nobody comes around as much anymore. I used to get crazy amounts of people - but now it's a slow trickle...
kvn: Don't care too much though.
boz: ebb and flow, you have to go with the ebb and flow
kvn: Fuck. I just wrote something and it didnt go.
boz: on the zonk?
kvn: I know. I love it more than hate it. I just want to leave the internet as NOT my only sorce of writing. I want to get back to my old school productive ways again. Y' know. Pen. Paper. No distractions other than the ones with lungs andd telephones.
kvn: my fault. not the zonks. spelling? my fault. not god's.
kvn: sorce?
boz: can't you write on the computer, that's the way stephen king does it
kvn: Shit. He's a madman. And a REAL writer, not a hack like me. And even though he's brilliant - he's got buck teeth and an ugly wife...so that must make it easier to write. No distractions. Socially or romantically.
kvn: That was harsh, Stephen - my gog. Writing muse. I apologize.
boz: gog?
kvn: god, i meant. I feel bad.
kvn: That was horrible of me to say.
boz: it was, and his wife reads my blog
kvn: Even though Bukowski was ugly, Hemingway was fat, and Kerouac ended up marrying his fat, ol' mom.
kvn: Damn. There I go again.
kvn: I'm sorry.
kvn: And they were all alcoholics too.
boz: you think mariel hemingway is fat?
kvn: Damn. Again.
kvn: MAriel Hemingway has King's teeth.

Cartoon Pig Radio Mention...



Props to the man for my radio show mention.
Much love to the cow that died to feed my belly.
Thanks to Jesus for doing...whatever he did.

I enjoy not working on Sunday, bloody guy.

Gundark...

Gonna pull your ears off...

Soon...

Uneven Bedford Blazer...

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ÎæÈ ! æÞÊی Èå ÓÑ ÊÇ ?Çی Çیä æÑÒÔ ?äÏ ãیáیÇÑÏی ˜å ÇäÏÇÒå ?یÓÊ ÌåÇäی ÝÑãæá ی˜ ÈÍÑیä ÇÑÒÔ äÏÇÑÏ¡ æáی ÇäÏÇÒå Ïå ÊÇ ˜ÔæÑ ÂÓیÇیی ( ãÚáæã äیÓÊ ?å ÌæÑی ) ãÏÇá ãی ÂæÑÏ æ åãیÔå åã ÈÇ ÔÇÎ æ Ôæäå ÎæÏãæä æ Êæ åãå ?یÒ ÞåÑãÇä ãی Ïæäیã¡ ?å ãی ÔæÏ ?ÝÊ ¿ ãی ÊæÇä ÔÑÇیØ ãÓÇÚÏ ?یÏÇ ˜ÑÏ !
یÇÏã äãی Ñå æÞÊی ÂÑی åÇä ÈÑÇی ÊÕÏی ?ÓÊ ÓÑãÑÈی?Ñی Êیã ãáی Èå ÇیÑÇä ÂãÏ ÈÇ æÇäÊ ?ی˜Çä ãÏá 49 ˜å ÏÑåÇیÔ ÎÑÇÈ ÈæÏ ÏÑ ÒãÓÊÇä ÈÎÇÑی äÏÇÔÊ æ ی˜ ?ی˜ äی˜ی ÈÑÇی ?Ñã ˜ÑÏäÔ ÏÑ ÒیÑ ?Çی ÑÇääÏå ÊÚÈیå ÔÏå ÈæÏ. ÈÑÏäÔ ÓÑ ÊãÑیä¡ äÔæäÏäÔ ?ÔÊ ãیÒ ÍáÈی ÏÑæیÔ !! ÈÚÏã Ìáæی ?ÔãÔ ?Çی ǘÈÑ یæÓÝی ˜å Èå یæÓÝی ÊÑǘÊæÑ ãÚÑæÝ ÈæÏ¡ ÏÑ ی˜ی ÇÒ ÕÏ ?Çáå Òãیä ÔãÇÑå 2 ˜å ?Çی ÈÒ ÊæÔ ?ی? ãی ÎæÑå¡ ÎæÑÏ æ Îǘ ÔیÑ ÔÏ. ÈÚÏã ÈÑÇی ?ÐیÑÇیی ی˜ ÔیÔå äæÔÇÈå Óå ÈÇÑ Ïåäی ÔÏå Ñæ ?ÐÇÔÊä ÌáæÔ! ÇÒ ÒæÑ ÝÔÇÑ ÔÈ åãæä ÑæÒ ÇÓåÇá ?ÑÝÊ æ ÈåÇäå ˜ÑÏ ÏÓÊ ?ÓÑã Ô˜ÓÊå æ ÏãÔ ?ÐÇÔÊ Ñæی ˜æáÔ æ ÝÑÇÑ ˜ÑÏ. ÍÇáÇ ÊæÞÚ ?ی ÏÇÑیã ¿! ÏæÈÇÑå åãæä ÈÓÇØ ÏÑ Çیä Ïæ ÓÇáå ÑÇå ÇÝÊÇÏå ÇÓÊ æ ˜ÇÑی ÇÒ ˜Óی ÈÑäãی ÂیÏ ÈÏÊÑ Çیä ˜å ÈÇÒåã ÓÇá ÞÈá Çáã?ی˜ !
Çی ÈÑ Çیä ÔÇäÓ áÚäÊ ! ÈÇÒã ÓÇá ÞÈá ÇÒ Çáã?ی˜.
ÇÕáÇ ?æیی ˜Óی ˜ÇÑی Èå ÌÇÈÑ ÓÇáã æ æÖÚیÊ ãÈåã æی ÏÑ Çáã?ی˜ ÈÑÇی ÑÞÇÈÊ ÈÇ ÑÖÇÒÇÏå äÏÇÑÏ¡ ?æیی ʘæÇäÏæ æ ˜ÇÑÇÊå æ ˜ÔÊی äÈÇیÏ ãÏÇá È?یÑäÏ æ ÇáÈÊå ˜å ÍÐÝ ÔÏä ÇÒ ÏÇیÑå ÍÖæÑ ÏÑ ÝæÊÈÇá Çáã?ی˜ ÝÇÌÚå äیÓÊ. ?æä æÞÊی ãی ÊæÇäیã ÏÑ Òãیä Îǘی åÇی ?æÏ ÔåÑÒÇÏ ÊیÛی ÈÇ È?å åÇی ˜یÇä ÔåÑ ÝæÊÈÇá ÒÏ¡ Èی˜ÇÑیã ÈÑیã Çáã?ی˜ !
ÂäæÞÊ È?å åÇی Êیã ãáی ÑÇ Èå åÒÇÑ ?äÇå ãی äÏÇÒیã ! ÂÎå ãی ?ä یæäÇä ÇÒ ÞÇäæä ÍÏÇÞá áÈÇÓ ( ÔãÇ ÈÎæÇäیÏ Bikini) ÊÇÈÚیÊ äãی ˜äÏ æ ÎáÇیÞ ãی ÊæÇääÏ ãËá ÂÛÇÒ ÚÕÑ ÒäÏ?ی ÈÔÑ Ñæی Òãیä Îǘی ÇÓÊÑی?¡ ÇÓÊÑی? ÏÑ Òãیä æ åæÇ ÑÇå ÈÑæäÏ.
ÍÇáÇ ÔãÇ ÈÇÔی یå ãÔÈ ÈÇÒی˜ä ÚÐÈ æ ãی ÈÑی Çáã?ی˜ ˜å Ïæ Êی˜å æ ی˜ Êی˜å æ ÇÕáÇ Èی Êی˜å ÈÈیääÏ ! äå ÏÇÔã ÇیäÌæÑی äãی Ôå¡ ÍÐÝ ÔÏیã ÚیÈی äÏÇÑå ÝÇÌÚå äیÓÊ. åÑ ˜ی ÇÒ ÎæäÔ ãی Ôیäå ÝæÊÈÇá ãی Èیäå. åÑ ˜ی åã ÍÑÝ ÏÇÑå ÂÏÑÓ ããÏی ãæÌæÏ ÇÓÊ ÈÑå ˜Ê˜Ô æ ÈÎæÑå äæäÔ ÈÏå ÏÓÊÔ ÈیÇÏ ÓÑ ÒäÏ?یÔ ! Óی ?ی ÇÕáÇ Çیä ãÑÏãæ ÍÑÝ ãی Òää ! ÝæÊÈÇáæ یÚäی ?ی ¿!
ÇãÇ ÚیÈ äÏÇÑå Çی ÌãÇÚÊ ÓÇÏå ÈÒäیÏ Êæ ÓÑ åã ÂÌÑ ÎæÑÏ ˜äیÏ Êæ ãáÇÌ æ åã ÊæÕیå È?یÑیÏ ÈÑÇی åÑ ˜ÇÑی æ åÑ ÈÇÑی !
æáی åی? ˜ÇÑی äÏÇÔÊå ÈÇÔیÏ ˜å ãÊæáی Çیä åã ÈÏÈÎÊی æ ÈÒä ÈÒä ˜یå æ ?ÑÇ ÊÇ Ïæ ÓÇá ÞÈá Çیä ÞÏÑ æÑÒÔ ãÇ ÎÑ Êæ ÎÑ äÈæÏ ! ÇáÈÊå ÈáÇ äÓÈÊ ÂÏã åÇ. æáی ÈÇæÑ ˜äیÏ Çیä æÑÒÔ ÇÒ ÏæÑ Ïá ãی ÈÑå ÇÒ äÒÏی˜ Òåáå ! ÂÎå ã?å ãی Ôå Êæ Ïæ ÓÇá ÈáÇیی Èå ÓÑ Çیä æÑÒÔ ÈیÇÏ ˜å åãå Èå Ìæä åã ÈیÇÝÊäÏ. åãå ?یÒ Ñæ ÈÝÑæÔäÏ æ ی˜ ÏÓÊå ÂÏã Èی ÎÇÕیÊ ÈÇ ÈåÇäå ÓÑãÇیå ?ÐÇÑی ÔÎÕی æÇã åÇی ˜áÇä Èå ÌیÈ ÈÒääÏ æ ÈÑæäÏ ÏäÈÇá ÚÔÞ æ ÍÇáÔÇä! ÈÇÈÇ ÌÇä ÂÎÑ ÚÇÞÈÊ Çیä ˜ÇÑåÇ äÇÈæÏی æÑÒÔ ÊäåÇ ÓÑ?Ñãی ÓÇÏå Çیä åãå ÌæÇä æ äæÌæÇä ÇÓÊ¡ Êæ Ñæ ÎÏÇ ÍæÇÓÊæä æ ÌãÚ ˜äیÏ !
?æá Çیä ÈÇÒی åÇ Ñæ äÎæÑیÏ. ?ÑÇ ÇÞæÇã ãÎÊáÝ Èå Ìæä åã ÇÝÊÇÏä ¿ ãÇ åãå ÇیÑÇäی åÓÊیã æ ÞáÈãæä ÈÑÇی æØäãæä ãی Ø?Ï ! ?Ó ÈÇÒی?å ˜ÓÇäی ÑÇ äÎæÑیã ˜å ͘ã ÌÇäی ÏÇáÑ ÈÑÇی æÑÒÔ ÇیÑÇä ÏÇÑäÏ !! ÈåæÔ ÈÇÔیã !

There Are A Million Things...

That I can say about this right now.
But no man, no matter how verbose -
Can properly explain it.

Enjoy?

Dear, Mr. Daylight Savings...

I take back all of the bad things that I said about you. I'm sorry. I DO appreciate it still being light outside after taking a post work nap. So...I hope all is well with you, and I just wanted to let you know that I apologize, okay?

And I'm sorry for calling your mother a whore.

Goodbye.

Kashyyyk...



I walked past the comic book store after work today and saw a poster for a comic called Teen Titans Go! It's kind of like a superhero team for the Power Puff Girls age bracket. Anyway, the slogan of the cartoony version of The Teen Titans is Truth. Justice...Pizza. That got me to thinking about The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and how they were really into pizza. Then that got me thinking about how kids go apeshit over pizza. That got me thinking about that baseball game when I was young, and how my father told me that if I caught a flyball - then he'd take us all out for pizza. I fucked up two very important ones, one sailed over my head, and I dropped the next. Then my older brother punched me in the arm and called me an asshole. That got me to thinking how I build up how I want pizza in my head for weeks, order one, and then only eat two pieces. Only the Italians have a right to go apeshit over pizza. They created it. But they're also responsible for Tony Danza too, so fuck em'. I hate advertising that feeds the fuel of American fatties. I hope they put a bomb in your pizza next time. All this because of pizza. I hate you, pizza. Piss off.

This Is All For Now...

I'm Rick James, Bitch!

Thank You.

The Kids Of Widney High...



Life Without the Cow

Life without the cow, no more milk and cheese
No more New York steak, no more fertilizer

No more BBQ, no more leather shoes
No more butter on biscuits, no more Ben and Jerry's

But there is a cow, I see 'em every day
I seem 'em from the freeway in California
I can't stand my life without the cow

Life without the cow, nor more cottage cheese
No more hamburgesas, cowgirls or cowboys

No more saying "Mooo", no more "Cow and Chicken"
No more frozen yogurt, no more big brown eyes
(Chorus)

Brahman Bull, Caucasian, Guernsey, Black Angus, Beefalo, Belted Galloway, Brown Swiss, Jersey, Corinthian Blonde, Texas Longhorn, Jamaica Red, Florida Cracker
(Chorus)
(Solo over verse)
(Chorus)2x

Mortimer Mouse...

Early in the morning, while working on The Great American Novel, I went outside to smoke a cigarette, and found a dead rat that the outside cat left for me on the doormat. I rolled it up in the mat and then tried to fling it into the bushes, but it sailed over them and landed on the neighbor's driveway with a splat. Then I went back inside and ate Mexican food.

rat
that
cat
doormat
splat

Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tomorrow?...



Today for April Fools Day - I fooled myself.
Yeah, It was awesome.
I pretended that I was happy and liked my job.
I put a big smile on my face and pretended to be interested in conversations.
Everything was nice and shiny.
Perfect, new, and polished.
The air smelled of baby heads (still attached) and crisp linens.
I loved it.
I told myself that getting up in the morning was the best thing that I could've done today.
I told myself that I was proud of myself, that I've accomplished much, and that it doesn't get any better than this.
Everything was great until I crept up behind myself and yelled,

APRIL FOOLS! YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!!
in my ear and punched myself in the face. My mouth was a bloody O with shattered teeth decorating the edges. I kicked myself in the crotch hard, and that's when I fell. I grabbed a fistfull of my own hair and slammed my head down hard into the pavement. The dull thud reverberated through my arm.

I kept on yelling APRIL FOOLS! as I repeatedly slammed my head into the ground.

It was hilarious. I totally made me believe it. I'm Such a Jokester. How did I come up with those things? Dude, wasn't that funny? Did you see the look on my face when I was punching me? I hope I'm not mad at myself.

HaHaHaHaHa....

I fooled me good.

What I Learned From Today's Two Year Old...

We have the same sense of humor.

We don't have the same amount of energy.

We both like to poop.

NERD...

Shipping This Week: March 31, 2004

The following products are expected to ship to comic book
specialty stores this week. Note that this list is tentative
and subject to change. Please check with your retailer for
availability.


DEC030024 STAR WARS INFINITIES RETURN OF THE JEDI #4 (Of 4) $2.99
JAN040204 BATMAN #625 $2.25
JAN040290 HELLBLAZER #194 (MR) $2.75
JAN040298 MIDNIGHT MASS HERE THERE BE MONSTERS #3 (Of 6) (MR) $2.95
JAN040281 PLANETARY #19 $2.95
JAN040224 SUPERMAN #203 $2.25
JAN041528 PULSE #2 $2.99
JAN041532 SPECTACULAR SPIDER-MAN #12 $2.25
JAN041586 THE PUNISHER #4 (MR) $2.99
FEB042003 WIZARD COMICS MAGAZINE DAREDEVIL CVR #151 $4.99
JAN042287 SOJOURN #33 $2.95
NOV032277 TRANSFORMERS GI JOE #6 (Of 6) $2.95

The Great Brain And His Fascination With Water Closets...



I think that if you don't like books - you're retarded. Doi, you retard. I use this term loosely and in the nicest sense - and who is actually retarded? Somebody retarded or me who had to rewrite retarded twice already?

Seriously, I worry about people who don't have books in their house. It's kind of like the people who I know, when you ask them for a pen or a piece of paper - don't have one. How the hell can you not have a piece of paper to write on in your house? I don't really expect you to be like me and need the shit around - but...c'mon, man! What the hell? At least tell me that you keep some around just in case you run out of toilet paper. Tell me that the only reason that a pen's around is to scratch yourself where your bathing suit covers.

I've noticed that the first thing that I do when I'm in a house that I haven't been in before is to go and check out their books. Everybody else talks and jabbers in the background while I sit there, usually with my hands clasped behind my back and my neck tilted to the side like the famous RCA dog. Thoughts flit through my head like miniature judgment butterflies. It's so interesting, but becomes like a check list to me. Crap, crap, crap, oh-shit-really-bad-ass, my-god-horrible, never-read-that, meant-to, who-the-hell-is-that type of list.

I like to borrow too, but hate when others borrow from me. I used to lend out everything that I had because I was excited to share things that I'd read with others. That's dead and gone now folks, because I realized that people lag on giving the crap back. I end up not being able to find it later. Bastards. So, no more library. No more Clifford The Big Red Dog for you.

First time that I met my friend, Baxter, and after he told me how that I didn't look like a gook and that he expected me to look like Charlie Chan after hearing so much about me - we both ended back at his place after the bars, and were waiting for all the rest of our freaky friends to show up. While he was getting me a beer and doing some things, I checked out his book selection. I remember liking the Hunter S. Thompson, early Kerouac, and Bukowski stuff - but hated his Tom Robbins and politics books. He came out of his kitchen and found me stomping up and down on a pile of the books of his that I didn't like and had thrown to the floor. This is how bold I am. This is how stupid I am. This is how drunk I get. This is how lucky I am that Baxter is a Scottish pacifist lush. My life is full of Great Escapes. Steve McQueen would be jealous.

I feel that everybody should have books. We all need shelves full of crap that interests us. It's cool and exciting to look through somebody else's stuff and to get a feel for them, to see what they like, to see what they hate, and what they're into. You can learn a lot from a person from their books. If you don't have any, then I end up having to talk to you more before we can get into something that piques my curiosity. We don't want me bored because the idle Kevynn is The Devil's plaything. I'm like Satan's dildo when I'm bored, and with batteries of plutonium. That's bad. Not good.

So. I encourage everyone to buy books. Or if you have a ton - to buy more, cuz it cuts the tension like thin paper does the tip of a finger, it encourages conversation better than Coke. It makes me happy. It makes writers happy. Babies smile when books are read. Babies poo when they aren't.

If you were really nice, you'd tell me ten books that you think kick ass.

And if I were...I wouldn't have written this post for you to read.

Santa Clara Vampires...



My girlfriend rented Mona Lisa Smile last night.
I fell asleep and had nightmares about Julia Roberts being a vampire...
I mean, maybe that isn't so bad to some - she is kind of sexy...
In a Fun House mirror kind of way.

Even When I'm Dead...

I doubt I'll get enough sleep.

Et Tu, Brutus...

Dear old man on the street today,

If I looked like Popeye - I would not be smoking a small pipe.

Just my opinion.

The Dark Crystal...



Rock star friend called me from the SXSW festival in Austin last night. Said that he met the owner of a magazine that I used to write for back when I was young(er) and stupid(er). I cringed when RS friend said this - surprisingly the owner-doody had nothing but good things to say about me. That's nice. I thought that he would've had voodoo dolls set up. I guess that's cool. I remember back in the da(ze)ys of magazine writing and music interviews. Ugh. I was also psychotic, half-naked, starved, and insane and didn't know any better. Props to any sick soul who can actually make a living and a fine nest in the cold head of writing deadlines. Much respect to those that actually enjoy going to big city shows to interview bands. I didn't care much then, and care even less now. Boogers to all of that shite.

I interviewed Bad Religion, The Vandals, Reel Big Fish, Cake, Blink 182. I think that was it. There may have been a small handful of other bands - but I've forgotten. There were some that fell through, but maybe that was a good thing. If I had the choice of interviewing anybody - it'd be writers. But then, props to those who would actually want to track down reclusive, agoraphobic, obsessive-compulsive, molested, nerds? Not I.

I would like to hang out with Stephen King, though. And J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee if he's still alive. Orson Scott Card and Irvine Welsh. Chuck Palahniuk. Nick Hornsby. Koushun Takami. Paul Theroux. I'd punch Stan Lee in the nuts. I want to grind Kerouac's bones into the ground and ask the dust, "why?" Sounds like John Fante. I'll tell you a secret...I never finished that book. George Lucas doesn't count as an author unless you count his Willow books - but I have a crapload of "y's" for him too. Bukowski should rest in peace.

God(s), what's wrong with me?
What am I doing here?
Won't you fucking go to sleep? My self asks myself.
Yes, indeedy - what the hell is going on?
Don't you think by now, I would've either turned run-of-the-mill rambling into a rumble?
Or at least learned a trade or something?
The justification of my existence is not that cat running around right now.
It's not words on paper.
It's not the clickity-clack of Alicia, Florida, Car, or computer keys...
No. The justification of my existence is...
Don't know yet.
And that's frustrating...
Not that I expect answers.
Those that expect answers just end up with more questions - and I've got enough of those.
I'm half-mad and half-cocked.
Fire me.
Light me.
Blow me up.
I want to be that sulfuric stench wafting up your nostrils.
Burn me up and smoke my ashes.
I want you to suck the marrow out of my bones.
I want to rip your fucking heads off.
Obey me or break me.
Because I'm sick of the in-betweens.
I want to be a Dung Beetle and roll my shit home.
French kiss me.
Beat me.
Forget me.
I could do better - If I'd let me...

Hey.

I'm not working tonight.

What did I do instead?

Nothing.

How do I feel about it?

Great.

This Weekend...



Knowing Kung Fu would come in handy.

I can just feel it...

My Internal Combustion Engine Is Technologically Obsolete By At Least Fifty Years...

I hear we are going to hit close to $3.00 a gallon by the summer. Want gasoline prices to come down? We need to take some intelligent, united action. Phillip Hollsworth, offered this good idea: This makes MUCH MORE SENSE than the "don't buy gas on a certain day" campaign that was going around last April or May! The oil companies just laughed at that because they knew we wouldn't continue to "hurt" ourselves by refusing to buy gas. It was more of an inconvenience to us than it was a problem for them. BUT, whoever thought of this idea, has come up with a plan that can really work.

Please read it and join with us!

By now you're probably thinking gasoline priced at about $1.50 is super cheap. Me too! Now that the oil companies and the OPEC nations have conditioned us to think that the cost of a gallon of gas is CHEAP at $1.50- $1.75, we need to take aggressive action to teach them that BUYERS control the marketplace....not sellers. With the price of gasoline going up more each day, we consumers need to take action. The only way we are going to see the price of gas come down is if we hit someone in the pocketbook by not purchasing their gas!
And we can do that WITHOUT hurting ourselves. How? Since we all rely on our cars, we can't just stop buying gas. But we CAN have an impact on gas prices if we all act together to force a price war.

Here's the idea: For the rest of this year, DON'T purchase ANY gasoline from the two biggest companies (which now are one), EXXON and MOBIL. If they are not selling any gas, they will be inclined to reduce their prices. If they reduce their prices, the other companies will have to follow suit. But to have an impact, we need to reach literally millions of Exxon and Mobil gas buyers. It's really simple to do!! Now, don't wimp out on me at this point...keep reading and I'll explain how simple it is to reach millions of people!!

I am sending this note to about thirty people. If each of you send it to at least ten more (30 x 10 = 300) ... and those 300 send it to at least ten more (300 x 10 = 3,000)...and so on, by the time the message reaches the sixth generation of people, we will have reached over THREE MILLION consumers! If those three million get excited and pass this on to ten friends each, then 30 million people will have been contacted! If it goes one level further, you guessed it..... THREE HUNDRED MILLION PEOPLE!!!
Again, all You have to do is send this to 10 people. That's all. (If you don't understand how we can reach 300 million and all you have to do is send this to 10 people... Well, let's face it, you just aren't a mathematician. But I am ... so trust me on this one.)
How long would all that take? If each of us sends this e-mail out to ten more people within one day of receipt, all 300 MILLION people could conceivably be contacted within the next 8 days!!! I'll bet you didn't think you and I had that much potential, did you! Acting together we can make a difference.
If this makes sense to you, please pass this message on.

Sent via Mel...thanks.

Everything And Nothing...

It's very cute how I gave her the American Splendor comic book that I got from the library and told her to read it. Now that our bellies were full and now that we'd had a good night chock full of the unremberances of the day. Cool, that I thought that she was reading it whilst I went about my winding down motions. After all of it was done - and the filthy cigarette was out, the face was washed and the rotting teeth were brushed - I walked back into the room...and found her asleep. Was it a blessing in disguise? Or did the Roofies work? I'm so out of touch with youth drug culture - I'm unsure how to spell modern day drugs. Not that I was ever really in touch - but maybe this is a good thing. Christ, I don't even know how to properly spell anyway, so what's the difference, verdad? Drugs suck. Who needs drugs when life is just as wishy - washy as anything that you could put into your system?

So, the movie's on pause - and will remain so - probably until I crawl back into bed a couple hours from now. The bomb turned out to be a dud, the lion sleeps tonight, there's no joy in Mudville - so, The Mighty Kevynn might as well swing away into the night. Nothing like a little batting practice to make one a better hitter. You gotta keep your eye on the ball, son. Homeruns come from a keen eye, a good swing, good posture, and a certain amount of unlucky luck.

I will be doing a little private excercise for a bit. Please bear with me. The next thing that I write, might be a little different than the usual pedestrian shite that I chuck towards you. Please bear with me...things ( like the title? ) will be normal...soon?

Hee Hee Hee.

Your Stupid Person Of The Day Nominations...



I nominate myself for staying up this late and not getting St. Patricks Night off of work.

You?

Missy Elliot...

The day after I got my hair Cut. Done. Did. I was doing all of the obligatory prep crap at work and realized that all of the guys in the back didn't say anything about my haircut when I arrived. Not that I care much. Not that I expect them to notice, but, at my work, if there's something different about you - you'll have somebody calling you on it and make fun of you about it. We all do it. New shirt, hat, mustache? It all becames garbled Spanglish cussword observations. It's fun.

But...anyway, I was tying my tie or something in front of the mirror in the bathroom and realized to myself that none of the guys said anything. Hmmm...maybe they really don't notice anything about me. That's good in a way, I thought.

Later that day, I was talking to a customer.
A nice lady that I joke around with a lot.

She told me that my hair was getting long.

Dude.

Chinks...

I can hear a distant sprinkler spraying water against metal once every five seconds. Just realized that it was the music from the headphones right by me. Just realized that I'm retarded.

Yeah.

30 Days Of Night...

After poker last night, we all ended up at a strip club. I'd never been to this one before. My girlfriend had gone before with my friends, the bastards. They all went without me one night when I had to work. The place was pretty big. We drank. Saw some boobs. Girlfriend gave me crap because I gave money to the angry, Gothic stripper. I only gave her money because she danced to Ministry. My girlfriend liked the girl with the glasses, but we couldn't find her afterwards. She was probably giving a lap dance to a fat, balding man.

I think that strip clubs would be a lot more interesting if the girls were covered in Prime Rib and the audience threw hungry tigers up on the stage instead of cash.

Now that - would make me horny.

Ranch Dressing...



Had a dream about pizza last night, and first thing that I wake up this morning, my girlfriend asks if I want to get a pizza. So, I said okay. I had no choice. The gods want me to eat a pizza - then I'll do, damnit! So, the pizza guy's coming now. Because I'm loyal. I pay attention to my mind. This came straight from the dream police and I turned it into reality. Yes. Really. I mean it. I'm stupid. I'm going to go eat my pizza now. I'm not even hungry, though. I'm going to eat my pizza and watch The Last Temptation Of Christ.

A Cat...

Peed inside my car.

( not while I was driving it. )

It smells.

Might As Well...

Write.
Right.
Now.
Because.
This.
May.
Be.
The.
Only.
Chance.
I'll.
Get.

I Am Roberta Sparrow's Unwashed Hair...



And it's kind of weird when I'm checking my hits for the day on Fat Free Milk and I see my name typed into Yahoo or Google or something like that. Or when the site is like, number eight or ten when my last name is typed in. That's what I want, right? Make MALONE into a household name? Hmmm...No, maybe not. People scare the bejeezus out of me. I just want to be left alone and to die quietly. Fuck fame.

But, what if my almost - seventy year old father decides to do some gynecological - I mean, some genealogical investigating on the WWW? And up pops Fat Free Leche? All full of poo and F words? What if somebody finds me that I want to avoid? No, I don’t have any enemies – and YES, I am paranoid. My old friend Adam just found me after we both lost touch with each other. Guess how he found me? Google. My name’s easy to find. It’s number friggin’ one on there. But, that’s good, right? Man, I’m confused.

And what about this happy crap? Why would anybody type in my funky spelled first name and ankle? Come on. That’s just weird. Who was that? Why? See, I told you I’m paranoid. I guess I should stop typing my own name in posts if I’m gonna get all funny about people typing in my name on search engines. See, I need money. That’s it. Mass quantities of cash help ease my curious and sick mind. I accept all donations. I need to be an actor. I sure as hell can’t be an athlete unless people sponsor beer drinking and comic book reading. You just let me know, Bubba.

Kevynn Malone. OUT.

Doh.

I Love...

Plumbing problems and hot days.
Oh, wait - no, I don't.

Tom Vu...



Yeah. So, yes I was on a 80 Ft. Yacht on Saturday. It was NICE. Played Texas Hold Em' on a poker table while cruising Long Beach. Ate too much lobster. Drank insane amounts of alcohol. Danced for one whole minute with a room full of Czechoslovakian girls that looked like short Mexicans to me - but, whatever. Got boarded by the Coast Guard. Very Miami Vice. No, wait - it was nothing like Miami Vice. That was stupid. Won half the pot in the game. Cut my hand by accident and had blood on my nose the whole ride back home and no one either noticed or bothered to tell me through their drunken hazes. Maybe both.

And that's about it.
It was cool as the swear word that starts with F.
There were no ninjas, though.
Now, that would've been even better.
Or monkeys.
No, wait - or midgets.
Or...

Okay. I'll stop.

Later...

After some sleep, I will tell you about my Saturday night.
It involved an 80 ft. yacht, poker, booze, and The Coast Guard.

No foolin'.

Bud Light...

Went to the BIG pet store today. Tried to find a thing that our turtle can climb on. Bought a huge stick. Also bought a couple of goldfish for it to eat. The turtle - not the stick. The entire time that I was driving home - I felt guilt-ridden, because I'm a big pussy. I didn't feel like it when the nice kid was scooping them up - I felt like it was the natural order of things - but when The two fish were sloshing around in my passanger seat, I started to feel bad. I put them in the tank and apologized to them in my mind. The fish are still there. I've gone back to the pet store and bought fish food. Apparently, my turtle isn't a normal turtle. He's retarded and slow-moving. Now, I have two more pets. Such is my life.

Irwin...

I went to the LA Zoo today and was a tad bit let down. All of the animals looked so depressed, they seemed to frown at their surroundings, and all of the cages looked rust-filled. Especially the monkeys. One always expects monkeys to be jovial and frivolous, but at the zoo, they seemed bored and disappointed to be there. I watched one of the trainers feed one of the two rhinoceroses, and the trainer appeared to be stoned, and when the rhino came out of the back to eat the food that the loaded trainer provided, it seemed totally lethargic, and when it found the food, after looking for fifteen minutes, it mowed down upon it as if it were stoned too. It made me picture the trainer taking a huge bong hit and blowing it in the rhino's face. Needless to say, I was let down by my zoo experience.

I did like the snake room, though...

Mas...

More and more - as time goes on...
I'm finding it difficult to write.
Lame stuff, important stuff...
Too many distractions.

Please be quiet, so that I can write The Great American Novel that no one will read.

Thank you.

Life Lesson Number 4335...



Was just in the backyard reading Orbiter by Warren Ellis. It started to rain. I noticed a bird peeking his head out and making a ruckus in the big, ol' palm tree covered in ivy that we have by the patio. I thought that it was nice. Maybe he was appreciating the sporadic drops just like I was, y' know? Then I saw another bird fly by really fast. The bird in the palm tree ducked his head back in, but something fell to the ground in the bushes. My cat stopped performing crazy-eight circles around my ankles and darted to the spot in the bushes. It was a baby bird. My cat had it in it's mouth and then ran away. I yelled at him and he took of, probably to finish his meal. I looked back up at the spot where I saw the momma bird. She wasn't there. I wish I had a ladder, so that I could see if she was crying up there in her little birdy home. I don't have a ladder - so, I went back in my human-y home and typed this.

The end.

Wanna lick? Psych!...

I got offered a new job in my dream last night - then I woke up, and was severely disappointed.
Man, what a buzzkill. That's even worse than waking up from a sex or comic book one...